Brick Walls

Summary: She returns to New York after many years in hopes of finding herself again. Having strayed far off the path she had intended to take, and having chickened out of applying to the police academy, all she has to her name is an alcoholic father and a hole in her heart. Rick is supposed to be the band aid on a bullet wound, helping for only one night, but fate makes other plans and he might stick around a lifetime.

A/N: This story may have a somewhat cliché plot but it will touch on heavy subjects. I have no personal experience with alcoholism, but I intend to do my best to depict it as respectfully and accurately as I possibly can. It's going to be angsty, but also hurt-comfort. If you don't like angst them 99% of my stories are not for you! Hehe

If one heart can mend another only then can we begin
So won't you hold on a little longer
Don't let them get away
Lonely I
I'm so alone now
LYKKE LI – NO REST FOR THE WICKED

Chapter 1 - Meeting

Her father looks back at Kate with unfocused eyes, eyebrows furrowing in an attempt to understand what he was seeing in front of him. This was why she didn't come here. Wanting to escape the heaviness of his gaze she walked past the couch he was lying on and into the kitchen. It didn't look much different from when she had left. There were beer cans lying opened on the counter, and a near empty bottle of cheap whiskey standing precariously near the edge. If it hadn't been years since she last had been here she wouldn't have felt quite as horrible. She knew she had abandoned him, abandoned the both of them.

Instead of lingering in those types of thoughts, because then she would pick up the bottle of whiskey and empty the last of it, she took the last trash bag he had out of the cupboard and threw all that she could reach into it; cans, bottles, paper, molding food. The traces of her childhood home seemed to have been obliterated in the past years, and the kitchen bore no semblance to how it would look like in the evenings when she would stand side by side with her mother and shop up vegetables.

As Kate tore around the apartment, shoving what she could get her hands on into the bag, her father slowly sat up on the couch and watched her with a sinking realization of what was happening. When she was picking up bottles from the floor around him he reached out and grasped her hand – it would have been a sweet gesture had he not been trembling from a hangover and nearly missed her.

"Katie…" His voice was thin, yet it weighed as if it were a thousand tons upon her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Dad," she said, but then paused. The man looking back at her with eyes so big and round that they could belong on a baby, but the sadness in them seemed to envelop them both – that man had once been her father, but she did not recognize him now. "I'm here to…" She didn't know why she was there, why she was back. A few weeks ago Kate had been sitting at a diner hundreds of miles from here and felt as if she was a puzzle piece that had ended up in the wrong box, and that wherever she was supposed to be it wasn't there. New York had been the only place she had been able to think of, the last place she knew she had fit in. Still she did not know why she had come to this apartment, why she was looking at her father for the first time in years.

"You can stay in your room… I haven't touched it," he said. His trembling hand let go of her arm and reached for her face, but she pulled away.

"I'm not going to stay here dad," she said, and watched his face crumble in dejection. "But thanks."

It was as if Kate hadn't left, as if she had been cast back years. When he didn't respond she coaxed him off of the couch and into the bathroom. While he sat on the toilet she ran a bath for him, pulled off his clothes, and helped him into it. Neither of them spoke to each other. He was too embarrassed, and she wondered if she had ever truly escaped from this. This had always been waiting for her, wherever she was, until the two of them decided to deal with it. The two of them had always had options, promising futures, until her mother's death.

Kate left him there in the tub. The bathroom was claustrophobic and she couldn't deal to look at the man with thinning arms, a bloated stomach, and an untended to beard. She hated seeing him like that, seeing herself reflected in him.

As he had promised her room hadn't been touched, as far as she could tell. Her books were still on the shelves, notebooks in her bedside drawer, half burnt down candles on the windowsill, and clothes still in the drawers. She pulled a backpack out of the closet, one she would use for weekend trips when she was still in high school, and packed some of the clothes in the drawers into it. A lot of it was out of fashion, but there were a few sweaters and tops that she could wear. She scanned the book case – it had been years since she had read books, an interest that used to be fulfilling but with time she just stopped. She didn't know why, not really. Life got in the way of everything, even the things she enjoyed the most.

She reached out and touched the spine of the book her mother had given her that last Christmas, the blood red cover was soft underneath her fingers. When her mother had died Kate had just started reading the book, and as she pulled it out of the book shelf she saw the bookmark sticking out on top just about twenty pages in. The title was written in bold white font across the front "Flowers for Your Grave", and the inside of the jacket was a portrait of a man who back then was about the same age as her. He looked kind, she thought, but snapped the book shut and shoved it back in the shelf before she allowed herself to think more of it.

