Kate Beckett has received thousands of news by phone. Some are good, some are bad. Some matter, some don't that much.
Her phone rings when she's being told there's been a murder. It rings when she receives information about a suspect. It also rang the time her best friend's husband had called to ramble happily about the birth of little Benjamin. It rang when Raglan had told her about her mother's murder. It rings when Castle is stuck and needs her advice to get Nikki Heat out of one of the inextricable situations he likes to put her into. It has brought her some of the best and some of the worst of her life.
She has probably made as many phone calls as she has received. As happy and as heartbreaking. She has brought the worst news anyone could imagine to perfect strangers so many times. She has heard them sobbing, yelling, breaking down, falling to the ground, demanding answers, swearing it was a mistake, insulting her.
Today, she has to make one more of these phone calls. Except that she can't. She's been staring at her phone for way too long. Ryan and Esposito have offered to take care of it but she has refused. They're still here, though. She knows it. She saw them hovering for a while by their desks, pretending to keep busy. Now they've gone off somewhere else but she knows they are still around. They'll probably appear out of nowhere when she hangs up the phone.
She's toying with an official paper on her desk, her report. It's finished but she keeps scanning it over and over again, as if to make sure it has actually happened. Gates will have to read it. The mayor will probably read it, too. Anyway, she knows that no matter how many times she reads the detailed description of the incident - that's what it's called in her report - she will never be able to understand it. It was supposed to be a regular workday. The suspect had broken into a run, as usual, as soon as she had flashed her badge. Ryan and Esposito were ready at the corner to come out with their guns to block the suspect's way. She had yelled "Police! Stop!" That's where everything got confused. There had been the screech of tires and a loud thump. After that, she could swear there had been silence. A long and heavy silence. Except, that's not really possible in a busy New York street in the middle of the day and Esposito had assured her there had been screaming and really soon after that, the sirens of an ambulance. She remembers these but she remains convinced that there had been silence first. After that, everything had been panic, a rushed drive to the ER and a lot of waiting. And phone calls to make. All had been taken care of but one.
With the quick, efficient gesture of someone who has written thousands of reports before, she signs her name at the end of the sheet of paper and puts it aside on her desk. She picks up the receiver and dials a number.
Somewhere, in New York, a phone rings.
"Hello, Alexis. This is detective Beckett."
A/N: This is a one-shot by the way. I won't update it, that's how I wanted it.
