A/N: Thank you all so much for all your reviews!
Two
Josh was going to be alright. Physically, anyway. His right ankle was more than likely broken. At the very least horribly sprained. The same with his left wrist. These were both self-diagnosed injuries he informed the EMTs upon their arrival. The only assessment he could not make was on his neck, which would need an x-ray to confirm or rule out any injuries, but considering he still had feeling and movement in all his extremities, it probably was not that bad. Certainly not life threatening.
Kate walked by his side as the EMT's wheeled him to the ambulance. She requested a moment alone with him and ducked inside the vehicle. She placed a gentle hand on his forearm, but he kept his eyes trained on the celling. "I'll come by the hospital to check on you, okay?"
"Don't bother," he muttered out, still refusing to look at her.
Kate's chest contract painfully. "Josh I-"
"You know the sad part?" He interrupted her, finally turning his gaze to meet hers. "I'm not even surprised."
Kate's throat immediately felt drier than it ever had before. "Josh-"
"Detective," one of the EMT's said gently. She looked back at him. "We really need to get him to the hospital."
Kate nodded and turned back to Josh. "I'm really sorry," she told him quietly. Then, she stepped out of the ambulance. The EMT took her place and a few seconds later the vehicle was ambling its way towards the nearest hospital.
With Josh safely on the way, Kate turned back towards the rest of the scene. The flashing lights of the police cars and remaining ambulance were haloed by the ever-thickening fog. Kate was used to it by now, her damp hair clinging to the back of her neck, her fingertips coated in moisture. She wiped her hands on the thighs of her pants as she walked towards the cluster of Queens's police officers closest to her.
With her adrenaline wearing off, Kate was finally noticing the chill in the air exasperated by the damp. She had a jacket in her car and she probably should have retrieved it, but she did not feel like it. She also didn't intend on spending too much more time standing outside the abandoned warehouse.
"Detective," the lead Detective from Queens nodded to her when she approached. "I spoke with your captain. He's requested that you call him as soon as possible."
"I will." Kate nodded.
"We'll need to collect statements, as I'm sure you're aware," the detective, a slender blonde man, continued.
"Of course," Kate said. "You'll have mine and Castle's—he's familiar with our procedures, but if it's all the same to you, I think tomorrow morning will be best."
The detective nodded in agreement. "I'll send one of my men to the hospital to collect Dr. Davidson's. I've got everyone else looking for the bastard but-"
"He's in the wind; I know." She exhaled heavily before thanking the man. Turning away, Kate pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pressed her captain's speed dial. Their conversation was brief and efficient. She confirmed that both she and the writer were fine and that her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) would survive, but the extent of his injuries remained unknown at that point. Montgomery informed her that, due to the perilous situation, uniformed officers had secured both her apartment and Castle's so it was safe for them to return home. After confirming she and Castle would be in the next morning to give their statements, she bid the Captain a good night and walked back through the crowd of emergency vehicles.
Castle sat on the back edge of the remaining ambulance, charcoal colored blanket draped around his shoulders. A bandage had been taped across his forehead, covering the gash at his hairline. Gauze circled his left wrist, covering an angry brush burn from his rope bindings. Otherwise, he appeared no different than he did at any other crime scene.
The EMT was just taking a blood pressure cuff off his arm when Kate stopped in front of him and said gently, "Hey."
His eyes snapped towards her and his gaze softened. "Hey. Is Josh going to be ok?"
Kate bobbed her head. "More than likely, yeah. They need to do x-rays, but it's nothing life threatening."
"Good. That's good."
"How about you?" she asked, looking at him and then towards the EMT for confirmation.
"We suggested he go to the hospital for observation but-"
"I'm fine," Castle concluded for the EMT.
Kate eyed him skeptically, and ducked her eyes to gaze under his jaw line where the angry red rope marks could still be seen. Realizing what she was doing, Castle lifted his chin. When he did so, she noted that the area was uncharacteristically shiny and thus more than likely covered in some sort of cream or gel to prevent infection or encourage healing. Or both. "Is it going to leave a cool scar?" he asked her.
"Uh," she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "No, sorry; you'll remain scar-free."
He shrugged in a rather helpless manner. "So, uh, should I go downtown and give a statement?"
She shook her head almost imperceptibly. "No need for that tonight, Castle. You can do it tomorrow."
His brow wrinkled. "Are you sure?"
She bobbed her head. "I spoke to Montgomery and he's fine with it. After all, as he said, we know where to find you."
"You mean," he smiled softly, his first time smiling since arriving at the warehouse of nightmares earlier that day, "in the chair beside your desk at the twelfth."
