So I arrived late to the game on Castle, and now that I'm caught up with the show I thought I'd run with an idea. I don't own them, but you already knew that. Set in season 6. Cannon up too "Room 147" which is when I started writing.
Kate Beckett packed her small duffle bag quickly, throwing in everything that her brain, still addled with shock, could mark as essential. Clothes, her passport, all the clips she had for her spare piece, her bottle of Xanax, and the key to the storage garage where she kept her Softtail all got stuffed into together.
Moving quickly and pragmatically, she snatched her copy of "In a Hail of Bullets" off the half-bookcase by her bed and shook it out. The five one-hundred dollar bills that she kept there for emergencies fluttered on onto the bed, and she stuffed them into her pocket.
There were several plans piecing together in her brain. None of them were ideal. A few of them were flat out stupid. Still, keeping her mind set on working through the problem propelled her forward and kept the panic at bay.
She looked down at the dress she had worn to her rehearsal dinner, the blood was spattered upwards over the elegant navy material in a dark spotted wave. The edges of the stain were already starting to turn brown, a sign that she was taking too long. There could be others.
She ducked into the bathroom, and slipped into the jeans and the soft gray long sleeve shirt she had laid out before the shower that she had never gotten to take. She ran the tap and used a hand towel to clean the dots of blood spatter off her neck and face. The mirror was not showing her the same woman she had been a few hours ago. Purple lines were already visible at her throat where fingers had cut into her skin. The edge of her left eye was already a deep spotted red on it's way to being a matching purple. Fortunately, the swelling was minor, and while it throbbed in sync with her split lip adrenalin kept the pain from registering.
The changes went deeper that her injuries though. That excited, bordering on enchanted, woman from early had been replaced by a figure of the past, the angry and wounded soul she had spent the better part of two years trying not to be anymore. Kate closed her eyes and tried to let determination push her other self back again. It was a struggle.
It felt as if the sickest joke had just been played on her. The universe had lulled her into thinking she could be happy, that it wasn't wrong to have what she wanted, before doing it's very best to rip everything from her. Her breathing was labored as she had to actively remember to take air into her lungs. She was stronger than this, she knew that, but in that moment it was hard for her to remember.
She left the water running as she glided back into the bedroom for her cell phone. Using the small note pad from her case work she scribbled down a couple of crucial numbers, as another course of action began to reveal itself to her. She added the note pad to the sundry items in her bag. Then she held her thumb to the phone's center button as she returned to the bathroom, watched the little screen blink off, and snapped it in half. For good measure she dropped into the water pooling in the sink.
Her Sig, badge, and holster were still at the loft. There had been no reason to think she needed them tonight. The edge of the bed creaked as she sat to pull on the deep purple chucks Castle had bought her, insisting she should have at least one pair of sensible shoes. Next came the fastenings of the ankle holster for her off-duty piece.
The gun was still warm as she slid it into the holster and bile threatened to rise up her throat. She had to close her eyes again and take another few deep breathes. A rogue thought ran past in her mind that Dr. Burke would be extremely proud of how well she had fended off the panic attacks in the past twenty minutes.
Picking up the dufflebag she headed back into her kitchen and picked up the brown leather jacket that had been abandoned over the counter. Part of the counter had splintered where bullets had silently cut into the molding. She dusted the wood chips off the jacket and slipped it on.
It was far too big for her, and earlier that evening it had clashed horribly with her dress. Castle had made her take it with her when they parted after dinner. He said the weatherman had predicted the start of a minor cold snap, and while she had rolled her eyes at him she had not refused his chivalry. It smelled like a mix of the loft and his cologne. She could almost feel his arms wrapped around her, and she had to cover her mouth to hold back the cry that threaten to escape her.
The crest of emotion settled and as the tide receded she gathered herself. She could do this. She had yet to be beaten, and as her living room now evidenced, she still had quite a bit of fight in her. Her eyes fell to the corner on the room then. The shattered glass of the lamp and cracked wood of the end table she had crashed through ended right in front of her wedding dress which still hung undisturbed.
The dim light from the street lamps outside caught in the Austrian crystal of the gown and painted little stars across the body lying a few feet from it, adding a hint of illumination to the assassin's otherwise empty eyes.
Tearing her gaze away she stepped out into the hall, not bothering to lock the door behind her.
It was time to make a stand.
A/N: Thoughts? Also, if anyone wants to be my beta shoot me a pm. As my abysmal comma usage probably clued you in, I don't have one.