A/N: This story is based on an idea taken from a Russian movie. Keep an open mind. This shall be a fun ride ;)

Chapter I

- Where a terrible accident leads to some confusing consequences -

The wheels screech painfully, when she presses the brake pedal into the floor, trying to make her charger slow down and turn around in the right direction, down the 48th, where the choppers spotted the black van. Now would be a good time to switch the siren on, but this far from the van she is not sure it's the right one. Until it takes a sharp turn, almost hitting a passer by caught in the way, and - she spots the woman inside.

"Pull over!" , Beckett shouts into the speaker, trying to get as calm as she sounds, because if she doesn't want this bomb to explode, panic is not really helpful here.

"Nazihah, pull over!".

Her magnified voice cuts through the hoots of the siren, just as she manages to shorten the distance between the two cars and pull over to the curb in front of the van. The van seems to slow down and she finally allows herself a moment of relief. Now comes the hardest part. Hopefully, the bomb squad will not be late.

She can see Nazihah through the driver's window, her eyes wide, her body shaking, both hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. She's desperate, terrified, because she knows what's at stake, a lot more than just the life of her beloved daughter, but she needs to to be stopped.

Beckett kills the engine, hastily opens the door, about to take off towards the van, when it suddenly jerks back to life and the next thing she knows, her Crown Vic is sent flying towards the cab, driving just a couple of feet ahead. It's all a cacophony of sounds -metal rattling, glass crashing, people screaming, before everything goes black.

The last thing she remembers is a pair of bright blue eyes, wide with fear.


His first impulse is to rush home and grab his girls, so that they could flee to the Hamptons together, because separation is really not his thing. But Bob made it clear, that the time is pretty much out, so he hails a cab instead and makes a call to the car service for the loft.

"No, Mother, no time to explain." He rushes to say, running a hand through his hair while he looks around to take in his surroundings. "No time to pack, either. Excuse me," he says, poking the glass screen to catch the cabbie's attention, "could you please take 48th street? It's faster." He hears his mother still whining on the phone and huffs. "Mother, just take Alexis and get in that car. No, we'll get all the supplies in the Hamptons." After a few more complains he breaks, his loud screech making the cab driver wince. "Damn it, Mother, please! Just listen to me!" There's a moment of silence, and then, he sighs. "OK, I'll see you soon, bye."

He takes a moment to pull himself together, reclining his back against the car seat and taking a deep breath, counting to four and letting it out. They are going to be fine. They have to.

It's her voice that brings him back to reality, a raspy, yet contained cry, a bit distorted by the echo of the megaphone it's coming through.

"Pull over!" The woman commands, but he can't see where the voice is coming from and something tells him that whatever is going on, it has something to do with the reason that made him run out of town.

"Nazihah, pull over!" comes the voice again, more urgent this time.

The cab stops at a red light and he peeks over the driver's shoulder to see two vehicles, racing a few yards ahead - a police Crown Vic driving after a black van, trying to overtake it.

Right when the cop's car stops in front of the van, the light goes green and the cab starts moving again. The policewoman opens the door and is just getting out when the van suddenly accelerates.

The last thing he sees is the back of the crown vic colliding with the side of his cab.

And then, just darkness.


The bomb squad arrives two minutes too late, only to find that there is no job for them – the device didn't get off. No one can tell what failed, but whatever the defect was, it surely saved them all from a major catastrophe.

The scene is a complete mess, though. Three banged up cars, four victims - one of whom is his best homicide detective - and a whole crowd of shocked onlookers, which will take some time to disperse.

This is officially one of the worst days in Roy Montgomery's life.

The paramedics get to the scene pretty fast – just in time to pick up their patients and rush in the direction of the hospital, five minutes before the journalists invade the whole street. He braces himself for their attack, throwing a command to Esposito to go with Beckett and make sure she will be okay. As okay as one can be after being jammed between two cars.


She almost dies twice on the way to the hospital. The paramedics don't pay him much attention, doing their job, fighting for Beckett's life with admirable patience. It is hard to see his partner, his friend, like this - pale and unresponsive, covered in bandages and blood.

The EMTs push the gurney into the OR, leaving him behind in the blinding white hall to wait. Nobody tells him for how long. Nobody tells him what her chances are. At least, not verbally, because their faces tell him rather straight , that the chances don't look very good..

He wants to yell, he wants to crush things and smash them into the wall. He wants to kick Beckett's ass for her stupid bravery. He wants to help her and he can't. So when the shrill ring of his phone startles him out of his stupor, he is thankful, he is glad to do something besides waiting.

"Esposito!" He barks into the receiver, sighing when he hears his partner's worried voice. "No, Kev, still no news. She's in surgery. It looks bad…" He takes a minute as he listens to Ryan's questions. Runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes tight, pressing two calloused fingers against the lids, then pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, you should have seen those cars... Have you reached her Dad yet? Okay, bro, keep trying."


Kevin presses redial for the 47th time and lets out a loud sigh. His patience finally gets its reward in the shape of the soothingly confident voice of Jim Beckett.

" Hello?"

"Mr. Beckett, this is Detective Kevin Ryan – I work with your daughter? I'm not sure if you remember me..." The cop asked, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

"Ah, yes. I remember you." The older man replied. "Is everything okay? Where is Katie? Did anything happen?"