No death, no murders, she had been through enough of that. Her finger danced over the tops of the books, pulling out a Nick Hornby book instead, one which she knew wouldn't contain death. As she put it in her backpack she made a promise to herself to read more books now that she was back in New York.

When her father had been dried up and sobered up a little with the help of food and water she left him again in the apartment. Years ago she had tried to help him get better, she had hid the alcohol, she had fought with him, pleaded with him, and nothing helped. Leaving him alone hadn't done anything either. She had run out of ways to help him, so before she left she didn't look in the refrigerator to see the beer cans lined up on a row, and she didn't pour out the last of the whiskey. In the end she realized that until he wanted to get sober himself nothing was going to change, and no matter how badly she wanted to make that decision for him it didn't work like that.

She was renting a small room off the island, and the other residents were younger than her, most college aged. None of them cared where she went during the days, or what hours she kept, and the door had a lock on it, so it was the best she could get until she had gotten a job. Now she was quickly blowing through the small saving she had, since working as a EMT didn't pay much to begin with. It hadn't been the job she wanted, it wasn't a job she particularly liked, but ten years ago she needed to make a career choice and that was the only job she could think of. She didn't hate it really, she just wished she had done something else, something more fulfilling. Twelve years ago she applied to college to become a lawyer, but dreams sometimes have a tendency to stay dreams.

It was nearing eight when Kate felt the restlessness settle into her bones. The room she was in was too little, too bare of anything that was hers that would be able to anchor her down. Her things were in storage back in California, and the little she had taken with she had yet to unpack completely. She couldn't stay there, and thought of calling some old friends from high school, but couldn't bear to face them. While being an EMT was a good job, a job with integrity, she had graduated at the top of her high school class at a school for gifted students. People who graduated from there didn't become EMTs, they worked at Wall Street, and they became lawyers, doctors, or politicians. She didn't want to explain why she was where she was now. Kate knew they wouldn't understand.

Despite not having any company she put on a black tight cocktail dress she had bought for a date with a doctor last year for a black tie event at the hospital. After it had ended he had fucked her against a wall in an examination room. Their fling never turned into much more, and just before she left to go back to New York she heard he was engaged. It was probably for the better; Kate wasn't the type of girl to get married and settle down. She was too distant and cold, and people seemed to always be running in the other direction.

She felt the heavy gaze of the men in the bar when she walked in. The bar was upscale, fancier than she could afford, but it was different from what she was used to. She wanted something different. A part of her desperately hoped that if things would be enough different from what she was used to she could jar herself awake, because it felt as if she was barely there, just floating above everything in a dream state. Nothing she touched, felt, or heard seemed to stick, it floated right through her.

The drink she had ordered sat untouched in front of her at the bar, and occasionally a man in nice clothes and tan marks on their ring finger would sit down next to her and try to engage in conversation. None of them seemed as more than passing ships in the night, a small wave shaking her boat, but none pulled her out. The past years she had slept with many men who were married, some with rings off, but many with the bands still on their fingers. She never asked about their wives, and never considered them at all because she always believed that it was the men's responsibility to do so. A few years ago she would have gone home with one of them, not caring about their shallow gazes and predatory smirks. Now she wanted something different, something with substance.

Maybe, she thought, she was being picky. People who are willing to give substance don't pick up girls at bars. They go on eHarmony or tinder, and they set up dates at restaurants that serve deserts, or they ask a coworker out. Bars are for shallow connections that are meant to be forgotten come morning light.

She downed the drink quickly after the fourth man approached her offering to buy a drink, and then ordered another one. That's when she saw him at the other side of the bar. Noticeably older, but definitely him. The haircut wasn't much different, the hair thinning a little bit, and the smile that he sent her from across the bar was eerily the same. Many people looked different in photos, but he didn't. Kate thought back to a couple of hours before in her parent's apartment, and how she had looked at the photo of this man on the jacket of one of his books. She didn't know he lived in New York.

Maybe he was it. Substance. People who write books would need some substance, she argued with herself, and smiled back at him. The smile he returned was blinding, and it almost looked as if he laughed. He didn't come over to her, like she had expected him to, and with that disappointment she finished her second drink.

Only a minute or so after she had finished it she felt a male presence beside her, and she closed her eyes and drew an anticipatory breath, preparing herself for an awkward ten minute conversation with someone who wanted a five minute (max) fuck. When Kate turned around however she was face to face with the author of the book her mother had given Kate for her last Christmas.

"I couldn't help but notice that you didn't have a drink," he said, eyes twinkling with unmasked delight as he looked at her. "I can buy you another one, if you'd like." His fingers barely touched her back as he leaned against the bar beside her, and they sent tingling sensations all through her body. He smelled nice, and looked strong.

