So it's Mobazan27's fault, again. This is AU from Boom, which was merely a jumping off point. Beckett has been a little more injured than the episode, her apartment is considerably more wrecked, and she is not present once CSU start on her apartment. All discontinuities from canon are deliberate. Thanks to DrDit92 and WRTRD for correcting my American, and to DX2012 for encouragement.
1: Stop all the clocks
He's had a few watches, down the last few years. The one he bought with his first best-seller royalties, a bit flashy, obviously expensive: look at me I've arrived. He still has that one, carefully put away. Since then, he's had several, more tasteful, more discreet (that would surprise a number of people) and some full of interesting gadgets. He hasn't been attached to any of them, they've been a way to tell the time and have something to play with when he's really bored, or his phone's run out of battery, or he isn't at the precinct or otherwise staring at Beckett.
Beckett has one watch. It has, according to her, been hers for the last five years. He's never seen her wear another. It's her father's: a symbol of his rehabilitation, or resurrection. He's never pried into that relationship: he doesn't dare. It's a can of potential worms he doesn't want or need to open.
Except now her watch is shattered. Blown up, with the rest of her apartment and very nearly her. It wasn't until he'd got her out, wrapped in his jacket (he tries very hard not to think that she was naked in his arms and now he knows what she looks like unclad), that he realised that her necklace and watch – her mother's ring on its chain and her father's watch – were still in there, and so when the EMTs had shooed him away and he'd told Beckett he was going to see if he could get her some clothes and refused to listen to any protest of any sort at all – and he will suffer for it, he is sure – he had gone back.
He'd thought it was a fool's errand, initially. The firefighters, then CSU, had smiled at him, and not asked too much about his reasons. CSU had reassured him, and told him to tell Beckett, that they'd be done before tomorrow. He supposes that they must understand the need to preserve that which can be preserved, in the face of disaster. He'd searched her scorched, charred bureau, and found the chain and ring in it, a little dirty, but intact, together with – how amazingly fortunate – her wallet. The watch… well, he'd found the main pieces. He thinks he had, anyway.
Standing in the wreckage of the apartment, it comes home to him hard that if he'd not spotted the discontinuity, if he hadn't phoned and kept phoning, if she hadn't picked up just in time and dived for the limited protection of the bathtub – he'd be looking at her charred corpse, not a charred bureau. He dives for the filthy toilet and throws up till his stomach is empty and his throat raw with acid. He could have lost her, without ever finding her. He could have lost her and she'd never have known how he felt. He could have lost her.
He could have lost her without he ever realising how he felt. When the apartment blew and he was still on the corner frantically redialling and redialling… there in the flames it all became clear. He loves her, with all that he is.
But. He can't dwell on that now, no matter how much he wants to. He's been here too long: buying a quick set of clothes to cover her would only take a few moments, and he needs to get back, get on with it, get her. She's got nowhere to sleep – her bed is blown to splinters and threads. He nearly throws up again.
He leaves, hurriedly, sympathetic glances from CSU following him. Over the still-present nausea, he snaps into action. Contrary to his public, easy-going, casually disorganised charming self, he is actually pretty effective when he has a goal in mind. Right now, he has a goal. One goal, in several parts. None of which he intends to mention to Beckett.
He brings up his contact list and starts with the name of a clothes service which he knows can get just about anything out of just about any fabric.
"Jackie," he says smoothly. "Rick Castle." There's a delighted squeal.
"Rick! Long time no see. How've you been?"
"I'm fine, Jackie. I need your specialised talents and ability to get any stain out of anything if it's possible at all."
"Sure, Rick. What is it this time? Blood, mud, other fluids too disgusting to mention on the phone?"
"No. Smoke, a little light charring, burns."
"What? Are you okay? What's happened?"
"Not me, Jackie. A friend. Her apartment blew up and I wanna see if any of her clothes are salvageable. Will you have a look for me, if I meet you there tomorrow?"
"Sure, Rick," Jackie says again. "No problem. When d'you want me to take a look?"
"Can we make it early? Eight?"
"Sure. Might get it done before nine, that way."
"Thanks, Jackie. I owe you. Till tomorrow."
