Summary: After the events of Knockdown, Beckett is feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable and decides to overindulge at The Old Haunt. When danger ensues, who else but Castle will come to her rescue?
Disclaimer: All characters, settings, etc. associated with Castle are the properties of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: So this is my first foray into Castle fanfic, which I just can't get enough of. This will be a two-parter, and the higher rating is for moderate violence and some language. Hope you enjoy and all reviews are appreciated.
And It Spread
New York is the kind of city that will eat you whole if you let it. Lives disappear down the gutter like so much rain, the only witness a scattered pigeon eavesdropping from the tawdry awnings.
She would know, after all. She's seen it happen a hundred, a thousand times, but it never really gets any easier. You learn to cope, to ignore the crushing sense of empathy caused by every blank face, but that doesn't get rid of the flicker of sadness that goes with each case. Whatever promise that life held is gone, never to return.
And every time Detective Kate Beckett realizes this she sees just a trace of her mother's face, staring blankly up at her from behind their eyes. Searching for justice, wondering why her daughter has yet to find her killer. Didn't you love me, Kate? Can't you at least find the man who did this and let me rest in peace? Why won't you help me?
But these ghosts are hers, not her mother's. Her mother would never have watched her despair so much over something she couldn't change, but that doesn't rid her of her torment at coming so close. Again. First Coonan, and now Raglan, taken away from her before she finally got the truth. It was like someone was playing a sick joke on her, far removed from the coy pranks she had come to expect from Castle.
Castle. She smiles softly as she thinks of him.
He'd reassured her they would find the truth with or without Raglan, and though she would never admit it to him, she'd come to rely entirely on his unwavering belief in her. There had been a time after her mother's death when only conviction had fueled her, that and a blind sense of reckoning. But after the shoot-out last night, she'd almost lost faith in her ability to solve the most important case of her life.
But not Castle - he believed in her. More than that, he knew without a doubt that she would solve it, that they would figure it out together. As much of a thorn in her side as he'd once been, Richard Castle was now one of the most important people in her life. She trusted him implicitly, and in her small world that meant more than she could say.
She only hopes she won't let him down. Her fingers brush her lips unwittingly as she thinks of the way he kissed her last night, the way he looked at her. Like a man dying of thirst would look at water, drowning in the thought of it.
She'd never felt anything like that before, not with anyone. She had no idea what it meant, or how to even begin to contemplate what it meant. And then she'd kissed him back, and deep down she knew it had been for more than just the sake of their cover.
She winced, pressing her fingers against her aching temples. She wasn't ready to deal with it, and probably wouldn't be for some time. There was just too much pain swirling around her, clamoring for acknowledgment. Part of her knew she needed to solve her mother's case before she'd ever really be able to move on to…whatever it was that she and Castle were.
Beckett looked up, getting her bearings, and notices for the first time that she's only a block away from The Old Haunt. She'd brought herself to the squad's newest after work hangout, unconsciously seeking the comfort that familiarity brings.
She doesn't want to go home to her empty apartment. Ryan and Esposito both had the day off after the events of last night, and she'd told Castle to go home and be with his daughter hours ago. He'd tried to insist she come home and spend the evening with them, but she'd preferred just the company of her scattered thoughts.
She looks at her watch. 11:38. Still early, especially for a Friday night. The light spilling out from the bar's casement windows is warm and inviting, and though she doesn't consider herself much of a drinker, she thinks perhaps she's earned it tonight.
She pushes open the door, shutting out the chill night air, and spots an empty booth tucked away in the back. There's a twenty-something college student playing quiet music on a mandolin on the small stage. Perfect.
Several hours and several highballs later, and only a few scattered patrons are left in the historical tavern. It's after two and the mandolin player stopped playing over half hour ago, collecting his meager tips as he went. The bartender is counting change in the register, a good cue that it's time to leave.
She stands up shakily, partially from pure exhaustion, but given the heady sense of intoxication she feels it's probably more from the large amount of alcohol she's consumed. She fumbles in her jacket pocket for her phone, thanking the fact she's got a cab on speed dial. Her head is pounding already, and she's not sure if she can manage as many numbers as normal dialing requires.
But her phone is silent. The battery is dead. Shit.
Sighing, she remembers that she's seen an antique looking payphone in the back by the washrooms here before, and makes her way wearily through the empty bar.
The corridor is dimly lit and quiet, the only sound the gentle clink of the coins being counted by the bartender out front. She fumbles for a quarter, trying to remember the ridiculously easy number for the cab company, but instead spills the contents of her pocket all over the floor.
'Shit!' she mutters under her breath, the coins rolling everywhere. Sighing, she stoops to pick them up, searching for the elusive quarter-
Slam! Her body is suddenly bashed against the wall, knocking all the breath out of her. The upward sensation catches her completely off guard, and she feels her head spin sickeningly out of control. A large, rough hand clamps over her mouth. The other presses across her torso to prevent her from moving, crushing her so firmly she can barely breathe.
The man shuffles her wordlessly towards the emergency exit at the end of the corridor, her back never leaving the wall. Kicking the door open with one foot, he pulled her into the alley behind the bar, which she sees immediately is dark and empty.
Fear began to creep up the back of her neck, hot and prickly, but even in her drink-ridden state her years of training force her to remain calm. Her brain begins presenting her with options as he slams her against the brick wall of the alley, pressing his entire body against her to keep her in place.
Her gun is still in its holster, in her jacket, inside on the floor of corridor. If she can free her hands she's fairly confident she can incapacitate him long enough to run back inside for help, but his body is like dead weight against hers, immovable.
He stares into her wide eyes. 'I don't want to hurt you, but if you make one sound, I'll kill you.'
