Author's Note: All the usual disclaimers that Castle does not belong to myself in any way whatsoever. This is an AU fic set somewhere between late S6-ish with an engaged Caskett. Thanks for reading.
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A horrific crash had turned many of the roads between Kate's location and the 12th Precinct into a glorified parking lot. Kevin and Javier were doing their best to make their way over to her but the effect of the fatal chain of collisions triggered by a garbage truck ploughing into the side of a coach, was unprecedented, something that the borough had never seen before. Tired commuters sought alternate routes via side streets, which quickly became congested when others caught onto the notion that it may be quicker. A flashing gumball only helped when there was space for other cars to move into – her partners were still, at best, ten minutes away. Kate Beckett couldn't wait that long.
She had been making her way back to the precinct when she received a call that Kip Armstrong was home. Armstrong was a person of interest in a murder case from a few months ago that had gone cold.
'This is Detective Kate Beckett. Badge number 41319. Do you have an update on my request for back-up?' Kate said into her car's police radio.
There was a delay of a few seconds before there was a crackle and then a response. 'ETA is five minutes. Sorry Detective Beckett.' The original ETA had been ten minutes and that had been ten minutes ago.
'Not your fault dispatch. Thank you.' She hung up the two-way handset and sighed. Usually, her husband-to-be would be sitting in the passenger seat beside her and usually, whether she liked it or not, he would don that ridiculous 'WRITER' emblazoned Kevlar vest and he would be her back-up. Sometimes she would even go as far as handing him her back-up piece. Right now, Richard Castle was in his office writing – or supposed to be, at least – to meet a deadline that already had to have been pushed back twice. She did not have the luxury of having him by her side and she would be damned if she had to wait any longer to get her hands on the next Nikki Heat book.
Her finger scrolled through the contacts on her phone, stopping at Javier Esposito's number. It hovered over the call option as she weighed up whether to ring for a third time. Then she heard a door swinging shut. She looked up from her phone and looked straight ahead, making direct eye contact with the paranoid son-of-bitch. Armstrong.
Kip Armstrong held her gaze for a beat and that beat was all it took for him to remember her from their brief encounter a few hours after Molly Austin's body was discovered. Back then he had been a supposedly grieving boyfriend; right now he was Kate Beckett's number one suspect and he was fleeing.
'NYPD!' She wasn't even going to ask him to stop – that would be as futile as it was to call out that she was a cop.
He gained another few seconds on her as she fumbled to get out of her car but he was an amateur at this. Kate had run races like this for past ten years of her life and she was already closing the distance the second her feet touched the pavement. He took a sharp right, leaving her view momentarily but failed to capitalize and was back in her sight as soon as she rounded the corner. The streets, unlike the roads, were thankfully relatively empty. Armstrong kept pushing but Kate kept pushing harder and she made out the make of his sneakers before he took another right turn.
As she made the turn too, she saw the flash of brick ahead of her signaling a dead end and signaling her to draw her gun. Glock drawn, her eyes scanned for a target.
Armstrong launched himself at her before she spotted him hiding behind a rusting dumpster. He went headfirst into her stomach before she time to react, sending her to the concrete. She couldn't breathe as her nails scratched the ground in search of her fallen Glock. Armstrong kept up the offensive with a fist to her face as he scrambled to his feet. He kicked her twice in the ribs, delivered another blow to her stomach before he turned, all set on leaving her there until she grabbed his ankle.
This wasn't over yet.
The ankle grab didn't ground him but it knocked him off balance and gave her an extra second to regroup and draw her back-up weapon. 'Try me.' Now it was over.
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It was late evening – the back of eight, to be precise – when she finally slid her key into the door of the apartment she shared with her fiancé. After uniforms had hauled Armstrong off to a holding cell in the 12th, she had been herself hauled off to the nearest hospital. An inconvenience, yes, but unfortunately a necessity with the cut she had received above her left eye needing stitches to close it. Then it was back to the precinct to sit down with the son of a bitch who tried to play her ribs like a xylophone.
Kip Armstrong confessed to the murder of his girlfriend and Kate could finally go home to her love who she had no intention of ever harming, even though she joked about it constantly.
'Look who's-.' The writer didn't finish his sentence as he looked up from his laptop and saw her slightly swollen temple and the very noticeable stitches. He was out of his desk chair. 'What happened?'
Kate walked into his arms and lay the side of her face that didn't hurt, against his chest. 'You should see the other guy.'
'I'm fairly certain I can see the imprint of his fist right now.'
'More than likely.'
He kissed the top of her head, letting a few seconds pass. 'Is there anything you need? Something to eat? An ice-pack? Alcohol?'
Alcohol. That would sound damn good if she was certain she could have it and not throw it back up. Getting kicked in the stomach was a bitch. 'No thanks. To all of it.' She tugged on his shirt. 'I just want bed. And you. Where are you in your draft?'
He squinted in thought. 'About a few paragraphs away from finishing a chapter.'
She patted his chest. 'Finish it. And then join me.'
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Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, please considering leaving a review etc. I'll try to update at least once a week, more likely twice a week! :)