She offered him what he would not consider a smile, but more a slightly more upturned straight expression. "C'mon," she said instead. "I'll take you home."
By the time Kate reached her vehicle, the evening chill was boring through her more than she cared to admit. Suppressing a shiver, she grabbed a lightweight NYPD jacket from the trunk and shrugged in on before landing herself in the driver's seat.
The moment Kate's backside came in contact with the vehicle's leather interior she felt a crushing exhaustion wash over her. It was barely after ten p.m. but the prior two hours hadn't exactly been the calmest. She found lifting her hand to insert the key into the ignition took great effort, but she willed herself to be alert enough to drive them safely.
"Kate listen," Castle began as they were pulling out onto the main road.
"Castle," she interrupted. "I'm going to need you to do me a favor."
"Sure," he said eagerly, turning his body towards her. "Anything."
"Don't talk."
"What?"
"Don't talk. Do not say a single word until we're back at your place, alright? Please," she added as an afterthought to soften her harsh request.
"Okay," he agreed.
Castle clasped his hands together and rested them in his lap. Allowing his head to loll back against the seat rest, he shut his eyes and, for one of the very few times in his life, welcomed the silence.
Did he want to talk to Kate? Did he want to ask her what the hell happened? Why she chose him over the man she was in a romantic relationship with? Of course. Those questions rammed around inside him, like bumper cars against the inside of his skull. Every cell in his body wanted to scream them at her—grab her arms and hold her there in front of him until she gave him an answer. But he knew he couldn't do that.
Holding her down and forcing her to answer would succeed in having the opposite effect. She didn't talk about things. They didn't talk about things.
Fortunately, that night, his desire to be a nagging, question-filled writer was overruled by the exhaustion pounding through every microfiber of his being. That evening had begun with the promise of some diligent writing (or diligent procrastinating), wine and then perhaps some video games or endless YouTube searches, but the outcome had been far beyond anything he could have anticipated. At least, he thought with a certain amount of mirth, a way to shut him up had finally been discovered: literally hanging him by the neck from the rafters.
As an avid movie watcher—not to mention a mystery writer with a healthy interest in researching every conceivable mean of ending a human life—Castle was more familiar than most with deaths by hanging. Thus, when after receiving a hearty crack on the head he awoke to find himself wearing a noose staring into the blackness of an abandoned warehouse, he panicked thoroughly.
Hanging was by no means an elegant way to die. It was painful. It was drawn out. It was very, very brutal. The writer, of course, had a very strong desire to live, but if he was forced to choose a way for his life to be taken, death by hanging would not have been in his top five choices.
When he first awoke, it was too dark for him to see anything. Using his other senses he knew he was in a large abandoned area and guessed warehouse if for no other reasons than warehouses tended to be the location where nefarious things happened. People were generally not hanged in a room full of kittens painted with hues of soft yellow.
He was unsure of how much time passed until the kidnapper returned with his second victim. At the time, a cold sweat break out across Castle's skin; for one sickening moment he feared the second strung-up body to be Kate's, but quickly dismissed that theory when, through the minimal light, he could see the large outline of the figure. Still, due to the darkness, he had no idea his hanging companion was the doctor until Kate said his name.
Kate.
Standing on a ledge with a noose around his neck he had faith that she would find him; that she would save him. The fact that she might not save him never crossed his mind. He wouldn't allow such betraying notions to enter his brain; they were unacceptable.
His faith in her never wavered—until the kidnapper revealed the rules in the game. In fairness, that wasn't his faith in her changing, merely his faith in the situation. He was—quite literally—sliding to his death and there was very little that Kate could do to stop it. Even if she shot the kidnapper. Even if it wasn't a dead man's switch. Even if she could reach the second balcony in time.
The choice. A twist that even he, as a writer, never saw coming. As a plot devise it was fantastic. In reality, not so much. Still, the sick part of him was intrigued. What choice would she make? Yes, they had that moment in a Los Angeles hotel room, but it was long since forgotten and she was still with Josh. She had been with Josh for nearly nine months! And even if she did choose him, would it be worth it if that choice meant the death of someone she cared about? How could they possibly move forward from that?
As the rope looping his neck began to tighten, Castle lost his internal debate over Kate's choice and focused on surviving. He tried with every ounce of determination within himself to will the oxygen to penetrate his ever-shrinking windpipe. He curled his toes in his shoes and scraped his feet, trying to gain as much height on the platform as he could. But his vision began to tunnel and his ears began to buzz. He didn't even realize Kate had chosen him until after he was on the ground and noticed his hanging companion was not.
