Downpour

Castle knocked on the familiar door before him. Numerous times he'd repeated the task, but never before had he felt so unsure of his actions.

"Who is it?" came the muffled response from behind the barrier.

"It's Castle."

Scuffling and the sound of bolts being pulled back were heard before the door opened not even halfway. A hand came out and grasped the author's wrist, using it to drag him stumbling into the apartment.

"Woah Beckett!" he exclaimed, a joke quick to be followed on the tip of his tongue. But as he regained his balance and turned, the words failed as he took in the sight before him. His partner, having re-secured the door fumbled to grasp his arm once again and dragged him stumbling across the apartment to huddle against the wall between a bookcase and a side table. He allowed himself to be led; his thoughts were fixed too intently on the sight before him to do otherwise. He struggled to comprehend what his was seeing, and at first barely registered the trembling of the woman beside him.

From what he could see in the dim light, the apartment was a mess. Broken glass littered the floor, scattered in pools of liquid. The stench of alcohol was almost overwhelming, and he guessed that was the puddle which lay to their left. Worst of all was the vision of the woman beside him, which he struggled to associate with what he knew of his partner. Her curls were a wild mess, as if she had spent too long pulling it away from her face with her hands. Her eyes were wild, mascara and eyeliner smudged, and it didn't take much imagination to come to the conclusion that at least on one occasion that night, she had succumbed to tears. And then there was her right arm. Even in the dimness he could make out the angry red colour of the thick liquid gradually slipping over her skin. That arm moved then, as she reached down to something beside her jean-covered thigh. He followed its movement, his brow furrowed in concern as he attempted to ascertain the severity of her injury. However, as soon as she brought up the item, he attention drew from her wound to the item she held in her hand. A gun.

"Beck-" He swallowed, trying again as her name caught in his throat. "Beckett, what's going on?"

"Nothing Castle. Just, just being careful."

He was silent a moment, studying her profile. Her eyes darted around, and the hand she had on his arm gripped him to an uncomfortable degree. He realised with a heavy heart that her state of mind was worse than he'd feared. "About what?" he eventually uttered gently. Gentle would be his approach he decided; trying to calm her down from the obvious terror she was experiencing.

"About… About the case Castle. You've been there. You know what this man is capable of." She twitched when a noise permeated the apartment from outside. "I- I'm glad you're here actually. I can keep you safe too. What about Martha and Alexis? Are they safe?"

At any other time, he would have been touched by her concern for his family, but now he just felt tendrils of fear creep up on him. He'd never seen anyone so utterly terrified. Moreover he wasn't at all sure how much of the alcohol had ended up on the tiled floor, and how much was coursing through his partner's bloodstream. Add to that the presence of a gun, and they were in an awful situation indeed.

"Did you tell them to stay away from the windows; we don't know where he's going to strike next?" Beckett pushed when Castle failed to respond to her question. And again, without waiting for a response, she continued, her words hurried and panicked. "You should text them. Tell them. Make sure they're safe." She reached for him then, as if with the intention of digging through his pockets for his phone. Again, at any other time he would have quipped, teased her, fashioned a sexual innuendo out of her actions. But again, it wasn't the time. Instead, he gently (keeping with his plan) directed the muzzle of the gun away from them both. He allowed Beckett to see him select his mother's name from his contact list. However, he tilted his phone away when typing his message, merely stating he would be staying the night in the detective's apartment. Her attention had been distracted when he sent the message, and he didn't notice until he looked up from his phone that her finger had taken to hovering over the trigger of her weapon whilst she scanned the apartment in agitation.

He silently swore.

"Why don't you put the gun down Beckett?"

"I need it… To keep us safe."

"I could take it for a bit, maybe? Give you a break?"

"It's not your job, it's my job… You don't think I can do my job?" she exclaimed suddenly, turning to face him, the gun going with her. He glanced nervously between her face and the gun which was wavering at an uncomfortably close position by his stomach. She saw his wide eyed stare and pulled back, gasping, "I'm not going to shoot you Castle!"

"I know," he spoke softly, his hands forward in a placating gesture. "But Beckett, how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, her eyes averting from his as she spoke with a sullen voice, "Some."

He eyed her for a moment, seeing that now he had engaged her in conversation, the fear had been pushed back a little. She seemed a little less volatile, a little less terrified. It was the only word he could use to describe what she must be feeling. It broke his heart to realise she was suffering so, chance of talking her down and availing her of the weapon. "How's about it, hey Beckett? Let me have the gun for once."

"You're not a cop."

"Maybe not, but I'm the only sober one here…" At her lack of response, he continued, "You've seen me shoot before. You know I'm good."

She scoffed at his comment, then was silent a moment, eying him up. "Just this once," she eventually groused. "Only because I know you like to play cop."

The handover of the weapon was gentle and slow so as not to spook Kate and have her retract her acquiescence. He checked the safety catch was in place, feeling at least a little relief at finding she hadn't gotten as far as releasing it herself.

It took a little persuasion to get her to allow him to fetch the dustpan and brush. However, she was still relatively calm and only exhibited mild panic as he crossed to the cupboard by the front door to retrieve the items. He'd taken his attention from her to ensure he had swept up every piece of the shattered whisky bottle. It was only when he returned to her, armed with a blanket, first aid kit and plastic cup of water, did he realise her changed state.

He'd lost her again. Her eyes had taken on the same glassy sheen they'd held when he'd arrived, yet they darted around continuously. The detective's whole body trembled, yet was coiled, prepared to defend, attack or run.

He laid his supplies down slowly before reaching out to place what was intended to be a comforting hand on her arm. She jerked roughly away however and turned her wild eyes to him. He raised his hands in parley and spoke gently, always gently, "You're alright Kate. Just… You just need to calm down."

A hand sprung out and pulled him sharply down to her side. "What did I tell you about keeping down?" she hissed.

"Alright," he again attempted to placate her. "I'm down. I just want to help you."

"I can deal with this Castle! I'm fine."

"I know," he breathed softly, calmly, mentally cursing his poor choice of words. "I'm not here to interfere. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"It's good you're here. It means I know you're safe," she repeated her words from earlier. "But I can manage Castle, I can! So just sit here."

They lapsed into unmoving silence. His calm presence seemed to provide a little relief, for her breathing gradually evened, and she became less tense beside him. Castle hated to think what she had suffered, alone with her fears in her darkened apartment. If the state in which he had found both her and the room was any indication, he guessed terrified and desperate would have been an understatement. Still, if by sitting with her and providing an ally in the whole situation, he could help her, he was more than willing to do so. At length, she held out her arm without his request, and he took the unspoken treaty to bandage her wound. She was the one who unfolded the blanket and draped it over them and she took the initiative to sip some of the water he'd provided for her. As his partner relaxed, so did Castle, thinking that perhaps the drama was over for the night.

It wasn't to be.

A loud bang originating from another apartment broke the relative silence then, startling Kate. She lunged blindly across Castle with a harsh sob, reaching desperately for the gun at his side. It took all his strength to restrain her; he used his full body weight to press against her, pushing her back roughly. All the while, he uttered calm reassurances, his tone soft and quiet, "Just a door slamming Kate. Nothing to be scared about."

"No!" And she lunged again. But he was ready for her this time. His arms wrapped around her, pinning her reaching arms to her body. And he brought her against him in an iron grip, immobilising her. "Please Castle!" she sobbed. And his heart hurt as she struggled in tears, each movement desperate and conveying her utter fear at what had been merely a harmless commonplace noise in the building.

"You're safe Kate," he murmured into her hair. "There's nothing to be frightened of here. You're safe." He continued in the same vein, making soft, soothing noises. With her fighting against him, it took longer than it should have for Castle to realise the speed at which her diaphragm pressed and released against him.

Shit.

Bad move Castle.

He loosened his hold, easing her back so she was propped up against the wall behind her. He shifted to crouch in front of her, trying to catch her eye, but they were wild and unfocussed, filled with panic as her lungs drew in and released air at a far too rapid pace. Her hands were cold and clammy as he took them in his, but she clutched desperately as if he was her only lifeline.

Soothing, pacifying yet firm words were released as he strove to reassure her repeatedly that she was safe. He alternated this with attempts to encourage her to pace her breathing, telling her when to inhale and when to exhale in an even tone, whilst stroking his thumb slowly across the backs of her fingers in a further attempt to ground her and bring her back to him.

After many minutes, during which Castle fought to control his own anxiety at the situation, Kate's eyes gradually began to clear and lock with his own, though fright was still visible in her watery orbs. She sucked in a great, deep, shuddering breath, holding it a few moments before releasing it with impressive control, given the previous minutes.

"Alright?" he eventually asked, to which she nodded and averted her gaze. He reached up to brush away the tears which had been forced out during her panic attack, but she shied away, roughly swiping at the moisture with her own trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry Kate; I handled that wrong… I shouldn't have restrained you."

She shook her head, her expression showing clear anguish and shame. "I'm a… I'm a mess Castle."

Clichéd as it may have seemed, Castle felt an actual ache in his chest at her confession. The fact that she revealed herself to him in such a way was a perfect example of just how far she'd come since he'd met her; no longer was she just the formidable Detective Beckett with seemingly no emotions. No, she was more than that, better than that, and brick by brick, the proverbial wall around her heart was lowering. Yet he could find no joy in this at that moment. He only wanted to take away her pain and fear. "What can I do? Tell me how I can help you."

"Just, just sit with me." She met his eyes then, hers unsure, as if there was any way he would refuse her request.

As he sat with her in unmoving silence he mentally checked off what he'd done. She was warm. Her arm had been dressed. Her apartment cleaned and glass swept away. She was relatively calm. And for now, she was safe. It wasn't enough. He would never feel it was enough until she let go of the fear plaguing her. But for now, he knew he had done all he could. The next step would depend on Beckett.

Fin

A/N - So I tried to create a plausible scenario whereby Castle comes to Beckett's apartment, but acts in a way which still allows for Kate thanking him at the end of the episode for giving her the space to deal. I think I managed that with this fic, and I hope you think so too!

This was my first 'Castle' fic, and it's always a challenge when writing for a new program to get into the mindset of the characters, so I hope I've done Castle and Beckett justice. Constructive feedback is much appreciated! Thank you for reading!