Story
I heard the shots, three of them.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
My heart clenched in terror, I wanted nothing more than to yank the door open and make sure she was alright, but I couldn't move, I couldn't even breathe.
Some partner you are, I screamed at myself.
Finally mustering up the courage, I threw myself into the room. The killer was gone, probably on his way to an airport by now, if Ryan and Esposito don't pick him up, but she was still there.
"Beckett," I mumbled, staggering over to her side. She had two gunshot wounds, so she must have injured the killer, Detective Kate Beckett of the NYPD missing a shot at close range? Unthinkable, impossible, unimaginable, almost as ludicrous as her being killed by one of the murderers we chase down.
And yet.
"Castle," she was gasping for air, her chest rising and falling with each battle to live she won, "Why couldn't you help me? Why did you let me get shot?"
"I don't know," I sobbed, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. Beckett, Kate, please!"
I blinked, shaken from the memories of the nightmare. I looked at her, drinking in the sight of her half smile as she tried to cover her amusement, the way her hair fell at her shoulders, dancing around her neck. He eyes shone with mirth, and life. Her breath was easy, routine. She was alive.
"I'm fine," I answered, "Nothing to worry about."
"Who said I was worrying?" she asked, "Come on, road trip, we need to talk to the victim's wife again, she was lying about her whereabouts, her neighbours say she was having an affair."
"Juicy," I murmured out of habit, and followed her out of the precinct.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I flinched as the knife the wife was holding slammed against the table three times.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Stop jumping Castle," Beckett scolded, "What's got into you?"
"Nothing," I lied, forcing the irrational fear away.
"I don't know where you got this information from," the wife snarled at us, "But the relationship between Patrick and myself is not sexual."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"That's not what Patrick says," I told her, "He described in incriminating detail what you two got up to when your husband was at work."
Her mouth opened and shut in horror, before her shoulders slumped in defeat, and thankfully the put the knife down.
"So I hand an affair," she whispered, "That doesn't make me a killer."
"No," Beckett agreed, "But it does give you motive. I'm going to have to ask you to refrain from leaving the country please."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
She'd picked up the knife again. I jumped, my eyes darting to Beckett, who sighed in exasperation. We left.
I tried to ignore Beckett in the car, but it's hard when said Detective was observing you like you were her latest murder case. Her eyes brightened in recognition, and she smacked her hand against the dashboard.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I flinched, involuntarily glancing at her.
"What is with you and three bangs?" Beckett exclaimed, "You've been flinching all day. What is wrong Castle?"
"I had a nightmare," I tried to shrug it off, "No biggie."
"No dice Castle," she cut me off, "It's bigger than that. Why can't you trust me? We're partners."
My shoulders slumped in defeat. She had to go and guilt trip me. Beckett was still staring at me expectantly.
"You were shot," I whispered finally, "I was waiting outside the room. There were three shots."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I shuddered, "I was too frightened to go in the room, but eventually I did. The killer had run, but you were on the floor, two holes in your chest. You were choking, you couldn't breathe, and you asked me why I didn't help you, why I didn't have your back. You died."
"Castle," she said, but I kept my head down, "Richard."
That caught my attention, I met her eyes, and they were filled with compassion and understanding. I half-smiled and shrugged.
"Sorry for being jumpy," I apologised.
"Castle," she said, "Do you remember when I freaked out every time I heard someone uncork a bottle?"
I nodded, "I thought you were just surprised."
She smiled sadly, "You'd been poisoned, I didn't see soon enough."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Squeal. Pop.