Hey, guys! I know, I know. I shouldn't start a new fic since I have to others to update, but I honestly love getting requests and adding them.
So, the request: "International spy, Katherine Beckett, protecting her predecessor's son from harm. What could possibly go wrong?"
Note: Any Russian that I use is mostly translated. I know some Russian, but not enough to be fluent or to say I am a master. So, please keep that in mind!
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Rated M for language and later chapters.
His blue eyes flickered across the room for the billionth time that night, catching a glimpse of a woman clad in a blue dress that stopped mid-thigh. Her short, dark locks just tickling the gap between bare skin and where the lace of her collar started that. He hadn't seen her face, hadn't even recognized her as a guest he had invited to his after party, but he hadn't complained, really. She was gorgeous.
"Richard," a blonde called out, her lips nearly brushing his ear. "You have guests who are waiting to talk to you, and I have people to call to book tours," she hummed out.
"Right," he murmured, shrugging her off. "Who is that?" He asked, tipping his champagne glass in the directions of the woman, his blue eyes flickering off of her for just a second.
"Who?"
He turned back, the spot where the mysterious woman once stood, finding it now vacant and empty. She had just been there, hadn't she? Or was it his imagination getting him for the eighth time that week? He'd hallucinated black SUVs tailing his cabs and limos, men he'd seen hours or days before appearing wherever he had, but every time he turned back or called on someone, they'd be gone.
"Richard, you have to relax," the blonde insisted. "As much publicity as you would get for convincing the press you're on drugs, I'm sure that would be bad publicity," she pointed out. "I don't need your fans in a riot over some stupid act."
He sighed, a hand running through his hair as he looked around. Flickering from person to person, outfit to outfit, he dismissed his ex-wife, murmuring incoherently at what she had said. He didn't care about what the press thought, but he was starting to feel like a mad-man. Moving away, leaving the blonde stunned as he ignored her, he took a deep breath and tried his hardest to start a conversation with some of the guests.
However, ten minutes into his conversation, he caught the familiar blue out of the corner of his eye, turning to find her playing around the fire escape. Her delicate hand pressing against the door as she checked it for something, and for a moment, he waited for the alarms to go off.
"Excuse me," he murmured to the men he'd been talking to, stepping out of the poorly formed circle of awkward chit-chat. Setting his empty glass down, he started to make his way towards her.
The sudden jerk of her head caused him to halt, his eyes drifting in the direction she was staring at. One of the hired staff seemed to glare towards her, sweat dripping down his face. Blue orbs flickered back to stare at the woman, contentment and excitement sketched onto her feature as if she was waiting to play a game.
Tension built in the room. Thick and hazy, things blurred together, his chest desperate to inhale. Objects started to tilt and twirl, one step forward becoming too much for his suddenly heavy muscles, he greeted the tiles of the floor. Unforgiving, hard, sudden screams of horror and terror, louds bangs, and a flurry of feet, he was left forgotten. No one stopped, no one helped him breathe. His body had gone into complete shock and his jaw was locked in place as bitter liquid, a taste of something stale and tart, plagued him. His chest tightened in panic, his body limp.
I'm done. I'm going to die.
But then there was sudden warmth as he was rolled onto his back, two hands moving to rest against his cheeks while he was positioned comfortable into someone's lap. He couldn't turn his head, couldn't see anything but the blinding lights of the building.
"Mr. Castle," a voice called out, sounding far and muffled against the blood rushing in his head.
His blue orbs fought back against the tears forming, fear building inside of him. Suddenly, soft hazel eyes were hovering over him. It was her. Had she done something to him? Why hadn't she run?
"This is going to hurt," she told him, her voice thick and deep with an accent he had yet to register completely, but he decided he didn't care.
What's going to hurt? He desperately wanted to rock away when he felt one hand move from his cheek, moving to grab something beside her. He watched intently as she raised a syringe to her mouth, teeth biting the cap as she unsheathed it.
Getting ready, she seemed almost apologetic. "This will help with your paralysis," she explained. "And it will react against the poison in your system," she murmured, fist wrapping around it before pounding it down against his chest, the needle piercing through his suit.
His body twitched, arching up as the pain coursed through him. Sonovabitch! He wanted to swear, to ask her what the hell was going on, but the pain eased away as her thumb stroked his cheek for a few moments before she moved, gently resting his head against the tiles.
"You will have to wait a few minutes, Mr. Castle," she told him. Her delicate fingers scrapped against his hand before a heavy metal was pushed into his palm. "In case they comeback, you should find this…. Eh… useful."
With that, she stood. His head lolled to the side, watching as her black heels moved against the floor, the woman all but jogging in them with a gun in hand. Where did she even keep a gun? Had she taken it from those who started shooting before? He blinked, mouth parting but nothing coming out as he struggled to move.
"Они взяли по лестнице," she yelled, but he had no idea to whom.
Russian, he thought to himself. Her accent is Russian.