A/N: This is an OS I started to write right after "Kill Shot" aired. The episode left me in such a state that I had to write something.
To be more specific, although I absolutely loved this episode I was rather unhappy with the poor transition between the crime scene and finding Beckett drunk in her apartment. I felt this scene was somehow out of place. So, I tried to write a short scene that would fit between those two moments and maybe (in my head anyway) explain how she got to that point.
Given the episode this is from, be warned that it's a pretty dark piece. If you're looking for fluff or smutt... come back next time ;)
ROCK BOTTOM
"Yeah, like we caught the guy that shot me."
Beckett felt a knot form at her throat after she had uttered those last words.
"Beckett…" started Castle taking a tentative step forward.
But Kate moved away immediately.
"Alright, nothing more for us to see in here."
In a heartbeat, Beckett was out of the room and in the hallway, waiting impatiently for the elevator, willing it to arrive before the writer could catch up with her.
She had no such luck however and together they rode down in uncomfortable silence as she kept her head hung low, avoiding eye contact at all cost. Castle, although he was growing increasingly worried about his partner, chose to give her space and keep quiet.
Once in the lobby, Beckett asked a patrol officer to drive Castle back to his loft, pretending she had errands to run. The writer was not fooled by her excuse, but again, he chose to let her go, hoping the night would bring her the peace she needed.
In her car, Kate placed both hands on her wheels and shut her eyes tight. She could feel the day's emotions all boiling up to the surface and threatening to spill. But, refusing to give into the pain and sorrow, she chose anger instead and slapped her hands several times on her wheel.
When she reopened her eyes, she had her game face on again and she started the engine, mechanically making her way through Manhattan back to her apartment and her solitude.
Eventually, she reached her building and found a parking space only a block away. She got out of her car and was locking the door when a motorbike she had not seen drove past her and made a screeching sound as it slowed down at a crossroad. The sound made her jump and, dropping her keys, she swirled around and brought a hand to the piece attached to her hip. Even when she realized the sound came from the bike, she did not relax.
What kind of danger was she in, standing in the street, exposed? Was there a crazy sniper in one of the buildings ready to shoot her at random? Or maybe a hired gunman, paid to finish the sloppy job his colleague did a few months back.
She swung her head around, looking up at the surrounding buildings, inspecting each window, each doorway and each passer-by.
She started to feel her hand shake over her gun and her heart beat at an alarming rate. She shook her head as though to shake the feeling away and quickly grabbed her keys from the floor before walking to her apartment building in long strides. With shaky hands, she pushed the key into the front door lock, but a klaxon in a nearby street made her jump and miss the hole. She clenched her teeth and briefly closed her eyes, trying to shut the world out. Eventually she managed to open her door and allowed herself a moment of respite once she had closed it behind her.
Feeling restless and needing to feel the exhaustion and maybe even the pain, she decided to forego the elevator and climbed the steps to the top floor of her building two-by-two.
When she reached the top floor, she was breathless, shaking, sweat was starting to pearl down her forehead and she felt a sharp pain in her left abdomen from the strain of her movements. But for a brief second she was actually grateful for the exhaustion. The effort she had just made gave her the perfect excuse to be in such a state of disarray. It was no longer the fear, the pain or the panic that made her body so weak and fragile, it was the exercise, the ascension of a ten-floor building in a jog.
Kate made quick work of the bolts on her door, and went inside, but not before checking one last time that she hadn't been followed.
Once in her apartment, she slammed the door behind her and leaned her back against it, closing each lock in a quick motion.
Her whole body was still shaking and she felt only the door was supporting her weight at this point, her legs giving her the impression they were ready to give out.
But she wasn't going to let them.
She wasn't going to give in.
She could feel the tears rushing up to her eyes; she could feel all of her anger, her frustration, her fear asking to come out. But she refused to give in to those feelings, she refused to be weak.
It wasn't a matter of staying strong in front of her co-workers and friends anymore, it was a matter of staying strong, period. And despite everything that she felt, despite the fact that all day long she had lived with a knot in her stomach and a stink in her eyes from the tears she held back, she still did not want to give in.
Although she was now alone, she still felt as though the whole world was watching her; as though those who meant to hurt her, who had meant to kill her, were still watching her and would laugh at her if they saw her cry. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
No, she wouldn't.
Kate pushed herself away from the door and walked into her apartment. She unzipped her jacket and dropped it on a nearby stool on her way to the kitchen.
She went straight to a lower cabinet in a corner and knelt down. As she was down, she undid her boots and grabbed a bottle of gin. She stood back up and kicked her shoes away into the living-room before grabbing a glass in another cupboard.
Beckett looked at the bottle and noticed her hand was still shaking. She grimaced and poured some liquid at the bottom of her glass before downing it in one gulp.
Kate placed both her hands on the counter and bent over it, closing her eyes and letting the alcohol wash over her. When she reopened her eyes, she took a moment to mentally assess her condition, as though hoping a drop of gin would have made it all go away.
