Hey guys, so this takes place as Rick is running up to Kate's apartment after he sees it blow up. I have no idea where this little piece came from, I was sitting in my kitchen and suddenly thought of it.

Also, if you've been following my story Out in the Open have no fear I have not abandoned you. In fact, the next chapter is almost done and ready to be put up. Almost, give me a little time. This chapter and where to take the rest of the story, though I know how it ends, gave me a lot of trouble. Sorry for the wait, it'll be updated soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, duh.

First floor.

Sprinting through the doors of the building he passes the sign that reads lobby as he barges into the stairwell, knocking over the occupants of the building as they hurriedly leave clutching loved ones to their bodies. He's running; running as fast as his legs will allow, maybe faster, towards one of the only thing's he's been uncertain of in a long time. Taking stairs three at a time, speeding past people who give him curious glances as he runs towards what they're fleeing. But he could never run away from this, even if his heart and mind would even consider that option he'd still never permit it.

Second floor.

He has to get there in time, so he doesn't say sorry or even look apologetic as he shoves people out of his way. Eventually people just seem to clear a path up the stairs, not wanting to get trampled by this obviously deranged man. But he's not deranged; he's just scared. Scared that Dunn succeeded, scared that maniac won. So he runs, practically jumping up stairs at impossible speeds to make sure she's still alive. Because she's Beckett, his muse, his partner, his friend, she's just his.

Third floor.

He can easily smell the smoke now, emanating from her apartment and reaching all corners of the building and he coughs trying to expel the substance from his lungs. It's all his fault. If he hadn't created Nikki Heat and put her in the spotlight this killer never would have focused in on her. She would never have been in danger; she would never have been standing in her apartment as it was blown to tiny pieces, leaving her life a shattered mess. That is if she still had a life. No, he couldn't think like that. Kate Beckett was invincible. Her apartment may be destroyed around her, only ashes left, but she would get up and walk away from it. She would rise from the ashes, because Kate was a phoenix. Everything about her radiated magical, from the way she walked to how no other woman could even hope to compare to her. Yes, he was convinced she was some sort of mystical being, a magnificent free spirit reborn in the ashes of its old life.

Fourth floor.

That woman waiting for him in her burning apartment was definitely of divine descent. She was fiery, beautiful, strong and free. She was a phoenix; she had to be. Nothing else could adequately explain. Her world had caught fire before, burning until all there was left was a pile of ashes for her to slowly be engulfed by, but against all odds she had risen. She had conquered the challenge and emerged as a new Kate. So why couldn't she do it again? This time she'd materialize from ashes anew, her soul burning a little brighter like the fire that had granted her rebirth.

Fifth floor.

Strangely, he felt no pain. It was as if his limbs had gone numb from the moment he saw her home explode into a fiery cloud. His heart had gone numb too, and if he burst through her door to find her body lifeless he was sure it would never regain feeling. He'd be an empty vessel, careening around on autopilot for the rest of his days. Because if she was gone it might as well be like he was the one who was blown up, Rick Castle was not Kate Beckett; if his life ignited and burned to a crisp he would not emerge from the ashes, he was not a phoenix.

Sixth floor.

He burst through the doors and into a hallway running halfway down it before he stopped in front of her door. Well, he didn't really stop just slowed down a little bit before ramming himself against the wood, sending it toppling to the ground. Getting up off the floor he got his first look at what he had done to her life, the disaster he had brought upon her. He called to her, screaming her name into the flames. When he heard nothing in return he began searching around frantically, trying to find proof of life within the burning walls. And then he heard it, he heard her. Spinning around to face a destroyed doorway he saw a small, feminine hand curl around the top of a ruined bathtub cased in soot. Rushing forward joy was evident on his face, rejoicing silently as he reached her. She didn't give up; she wouldn't give in. She was rising from the ashes for the second time, entering a new chapter of her saga. Kate Beckett was a phoenix, and he knew it all along.

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