"Bye."
He wanders a little further down the street, and has a similar conversation with a furniture restorer of his acquaintance, for eight-fifteen, and then with a bookseller. He hasn't let on, and he doesn't think that Beckett has quite worked it out in full though she's certainly suspicious, that he has pretty close to an eidetic memory and that two nights ago, while she was apparently sleeping (he's not quite sure about that), he'd read down the shelves of her bookcase and the titles of all her books. He thinks that with a little effort and some help he can first list them and secondly replace them. Though maybe not Patterson's. He doesn't need his sales boosted. Or Connelly's, for that matter.
He flicks into a cheap shop, acquires a navy t-shirt and sweats, and hurries back to the bus. Despite the length of time he's been away, matters are still under investigation. Specifically, the EMTs are trying to investigate Beckett, who is trying to investigate the case. It doesn't appear that either is successful.
"Where are Ryan and Esposito?" he hears, as he approaches, in the unmistakeable tones of very irritated Beckett. "Give me my phone back."
"Ms" –
"Detective!" Clearly that mistake has been made several times already.
"Detective, you do not have a phone." The EMT's patience has clearly snapped. "It was blown up. As were you. Now lie down, shut up, and let me do a proper exam or I will take you to hospital to do it there. And I can absolutely guarantee that if I have to do that you will wait all night for it to be done."
There is an infuriated mutter.
"Beckett?" Castle says tentatively, "Beckett, let the poor guy do his job. I brought you some clothes – if they let you out."
Beckett looks full at him. "Castle? What kept you?" But under the irritation he can see real relief that he is there, and not a little retained terror from earlier. He heaves himself into the ambulance.
"Finding a colour that suited you," he says lightly. "Now lie down and let the EMT work." Beckett harrumphs. "I'll buy you a lollipop later, if you're good." Another harrumph, but Beckett starts to lie down. Then she turns a nasty shade of green, and the EMT (for whom Castle has now acquired considerable respect) only just gets a bowl to her in time.
"Right. You are going to hospital. You might have a concussion, and it needs to be looked at properly. Given that you clearly won't behave" – Castle winces, and considers whether he will need to restrain Beckett from killing the EMT – "if left alone, I'm taking you in."
"But" –
Castle chops that one off short.
"Beckett, just do it. You need checked out properly. I'll send Ryan and Espo to the – which hospital is it?"
"Bellevue."
" – to Bellevue."
He pats her hand, tentatively. That's all too close to the line they never cross. But her fingers turn over beneath his touch and curl a little, so he curls back and gently, unobtrusively, holds her hand. She's suddenly very pale, and he thinks that only trying to intimidate the EMT and trying to investigate this case has kept her – metaphorically – on her feet.
"Do you want me to stay?" A little snark returns.
"Trying to get a better look at me naked, Castle?" But she's smiling.
"I didn't peek!" he says, offended. (Of course he did.)
The EMT has strong views on Castle's continued presence.
"I want you to stay, whoever you are. If you'll keep her quiet while I finish this examination then I'll even consider hiring you." Beckett splutters. Castle tip-taps his fingers on the back of her hand and she subsides, eyes drifting shut.
The EMT makes a swift examination, during which Beckett emits several unhappy yowls and one loud yell. Finally it's over, by which time several small bones in Castle's hand might have been broken or severely displaced.
"Okay, Detective." The EMT manages an inflection on that word which Beckett herself couldn't have matched for sarcasm. "You probably have a concussion. You have a lot of very nasty cuts and bruises which need a proper clean-up" – he looks as if he'd rather wrangle a full-grown tiger away from its dinner – "and you may have a broken rib, which should be X-rayed to ensure it doesn't move" – he stops, looks at Beckett, clearly remembers the last half hour or so – "to ensure that you don't do something that makes it shift and puncture your lung." Castle has no idea if that is correct or not, but he approves of the threat if it will keep Beckett marginally safer for one night. "I'm taking you to Bellevue."
Beckett opens her mouth. Castle puts a hand over it and hopes she doesn't bite. His hand, that is. She could bite other places in other circumstances and he wouldn't mind a bit. Or a bite. She subsides, again.