When she bitterly noted that it didn't have the expected effect, she poured herself another glass of gin and set the bottle down on the counter.
Taking the glass with her, she walked back to the living-room and stopped when she caught sight of her reflection in her standing mirror.
She turned around fully and looked at herself.
Looking back at her, she saw the image of a disheveled, lost, fearful woman in obvious pain. She did not like that image.
Her eyes trailed down her body and saw the piece she was carrying at her hip and her badge on the other side.
She brought her glass to her lips and emptied it of its content in one go before setting it down on a shelf.
With rage and a large dose of disgust, she grabbed the piece of metal at her waist and threw it across the room where it landed on her couch. Her gun quickly followed and landed at the foot of the piece of furniture.
She swiftly grabbed her empty glass and, making a detour by the kitchen, filled it up again.
Newly filled glass in hand, she made her way to her bedroom. In the corridor she used her free hand to undo the buttons of her jeans and push the fabric down her legs. When she reached the door, she left her pants in a puddle at the entrance.
Kate grabbed an NYPD grey t-shirt from a drawer and her pair of pajama bottoms before going to her adjoining bathroom.
She set the glass on the side of her sink and looked up only to find the same, distraught image of herself. She yanked the elastic band holding her hair up and shook it out, letting it fall freely around her face and in front of her eyes, hiding her from the world.
She then grabbed the rims of her turtleneck and pulled it off. She winced at the pain the movement caused and looked down at her abdomen in the mirror.
She didn't understand why – or, more accurately, did not want to acknowledge why – but her scar seemed to be so much more painful today than ever before over the last few months. Every movement she made, even breath she took reminded her of the scar that marked her body there and the smaller one in the crest of her breasts.
To soothe the pain that shot through her, she turned to the strong liquid waiting for her on the sink and let it burn down her throat.
She then took off the remainder of her clothes and stepped into the shower, turning on the hot water tap first.
For a moment, the hot water over her skin soothed her.
But as soon as she closed her eyes, images assaulted her. Memories of a life of sorrow and tragedies. Memories of deaths and sacrifices. Memories of lost fights and pain.
And then, as though the shower was the only refuge she had left in this world, she let it out.
Tears came flowing down, running down her cheeks and body with the water that washed over her. She let out a loud howl, and finally let her legs give out as she fell on the tiled floor of her shower. For several minutes her body shook violently as she cried her pains away.
She wished she could drown in this water; disappear from this world that tormented her, escape the demons that haunted her.
She wished for a better life; a life where her mother would still be alive and would be able to take her in her arms and make it all better; a life where her heart wasn't this cold, heavy stone that burdened her and where she could open herself up freely to the man she loved; a life where death wasn't an everyday occurrence…
Her phone started to ring and the foreign noise made her jump. She looked up and around, fear clearly visible on her face.
… A life where she wouldn't be afraid of the slightest noise.
Kate looked down at her body and suddenly felt extremely and intolerably vulnerable, naked as she was. Leaning against the wall for support, she pushed herself up and quickly turned off the tap and got out of the cabin.
She grabbed a towel and made quick work of drying herself. The sound of a siren made her head snap to the right, on high alert. Out of the shower, without the constant, soothing noise of the water dripping down, all the noises of the city seemed to be assaulting her, making her head spin.
With clumsy movements, she pulled her pants over her legs and threw her t-shirt over her head, wincing loudly at the pain caused, once again, to her abdomen. Throwing her hair back once the t-shirt was in place, she caught a quick glimpse of the reflection she was trying to avoid. Her hair was wet and thus its natural waviness showed.
She made a face at herself and grabbed the empty glass that sat on her counter. She walked out into her bedroom right when someone in the building across the street turned on a light. The sudden brightness scared her and she jumped to the left, hugging the wall and putting herself away from view.
For a second, the unreasonableness of her reaction hit her and she bumped her head against the wall in frustration. When she looked down, she saw the glass she was still holding and noted with disappointment that it was empty.
After a quick glance at her bedroom window to make sure it was properly closed, she walked back out to her living-room, taking a detour through the kitchen to grab the almost empty bottle of gin.
Not bothering to turn on the lights, she padded across the room to her couch and let herself sink into it. Her foot met with something on the floor and she reached down to find her discarded gun. She looked at the weapon with disgust and apprehension and set it on the table.
A klaxon made her jump and look at the window. She gritted her teeth and shook her head.
With hands shaking, Kate poured herself a drink and downed it immediately before setting both the bottle and the glass down on the coffee table in front of her.
Her head spun as she leaned back down in the couch. She closed her eyes and tried to shut the world out again; to no avail. The same images flashed in front of her, over and over again.
She dug her fingers into her thighs and shut her eyes tighter.
Another siren, a man yelling, a klaxon… All the sounds of the city came rushing up to her ears in a deafening buzz.
She bent down over her knees, holding her head in her hands and let out a long wail.
When she looked back up, the bottle of gin was standing there and she reached for it, emptying its content with a shaking hand into her glass and onto the coffee table.
She had reached the bottom.