"I would like that, yeah," she said, voice low and raspy, eyes connecting with his. They both appeared to have come to an unspoken agreement of what would happen that night.

"I'm Rick Castle," he said then, holding out his hand. The formality of it amused her, and her eyes flickered between his outstretched hand and his eyes for a brief moment before taking the hand in hers.

"And I'm Kate Beckett," she said, biting her lip to stop her smile from growing too big.

"What are you drinking then, Kate Beckett?" He was leaning towards her, showing just how tall he was and how broad shoulders he had

"Just a gin and tonic," she said, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers, but shrugged her shoulders as she said it. "I'm a simple person." Rick chuckled, and leaned closer to her.

"Hmm… Kate Beckett I think I like you." She giggled, and grasped his bicep as she did – he was strong, she noticed. He ordered two gin and tonics for them, and sat down in the bar stool next to hers. "So Kate, what brings you here alone on a Friday night?" Her shoulders tensed for just a millisecond, and she knew he had noticed by the flickering of confusion in his eyes, but then she smiled wickedly at him. There was no way she would tell the full truth, but only a version of it.

"Looking for fun." She licked her lips, imagining how his lips would feel like on hers – they looked perfect for kissing, and the small stubble on his cheeks would feel deliciously rough against her skin.

"What kind of fun?" He raised his eyebrows, and she rolled her eyes and shook his head at him.

"If you don't know what fun is by now Rick, I don't think you'll ever know." The drinks were placed in front of them then, and Rick picked up his glass and held it out for what looked like a toast. Confused she copied him, and waited expectantly.

"I think I know… but I always like learning new things." He took a sip of his drink, and watched her over the top of it. While they had been talking the room had grown smaller and hotter, and right now she just wanted him to say the words, and they'd be out of here. She didn't like public displays of affection, even when affection wasn't necessarily a part of it.

"Hmm, I like teaching." She bit her lip, and watched his Adam's apple bobble as he swallowed his drink.

"So how about you drink up that and we'll make sure we're not late for class." He grinned and his eyes glimmered when she picked up her glass and downed it.

"I'm ready," she said. From the warmth between her legs and the wetness she felt pooling there in anticipation she was more than ready.

They took a taxi to his place, and he seemed to read her cues expertly because all the way there he held a hand on her thigh stroking minute patterns which vibrated throughout her body, but he did not kiss her, and neither of them spoke. It was a one night stand not a budding romance, and feelings were not involved.

She trailed slightly behind him as they walked into the apartment complex. The man behind the counter just inside the door looked up only briefly to see who was entering the building before returning to watching a baseball game on his small TV-screen he had set up. She used to go see games with her dad, she used to know the teams the players and who was tipped to win. She hadn't watched in years now.

When they entered the elevator he stood opposite her and looked at her. She saw his eyes start at her black pumps, and up her legs to where the hem of her dress was just above her knees, following the curve of her hips, to the dip of the neckline that shoved off the top of her breasts, and up over her neck, and then her lips, cheeks, eyes, and hair that fell down her shoulders. She knew she was attractive. Men, and women, complimented her, and she never had any trouble finding a date, or in this case company for a night. She was taller than average, but even in her heels she was shorter than Rick. Height was a necessity, because she didn't like to look down on men. There was something about them being physically bigger, and knowing that they were stronger than her, that turned Kate on.

She licked her lips when the elevator stopped, walking out in front of him to make sure that he got a view of her from behind. It didn't take more than a few seconds until Kate felt his hand low on her back, his body close to hers as they walked. When he stopped them at one of the doors and fished in his pockets for the keys she reached over and under the suit jacket he was wearing and along his back. He was warm, and sturdy, and all she wanted was him between her legs.

The apartment was large, with a second floor. She thought back to the small room she was renting with the single bed with a wooden frame that squeaked every time she moved. Rick's bed would not squeak like that. When she had finished looking over the apartment in wonder she looked back at him, and he flashed that smile that she had seen on the jacket of his book earlier that day, and she remembered her mother laughing as she gave it to her.

"When you're a lawyer it'll be a good thing to remember how the police do their job".

Kate supposed that it was probably for the best that her mom wasn't alive to see her fail. But she didn't want to think about that, so to wipe that smile off of his face she took two strides towards him and kissed him. His lips were as smooth as she had imagined them to be, a stark contrast against the roughness of his rough stubble cheeks. The man didn't question her motives, and instead backed her up against a closet door, pressing himself against her to the protest of the frail door. He was warm, steady, and his hands pushed her dress up so that he could press himself against her completely. She rocked against him, feeling him growing harder and that was enough for her heart to start beating frantically in her chest.