"Did he take you from the loft?"
Castle's eyes popped open when her voice pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked several time and attempted to determine their location. When he realized they were still two blocks from Broome Street he cleared his throat and said, "No. No, from the Twelfth; just after I left."
Kate nodded. "Still, I'm going to go inside and check it out. Montgomery has uniforms outside the building making sure no one unauthorized gets in. Espos text said when they searched the place no one was home?"
"Ah, yes. Mother is at an acting retreat and Alexis wanted to stay with a friend." Thank god, he added silently to himself.
Kate nodded. After parking her cruiser in a rare empty space near the front of Castle's building, Kate pushed herself from the vehicle, finding her legs had stiffened significantly during their twenty-five minute ride. She found the black-and-white stationed a few vehicles away and checked in with the officers. Castle waited obediently near the building entrance and remained there until she joined him a few minutes later.
"There's been no sign of the kidnapper, but I'll do a quick sweep just in case," she informed him. He nodded, still unsure if he should abide by her no talking rule.
No stranger to Castle's residence, Kate went directly to the elevator and punched the button for his floor. When the elevator reached its destination, Kate pulled her weapon from its holster and instructed that Castle wait in the hallway until she'd cleared his apartment. Efficiently, she searched each room of his home, checking every window, every closet, but the apartment was vacant.
"It's clear," she said when she returned to the doorway. Castle was leaning back against the opposite wall and pushed himself off at her words. Inside the loft, he dropped his suit jacket across the back of the sofa and then turned to face her. She had holstered her weapon once more and was standing in the middle of the entryway looking a bit uncertain.
Feeling it was safe to speak now that they were inside his territory, he asked, "Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?"
She shook her head. "No, I…I should let you rest."
She took a step towards the door and he took a step towards her. "Why don't you stay?" he suggested. She gave him an extremely skeptical look, which he countered with an almost imperceptible head shake. "Kate. Stay."
"I can't," she responded. "He's still out there."
"And we'll find him tomorrow," he said, emphasizing the joint part of their venture.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, I have to…the uniforms will stay here all night so you'll be safe. You can come down to the station tomorrow morning and give your statement, okay? Ryan or Esposito will take it."
"Okay," he agreed gently. She rotated her body towards the door but once again he stopped her. "Am I allowed to say thank you for saving my life?"
She turned back to him, her expression fatigued though softened. "Of course, Castle."
He stepped towards her, arms opening. Kate knew she should turn away, leave the apartment, refuse his embrace but, god, she was tired. She was just so tired. Too tired to fight. Too tired to refuse what she so desperately wanted. After all, it was just a hug, right?
Castle's arms looping around her weary frame were the catalyst for opening the floodgates. The moment her fingertips connected around his back, a hiccupped sob escaped her lips. She tried. She tried to fight it, but it was so hard and she was so exhausted and Castle was there, his body warm and solid against hers. She could smell his scent strong against the collar of his shirt, so perfect and Castle-like. He was here; he was okay because of her. Because of her. God, how close had she come to losing him?
"Shh Kate; it's okay." The even timbre of Castle's voice soothed her as much as his firm hand rubbing clockwise circles over her back. She gripped him a bit tighter, grasping her wrists with her opposite hands to ensure maximum bodily contact between them.
Castle suppressed a wince at the tightness of her grip. That six foot fall hurt his back a little more than he realized, but to have Kate Beckett nearly squeezing the breath out of him it was worth it. It was so worth it!
In a way, her emotional outburst should have concerned him more than it did, but he was selfishly enjoying their contact, even if it served only to comfort her. "It's okay," he told her. "We're safe; everybody's safe."
"But he's still out there." Her timid, child-like voice informed him.
"And you will find him," he said with absolute confidence. "And I'll help you. After all, I'm a bit motivated myself now." Castle felt Kate's chest expand with a blip of laughter and he smiled, resting his chin against the top of her head.
Kate allowed herself thirty more seconds of security in Castle's embrace before pushing herself away and forcing her feet to move a step each in the opposite direction. She rubbed her fingers across her cheeks and skimmed the back of her hand under her nose. Only then did she spot the wet marks her tears left just below the collar of his blue shirt. She apologized, but he shook it off.
"I'm rich; I'll buy another shirt."
This elicited the tiniest smile from her, but still, it was a smile.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" he offered again.
She shook her head. "Thanks, Castle, but I need to go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? If anything—if you need anything-"
He bobbed his head. "I've got your number."