"Don't wanna go to hospital," she mutters.
"You have to, Beckett. Be a good girl or you won't get your lollipop," Castle smirks. "I'll come with you till you're settled." There's another mutter, but she's now dreadfully white and it's obvious that everything has just fallen in on her. She's gripping his hand as if she's never going to let go.
Castle disposes of Beckett at Bellevue with the cheap clothes and, when the full examination begins and he tactfully leaves, is followed out by vile imprecations delivered in an unusually pathetic tone. By that time Ryan and Espo have appeared and Castle basely leaves them to take the brunt of bruised and battered Beckett. He imagines that shortly they will be metaphorically bruised too. For now, he has an errand to run.
It takes him half an hour to get to his destination, and five full more minutes once there to reach Michael, who is far too well-protected by his staff. Eventually Michael appears, jeweller's loupe dangling, white hair surrounding a happy, roundish face and bright eyes, small, dextrous hands raised in greeting. Aptly, he resembles an elderly Santa's elf.
"Rick!" he says happily. Michael damn well should be happy to see him. Every time Castle comes here he drops an extraordinary amount of money in presents for his mother, which is why he only comes once or twice a year. And, previously, in engagement rings, of course. But he's done with that… for now. For the first time in years, he thinks that maybe… maybe third time lucky? But that's not for today.
"Hey," he says.
"What can I show you today? Necklaces? Earrings? Signet ring?" Castle winces at the last suggestion.
"Actually, I've got something to show you." Michael looks surprised.
"That's new. What is it?"
Castle pulls out a handkerchief and lays it delicately on the counter. The pieces look even more miserably pathetic than they did when he picked them up.
"It used to be a watch."
"Mmmm. It would be a lot easier to buy a new one, Rick."
"It's not mine. My… friend's apartment blew up and this has sentimental value. I thought maybe you could fix it."
Michael gives Castle a very sidelong, interrogative look and says nothing, very loudly indeed.
"Can you fix it?"
He pokes the remains, screws his loupe in and reaches for tweezers, examining each fragment. Suddenly he emits a happy noise.
"What?" Castle asks.
"Most of the name." He smiles, beautifully. "With the name, this will be so much easier." He peers at it again. "Mmmm," he says thoughtfully. "Mmmmm."
"What?"
"Mmmmm. Very interesting."
Castle strangles his urge to strangle Michael, recognising that this has stemmed from his terror at Beckett's near miss with death.
"What is very interesting?"
"This. It's really quite unusual. Quite valuable. I hope your friend has it insured."
"I suppose so," Castle says, slightly nonplussed. "But can you repair it?"
"Oh, yes. Now we've found the name. Want to help?"
"Yes!" Castle says, without thinking, and then, "Oh. I can't, right now. I have to get back to the hospital to see her. Well, to stop her killing the doctors. She wasn't keen on going in the first place. I promised her a lollipop," he says inconsequentially. "Do you know where I can get a coffee-flavoured lollipop round here?"
"No," Michael says firmly. "I don't do lollipops. But if I were you I'd try the sweetshop two blocks east."
"How long will it take to mend?" Castle asks.
"Mmmmm," his friend hums. "Call me tomorrow. I'll have an idea how long the parts will take to arrive then, and a price. I won't be able to start till then anyway, so you can come and help if you want."
"Price isn't important. Just fix it, as fast as you can? And…" he pauses, almost shy, "…I'd like to help, if I can?" He puts a hand in his pocket, a little embarrassed under Michael's knowing look, and remembers something else. "Can you clean this up now?" He produces Beckett's chain and ring.
"Sure." Michael disappears for a few moments, and returns both items sparkling clean in a small box.
"Thanks. Roll it into one?"
"Okay, Rick.
Castle decamps at some speed towards Bellevue, mainly to try and preserve New York's medical profession from the wrath of Beckett. He does stop to get a lollipop on the way, though he can't manage coffee flavour. Lemon will have to do. It'll match Beckett's likely disposition, that's for sure.
He's not wrong. The nursing staff are only too pleased to direct him towards Beckett's location. He can see the dark miasma of angry Beckett-ness spilling out of the door of the cubicle they've put her in. He sidles up, unashamedly eavesdropping, detects the cool, controlled tones of an absolutely furious Beckett, who clearly dislikes intensely whatever she's being told, and listens hard.