The jacket was discarded of first, crumbling on the floor, and then the dark blue tie followed suit.

"I hate ties," he mumbled into the crook of her neck, which he then kissed and licked. "You know what more I hate?" he asked, looking into her frustrated eyes. She just wanted him to stop talking and start fucking. "Clothes." He reached to the side of her dress where her zipper was – he must've been studying the dress on their way over – and pulled it down. The dress seemed to fall away from her body as if it let out a sigh, exposing more of her breasts to him. He took the opportunity to push the dress down further, palming her breasts gently, brushing his thumbs across the nipples and looking at her all the time, trying to figure out what she liked.

She wanted none of that, so she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss, hitching her leg up against him and pushing into him. Neither of them were there to get to know each other, and she was already ready for him, so she didn't want to play games. What she wanted was for him to stop messing around, to help her wake up if only for a night. When he looked at her like that it felt like she was right back in the water drowning, the water she had come here to escape.

While hallway sex did have its merits Rick didn't feel fully comfortable with that, not with a teenaged daughter, and a mother, living with him – though both were out of town for the weekend. Instead he guided her towards the study, fully intending to get the two of them all the way into his bedroom, but when they had gotten into the study her hands were already busy with ridding him of his pants, sneaking down the front to grasp him firmly in her hand.

"Do you hate this Rick Castle?" she teased him, stroking him softly. He found himself unable to speak, so his respond was a primitive growl that followed with him backing her towards his desk instead. It had been a long while since he had used that desk for something as fun as this, and watching her sit on it with her dress around her waist and those ridiculous pumps on her feet was enough to make him want to change that.

He pushed his pants and underwear down, not even bothering to step out of them or his shoes, as she wiggled out of the tiny black thong she had been wearing. He fumbled for a second with the pockets of his pants, pulling out the small silver box he kept there. She watched him as he put the condom on, leaned back on her hands on the desk, bottom lip between her teeth. She looked like a piece of art.

She wrapped her legs around him, pushing him flat against her, a challenging look in her eye. What she wanted was to forget she had a name, and now it was his duty to help her accomplish that. He filled her up completely, and it had been months since the last time she had sex with someone. Unable to help the moan that escaped her mouth as he pushed into her again, licking the spot at the crook of her neck where her pulse was almost visible.

He pushed into her steadily, and the desk creaked softly with each push. She reached around him, grabbing onto his back to keep steady, but then let go, falling back on her elbows instead and throwing her head back as he reached deeper inside of her, which spurred him on further as he pushed harder into her.

"I'm too tall for this," he said then, pulling out of her and straightening his legs. "Turn around." He barely waited for her to react, and grabbed her by her hips to quicker turn her over, and pushing against her lower back so that she was bent over the table. He ran his hand along her spine with one hand, and guided himself inside of her again with the other.

With her heels on and her bent over the desk it gave the perfect angle for his thrusts, and as one of his hands reached around her and rubbed her as he fucked her against the desk she could no longer think or feel anything but him and the cool surface of his desk. She pushed back against him, and tried to vocalize her approval but found that her voice was gone, she could no longer control the noises that escaped her.

Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she came, and he continued to rub her and push into her, picking up his speed just slightly. As she came down from her high his thrusts became sloppier, and he grabbed her hips tightly enough to bruise as he gave one final push and came with a groan.

"Oh shit," he said, his breathing heavy as he pulled out of her, and leaned against the desk beside her. She pushed up on her elbows slightly, still weak from her orgasm, and not quite trusting her legs to carry her.

"Mhm," she hummed in agreement, trying to figure out what to do with her dress, if she should put it on again or take it off.

"That was intense," he said. Neither of them had lasted very long, and it usually took her longer than this to get off. Maybe it was because it had been so long, that she was so used to her own hand that when someone else touched her like that it set her off. Or maybe, she thought, they were just that good together. "I don't know about you but I need to lie down… my bed's over there." He pointed to the second doorway in the study, and sure enough there was a large made bed, which surprisingly wasn't overtly masculine. He took off his shoes and shook off his pants, and then picked them up as he went towards the room, leaving her behind. His ass was toned, and she could see why he was able to keep the pace he had kept going, and she leaned back for a second to watch him walk.

No, she thought, she wasn't going to put on her dress just yet.

A/N: Smut is not really my thing, but it is fun to write and it's important for the story. And "Beckett!EMT" may be a little OOC, but hang in there… I started writing this story in late 2014 sometime, and I've got a couple of chapters written. I will publish as often as I can, but writing takes time which I don't always have.

Reviews are always welcome! :)