His breath is hot and stinking, but it doesn't smell like alcohol. Somehow that fact fills her with even more fear. His free hand is all over her, ripping away the buttons from her blouse until it's floating open. Cold air hits her bare skin, causing gooseflesh to cover her entire body.
She screams mutely under his hand, feeling herself starting to panic. Her body is operating on instinct and adrenaline alone, and takes advantage of his wandering hand. Her right knee shoots upward with as much force as she can muster, landing squarely on his groin.
She waits for his body to withdraw as he groans loudly, and bolts from behind him as fast as she can. But her reflexes are compromised by the booze and she fumbles, giving him the chance to grab her by the wrist. He spins her towards him.
'Bitch!' he cries, hitting her so hard across the face she sees stars, and suddenly she's sprawled against the pavement, rough asphalt scraping her exposed skin.
'Help! I'm being assaulted! Help!' she screams, but he's looming over her again, hand poised to strike for a second time-
But suddenly someone is there, pulling him off of her with surprising force. A trickle of blood drips in her eyes, clouding her vision. She watches as the stranger picks up a spare beam from the alley floor, wielding it like a bat against her attacker.
'Leave her alone, you bastard.'
Her heart stops. She knows that voice.
'This is none of your business, asshole.'
'Au contraire. People terrorizing innocent women outside of my bar are most definitely my business.'
Her attacker laughs. 'You own this dump? You should really con-'
But Castle doesn't give him the chance to finish. The bat is hurtling against the side of the man's face in less than a second, and he hits the ground with a satisfying thud, out cold.
'Ha!' cried Castle, too pleased with his own daring to restrain himself. The bravado is gone in an instant, however, as he turns his attention towards the woman on the alley floor.
She hears his breath stop the instant he sees her. His face contorts painfully, deadly white, as she watches the awful realization spread over him.
'Beckett?' he whispers roughly. 'Kate?'
For a moment she forgets to keep breathing, as their eyes meet across the dirty alley. But then she's crashing back to reality, her body shuddering violently as she struggles to maintain some kind of composure.
And suddenly he's kneeling next to her on the ground, his hands skirting gently over her arms, her legs, checking for broken bones, checking to make sure she's real and still very much alive. His fingertips brush over the spot where she was hit, causing her to inhale sharply. She can already feel an ugly bruise forming.
His face is just inches away from hers. His eyes, normally so bright, are dull as he wipes the blood from her face with his handkerchief, clouded with hurt. She can sense the anger lurking behind his composed exterior, a protectiveness so fierce it makes him seem almost foreign to her. The same inexplicable fear she felt outside of the warehouse rises in her as he continues to stare at her, a cool sense of surety in his eyes. Afraid, perhaps, of seeing something she'd never quite allowed herself to believe.
'Kate,' he whispers, stroking her hair absently. His voice is so tender that she feels herself begin to come undone, the awful truth of what almost happened tonight refusing to be ignored any longer.
'Castle, I-' she begins, her voice thick with tears, when the door to the bar opened behind them with a bang.
They both started, looking up from the alley floor. It was the bartender.
He looked down on the strange scene hesitantly. 'Is everything all right, Mr. Castle?'
'Call the police, Peter,' he said. 'And make sure they bring an ambulance.'
She squirmed at the mention of the word ambulance. Hospitals were not on her list of favorite places.
'Castle, no, I really don't want-'
But the look he gave her silenced her instantly. 'You're being looked at by a doctor, Beckett.'
He spoke with such resolve that she couldn't even object. She didn't think she'd ever seen him so serious about anything.
The wind rose suddenly, blowing her loose top around her small frame, causing her to shudder with cold. She looked down. Her stomach was a mess of cuts and scratches, her clothing torn beyond repair.
She glanced at Castle, feeling his eyes follow over the cuts and bruises, assessing the damage. He looked back at her after a few seconds and blushed, caught staring where he shouldn't.
She was too exhausted to care about the fact that she was half-naked in front of him, though part of her was silently touched that he was embarrassed for her. All she really wanted was to go home and sink into her bed before she lost control completely.
He seemed to sense her growing discomfort. 'C'mon, let's get you inside out of the cold,' he said, lifting her gently from the ground in both his arms.
'Castle, I can walk,' she argued, but he silenced her with another look from his cool blue eyes.
'Quiet, Detective Beckett,' he said, eyes never leaving hers. 'That's a order. Let someone take care of you for a change.'
Sighing, she gave in, her body relaxing into the security of his strong embrace.
'What about him?' she asked with disgust, gesturing to the man still unconscious on the alley floor.
'Don't worry, he's not going anywhere. I was an all-star hitter in college.'
Castle carried her into the bar, sitting her in a booth while Peter fetched ice from behind the bar. Castle retrieved Beckett's gun from the back corridor, and she felt immediately better having it close at hand again.
A detail of uniforms arrived minutes later with the paramedics, arresting the now-conscious man while the EMT looked over Beckett.
'All of these injuries are mostly superficial,' the young paramedic told her, 'but I'd still like you to come down to Mercy for an MRI to rule out any head trauma.'
'No,' she said, standing shakily from the table. Castle was instantly at her side, an arm around her waist for support.
'Kate, you should go to the hospital.'
'No,' she said again. 'I'm fine, Castle. I'll go down to the precinct on Monday and give my statement. Please, I just want to go home.'
He looked at her, still reluctant to let her walk away without being thoroughly checked over.
'Please, Castle,' she replied wearily, her eyes pleading with him. 'Just take me home.'
His face was a jumbled mix of doubt and compassion. Finally, she saw his resolve crack.
'Ok, Beckett. I'll take you home. You're safe with me.'