"Detective Beckett, you will need to stay here tonight. You have a concussion and you have nowhere to stay safely." Castle ponders that. He is intending to offer Beckett a temporary home, but he wants Montgomery on side – and present – when he does, otherwise Beckett will refuse. So, much as she dislikes it, she'd better stay in hospital.
"I'll be fine."
"In addition, you have two cracked ribs" – the doctor's tone changes – "and you're damn lucky that's all. If there's no-one to look after you, you're not going home." Castle is perfectly certain the doctor knows he can't stop Beckett discharging herself, but he, Castle, can provide some – er – moral support.
"Now, Beckett," he oozes, "stop being difficult to the nice doctor or you won't get your lollipop." Beckett's eyes flash up to him and for a moment he thinks he'll get shot. He waggles the lollipop enticingly. Her face remains scowling blackly for a second, then dissolves into a sulky look.
"I'll be fine."
"Don't be silly," Castle says briskly. "If the doctor says you have to stay, you stay." He grins. "I'll stay too, if you like. Talk to you for a while. Besides which, I've brought you a present, but you're not getting it till you're safely settled."
Beckett grumps and grumbles and moans and mutters and sulks. She even pouts. None of it has any effect on the doctor, who is professionally immune, or Castle, who has developed parental immunity. Though he's not immune to the desire simply to kiss the pout off her face, he's strengthening his resistance by the moment. Eventually, she is settled in a very small room, in a standard-issue hospital nightshirt, which room is shortly filled with an atmosphere of intense irritation.
"Do you want your lollipop now?"
"Yes, please," Beckett huffs. She unwraps it in one swift, ferocious movement, and stuffs it in her mouth without looking. Her lips pinch in. "Lemon?"
"Yeah. Best they had. They didn't have coffee lollipops. Major flaw in their sales strategy."
"Thanks anyway. Gotta be better than Jell-O." Her lips twist round the lollipop. "I don't need to be here. I need to be on the case."
"Not tonight. Leave it to Ryan and Espo. If you don't…" he searches for a threat… "I'll set Lanie on you. Or your dad."
"Not fair."
Castle smiles evilly.
"Effective, though. Anyway," he says, throwing distraction in her path, "I brought you a present. Wanna see?"
Beckett looks at him suspiciously as he pulls the box out of his pocket.
"Death-bed proposals are inappropriate," she snarks.
"Just as well you aren't on your death-bed and I wasn't planning to propose," Castle flips back, and just for an instant thinks that he sees a little flash of hurt. That's … interesting. Also likely wrong. "I'd never recover from being turned down." Another odd expression.
He opens the box. "It's your chain and your mother's ring. I got it all cleaned up for you." He expects delight. He doesn't expect Beckett bursting into tears. Fortunately, he knows how to deal with tearful women, even if this is the one woman with whom he'd never anticipated needing to use it. He slides up on to the bed and cuddles her extremely carefully into his shoulder, patting her hair gently. "There, there," he murmurs. "It's fine. It'll all be okay." He pets some more. "We'll catch him." There's a soggy mutter which on analysis sounds like we'd better. That's his Beckett. Shame he can't cuddle her properly, but cracked ribs are no joke.
"Do you want it on, or shall I take care of it till tomorrow?"
Beckett sniffs moistly, and looks up at him.
"On, please." She sniffs again. "Something… something I haven't lost." Castle declines to comment on the steps he's taking tomorrow to salvage her effects, or on the watch. "It's all gone. Everything. All my books, my pictures, my dad's watch…" She dissolves again. Castle continues patting and waits patiently for far too short a time.
"Do you want me to stay, Beckett? I will if you do."
"Please? Just for a little while." He's never known her ask for anything – well, ask him for anything – before. It's unnatural. Very nice – once – but unnatural. She must still be in shock, which, he supposes, is hardly surprising. He's still pretty much in shock and he hadn't even been in the building. She'd been right in the middle of it… he feels nauseous, again.
This is fluff. Extended fluff. Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews.