One hundred compressions, one minute. Again. Then again.
"No, come on," she ordered. Or was she pleading? "Stay with me."
She had already lost count of the cycles, but she continued like clockwork. The mechanical rhythm gave her something on which to latch, to ignore the clammy substance soaking across her palms, the faint tang of iron in the air, the sting of salt in her eyes, the reassuring pressure against her shoulder. Time fell still even as her arms kept pace.
"Your mother always said that life never delivers anything that you can't handle." Did this promise still hold true?
"I want to find my mother's killer." She pressed on. "I don't want to lose this one."
The air felt so thick it was as if all the oxygen in the room had been sucked away by the lifeless body in front of her, and with it, all hope of finding the answers she so desperately craved.
Again, there was that pressure steadying her. She staggered to her feet, her head reeling. Clustered around, colleagues quickly averted their eyes, as though they were ashamed she had caught them gawking at this spectacle. Still, the unmasked pity in their eyes was obvious.
She followed their gaze to the man lying spread-eagle on the precinct floor, a tidy little hole in his chest filled with blood that had long since congealed. Dick Coonan had died smirking, his secrets safe in death. Then she noticed her hands, still smeared, a crimson reminder that she had been trying to save her mother's killer. The laws of nature seemed to blur and she could almost hear Castle's voice, boyish with excitement. "Now that's what I call irony!"
"I'm going to be sick," gasped Beckett, shoving people away in her haste to make it to the restroom. She had barely finished retching up as much of her stomach contents as her body would allow when a persistent knocking awoke an equally persistent throbbing in her head.
"Are you all right?" It was Castle, muffled but anxious. "Flush if you need anything!"
Wincing, Beckett lifted her head from the cool porcelain seat and pulled herself upright. As she ran the tap, scouring first her hands, then her mouth clean of the day's events, she could hear Lanie's voice adding to the din. "Get away from there! Give the girl some space!"
The hinges squeaked piteously and Lanie marched right in, a clean set of medical scrubs in tow. Fortunately, Castle was nowhere in sight.
"You look downright awful," said Lanie, all matter-of-fact. She forced a hand to Beckett's forehead. "Just as I thought. Feverish and drenched in sweat."
"I'm fine."
Lanie rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. When you're done changing, Esposito and Ryan have offered to drive you home."
Beckett pushed back the scrubs. "Thanks, Lanie, but I'm fine. I don't need any mothering right now."
She instantly regretted her choice of words when she saw Lanie's wounded glare, but she felt too ornery and yet too weary to take them back. Jaws clenched, they stared each other down before Beckett turned away.
"Very well." Lanie sounded testy. "I've got a death certificate to write up."
* * *
"The lights are on but no one's home," Ryan observed, as he ordered another round of drinks at the hole-in-the-wall watering hool just a block away from the police station.
Esposito pounded Castle on the back, shaking him out of his daze. "Give him a break; the guy almost died today. Did your life flash before your eyes?"
"Prime stuff for your books, huh?"
For once, Castle's natural command of the English language fled him.
"I'd be shocked, myself," continued Ryan, swirling his drink thoughtfully. "Wasn't expecting him to pull a gun on you."
"The slimy dirtbag."
"Smug little git."
"Played us like suckers. Almost won, too."
"Awesome head butt, bro."
"Though it took Beckett long enough to take Coonan down."
Castle sipped distractedly at his beer.
"Just shake it off," Esposito advised, sliding the plate of cheesy fries well within Castle's reach.
Ryan nodded. "What you need is a distraction."
"The lovely blond occupant in the corner booth? She's been trying to catch your attention all evening." And before Castle could stop him, Esposito waved in her direction.
"She's coming over," whispered Ryan, inching so far forward that his shirt sleeves dragged into the ketchup.
"Negative. Interceptor approaching at eleven-o-clock."
Lanie made her way over to the table, scowling so fiercely she scared away everyone in the vicinity. Without so much as a greeting, she grabbed the nearest full glass on the the table and sat down.
"I was going to drink that," Ryan protested.
"Well?" said Castle, looking alert now.
"Well, what?"
"How is she?"
Lanie replied, a touch too loudly. "She said she's fine."
"Is she?" Despite the warning look plastered all over her face, Castle decided to press on. "You said it yourself, she almost lost herself trying to solve her mom's case the first time around. How are you sure she's all right?"
"Look, your name may be Castle, but she's got better defenses than a fort. Beckett can take care of herself. So you just worry about you." Lanie set her glass down with a definitive clang. Conversation dried up soon after that.
* * *
Buried beneath extra layers of blankets, Beckett willed herself to fall asleep again and again. But despite her physical exhaustion, her mind kept freewheeling on adrenaline that had long left her system. Rolling to one side, she clamped her arms around tucked-in knees so she was curled up like a bean. Still her muscles refused to relax.
While she had questioned many psychopaths in her time, Dick Coonan chilled her deeply, even before she realized he had murdered her mother. Most people at least pretend to claim innocence; Coonan had merely shrugged when she'd accused him of ordering the hit on his brother. And then he'd turned the tables on her. He had almost succeeded, too, in duping her to letting him, her mother's killer, waltz forever out of her reach under the immunity she had procured for him.
Angrily, Beckett rocked back and forth. Eyes closed, she could still picture Coonan's cocky face. Even as he'd held Castle hostage, he had the gall to make jabs about her mother.
"Put down your gun or Castle dies," he had warned, rendering her as helpless as she had felt ten years ago when they'd come home from the restaurant to find that grim-faced officer waiting. Her thoughts unraveled in every direction, her longing to find the man behind her mother's murder teetering against her need to protect Castle. Guiltily, she pushed the image of a devastated Alexis and Martha out of sight. There had to be a way to outsmart Coonan; she just needed more time.
With a slight shake of his head, Castle's eyes darted nervously to one side. She lowered her gun, trying to make sense of his body message. In slow motion, Castle lurched backwards and head-butted Coonan. The precinct hall tunneled away, as if she, Coonan, and Castle were the only people left in the world. Eyes narrowing, Coonan lifted the pistol, his arms swinging deliberately up to take aim.
She struggled to move, but it was as though she were swimming through concrete. At the last possible instant, her trigger finger reacted. The shot echoed around her skull, pulsing faster and faster. When the smoke curled away, Beckett looked up to see Castle, eyes dulled like sea glass, standing where Coonan ought to have been.
Kate sprang forward like a jack-in-the-box, gasping. As her guts unclenched themselves from the sailor's knot they'd become tied in, she slowly became aware of her surroundings. It was still too dark to determine the hour between night and dawn, but she didn't trust herself to go back to sleep.
Casting aside her covers, Beckett pulled on an old college sweatshirt and, ignoring the irrational urge to call Castle and confirm she had woken in the right reality, threw herself into her morning routine. As the coffee brewed, she drifted over to her desk to begin tackling the question of who Coonan had been working for. She would go through his contacts, financials, and surely there would be a money trail, as Castle had wired a significant amount into the mercenary's account.
Castle. She forced her hands to stop shaking, even though there wasn't any caffeine in her system yet. She hadn't meant to put him in any danger, but surely he understood why she faltered to shoot for so long.
Still, even as she marched herself to work, she was reluctant to face him. To her relief, he hadn't yet arrived and it seemed like Ryan and Esposito were already off somewhere working on a case. She wondered why she hadn't been informed, but the chief was busy talking to some suited officials in his office.
At the quiet of her desk, Kate retreated into the monotony of paperwork. As she churned out the incident report, new questions and theories regarding whoever hired Coonan vied for her attention. This time, instead of feeling engulfed by uncertainty, she felt confident that the shadows weren't going to slip through her fingers. And she wouldn't have to face this alone. She was so involved that she did not notice Captain Montgomery standing in front of her.
"Detective Beckett."
She looked up and saw frustration, discomfort, and uncertainty engraved all over his brow.
"I just had a talk with the men from the Department of Justice," he said slowly, jamming his hands into his pockets. "They will be reviewing the way you...the way the Coonan case was handled."
With impeccable clarity, Beckett knew she was going to get sucker punched all over again by what the captain would say next. Steeling herself, she did the only dignified thing she could.
She beat him to the draw, turned in her badge, and walked out.