So many questions, all at once. In a way, it sounds like an interrogation. Is it some kind of family trait or does this man actually sense that something's going on?

"Uh…Mr. Beckett, I think it will be better if you sit down right now."

Ugh, great. Quite the pep talk.

"What happened, Ryan?!"

"Mr. Beckett, I'm so sorry, but there has been an accident. Your daughter, she is…"

"What? What happened to Katie? Where is she? Is she - Is she alive?"

The voice on the other end starts to break, desperate and short of breath.

"Y-Yeah. Yes, she is still alive. But the injuries she got are rather serious, so I guess she is gonna be in surgery for another couple of hours or so. The doctors haven't said anything yet."

There is a pregnant silence and then, "Right. What hospital?"

"New York-Presbyterian."

The call ends, and for a couple of seconds, there is only silence and the long beeps of his phone in the background.


It is confusing. She has never heard her son this urgent and… well, scared. He sounded completely terrified when they talked on the phone and for a second she thought he had lost his mind. Getting out of the city? Whatever it is her son thinks is going on, it has to be serious.

She takes a look at her granddaughter, hunched in the corner of the town car, going through her phone absentmindedly, a frown in her face. She must be worried too.

"Hey, kiddo. It's going to be ok." She says reassuringly, reaching out and taking the teen's hand in hers. "You know your father. He's a bigger drama queen than I am sometimes."

Alexis smiles, nodding softly. "You think he's ok? He said he was coming too, right?"

"Yes. He was in a cab. Probably out of town by now, darling. Don't worry."

She has just finished pronouncing the last word, when her own phone comes to life, startling both of them.

Unknown number.

"Yes?" She answers, her voice caught.

"Hello. Could I talk to Mrs. Rodgers?" A female voice asks.

Martha takes a deep breath and squeezes her granddaughter's hand. "Yes. This is she."

"Mrs. Rogers, my name is Susan Collins, I am a doctor at New York-Presbyterian." The woman introduces herself. "I am calling about your son, Richard Castle?"

"Richard?" She gasps, trying to keep her voice low and calm, even though she feels Alexis stiffen at her side. "Is he ok? What happened?"

"There was an accident, ma'am. He's not in good shape. We need you to come ASAP."

"Oh my god! Of course, of course." She nothing but whispers into the receiver. "We'll be there soon. Thanks for calling."

Martha clicks the phone off and turns to look at the already terrified teen at her side. "Darling, I need you to stay calm. That was a doctor calling. Your father's in hospital, there has been an accident…"

Alexis' eyes go wide in horror and she pulls her closer to her, her arm around the girl's shoulders and her cheek on top of her head. "He's going to be fine. You'll see."

"Excuse me!" She adds, knocking on the crystal screen separating them from the driver. "May you, please, turn around? We need to head back to the city. New York-Presbyterian. And fast."


This is the worst headache anyone could ever experience. And this strange feeling... must be exactly what "hit by a milk truck" actually means. There are no thoughts, only some hurly fragments, twisted and smudgy and then –. Then suddenly all the memories flood back in – the bomb, the chase, the crash – Alexis! If the bomb had exploded what happened to Alexis?

"Who is Alexis?" A raspy voice asks.

"My… my daughter."

Beckett opens her heavy-lidded eyes only to find herself face to face with the stunned faces of her partners, looking at her like she had grown a second head.

"But – uh. You don't have a daughter, Beckett. At least that we know of..." Esposito is the first to break the silence.

Beckett's head is pounding trying to process his words. A daughter? What the hell is he talking about?

"Of course I don't have a daughter. What are you talking about? What…What happened?"

"Who is there?! What's going on?"

How strange. She thinks she has heard someone else's voice. A man whispering. The walls in this hospital must be really thin.

"The bomb didn't go off. But the woman was really scared, so she pressed the gas pedal instead of brakes. Got your car smashed into a cab. Honestly, you are lucky to be alive."

"The bomb? You mean the dirty bomb?"

That voice again. Must be another victim talking in the next room.

"Yeah, Beckett. You must have been born with a silver spoon or somethin'. Been in a coma for what, a week? We started to think that you'd never wake up again."

"Who is Beckett? And where am I?"

And there it is again. What the hell?

"Where is my Dad? Is he here?"

"Whose Dad? Does anyone care to explain?!"

Ok. She needs to calm down. It's just some weird effect these drugs are having on her.

Esposito nods. "He had to leave for some meeting for a couple of hours, but he's been here every minute he could."

"Do you even hear me?" The voice asks. Those drugs must be the strongest stuff for sure.

"Montgomery drops by pretty often, too. " Ryan adds.

"You'd probably better pretend to be asleep though. The man is furious"

The boys chuckle, both pleased with this shared joke. But their laughter is soon drowned in the damn voice echoing in her skull.

"Where am I?!"

"Oh, will you just shut up already?!"

She would find comical the way her boys are looking at her now -both utterly bewildered. They exchange funny glances and raise from their chairs, walking towards the door in sync, closing it after themselves as softly as possible.

Beckett groans, sinking her head back into the pillow, exhausted, puzzled and slightly ashamed.

"What the hell just happened?" She mumbled out loud, covering her face with both hands.

"I have no idea"

Oh god. This can NOT be happening.

TBC...

Let us know what you think! Thanks for reading.