Title: Bulletproof Hearts and Hollow-Point Smiles

Rating: T

Summary: It's ironic, he thought – you never feel as alive as you do when you're about to die.

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter, but it's needed to set the stage for the rest of the story, which I am very excited about. I have storyboarded it in a way that will tie it up in five chapters instead of the intended three, but hey, the more [content], the merrier. Thanks for reading.

Chapter 3

None of them had moved for half an hour.

Nurses and visitors bustled around them as they sank into the background, a forlorn still-life of despair and exhaustion. It wasn't a unique scene within the walls of the trauma surgery ward waiting room, yet the pain never lost its significance. This was a place for the the lost – for those with little to hope for and everything to lose.

Beckett shifted her weight in the chair, her fingers absently tearing at the crumpled tissue that she had been clinging to. She stared down at it dully, wearily relieved for the simple distraction.

Why would he have been out alone that late? Why wouldn't he have called?

The movement was enough to stir her companions from the brooding trance that enveloped them. Martha dabbed at the corner of her eye discreetly, mustering the ghost of a reassuring smile for Ryan as she rose from her chair. Starting towards the stairwell door where Alexis had disappeared, she paused to place her hand on Kate's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze:

"Alexis is very...upset right now. Please understand...I'm sure she didn't mean harm towards you. She knows how much you care about Richard. We both do."

Beckett brought her fingers to his mother's, returning the gesture. "I know. She just needed some time alone. I'll call you as soon as we hear from the doctors – they should be out to give us an update any time now."

They exchanged weary smiles before Martha embarked to locate Alexis. As the stairwell door hissed shut, Beckett slumped down in her chair, defeated. Alexis was right: They had nothing.

The pads of her fingertips traced slow circles on her temple as she mentally filed through the foggy memories of the prior evening. This was New York City – people were attacked and left to die in allies every day. Her own kin were testament to that. She bit down on her lip, willing herself to push the thought from her mind. It was happening all over again.

This scene had somehow seemed different, however. She couldn't place the cause of the dissonance, but she knew. Something had just been...wrong.

She jerked forward, her teeth setting on edge. Esposito and Ryan looked at her questioningly, brows furrowing in concern at the sudden outburst.

"Espo...were there any blood trails leading to or from where we found Castle? Drops, drag marks... anything?"

He pulled his worn spiral notepad from the breast pocket of his jacket and flipped rapidly through the pages, nearly tearing them in his haste.

"That's a negative; Based on the amount of blood that we found and the pooling pattern, we estimated that he stayed where he...fell." His voice faded as he finished the sentence. Talking about Castle like any of their hundreds of other murder victims felt wrong. It shouldn't, but it did. He closed the notepad softly, tucking it back into his jacket.

"So, if he didn't try to move or escape after he was shot," she said, her eyes flashing, "then where did the bloody handprint on the east side of the alley come from?"

Ryan was already up and dialing the CSU collection team when a brisk voice cut through the dull whispers of the waiting room:

"Family of Richard Castle?"

Beckett and Esposito rose, turning to face the source of the summons. A sharply dressed doctor stood at the entrance to the waiting room, his crisp white jacket crinkling against the thick metal clipboard and balanced plastic bags atop it. The grey of his receding hairline met his dark skin at a furrowed brow, housing warm, wise brown eyes. They both extended hands to him in greeting as they approached.

"Hi there, I'm Doctor Arthur Hamill, Mercy's Chief of Staff. You are...Mrs. Castle?" He peered questioningly at her over the rims of his glasses.

Kate stammered, limply shaking his hand before looking down to the floor, cheeks flushed. She should correct him, she knew. But did she want to?

Sensing her discomfort as she stumbled for words, Esposito drew the doctor in for a firm handshake, drawing his attention from his friend. Way to go, jackass.

"Actually, his mother and daughter have just stepped out. This is Detective Kate Beckett, his partner, and I'm Detective Javier Esposito. Myself and my partner, Detective Kevin Ryan, will be working on Mr. Castle's case."

Dr. Hamill smiled apologetically at Beckett, "Forgive me, Detective, I shouldn't have assumed. However, this meeting is certainly fortunate – as well as news on his condition, I've come to personally sign over his personal effects to the case officer as part of the chain of custody." He gestured at the two thickly-stuffed plastic sanitary bags, sealed neatly with red evidence tape. "I understand that Mr. Castle is a very...high-profile patient, in what may be a very high-profile investigation. I wanted to be the one to assure you that you have the full cooperation and support of New York Mercy Hospital."

They smiled at him weakly as Esposito signed the custody paperwork and relieved the doctor of the bags. Beckett's fingers pressed against the plastic, tracing the contents within. His cell phone – smashed – his wallet, keys...she stopped.

"Dr. Hamill, what's this?" Her finger prodded a small cloth bag, stained a deep red, covering its rectangular contents.

"That was found tucked into the back of his pants when they were cut off prior to his surgery. It appears to be a recording device of some kind, but it was not thoroughly examined. That will have to be something on your end of the investigation, I'm afraid."

Ryan had jogged up behind them and was eying Hamill like an appraiser at an auction.

"You must be Detective Ryan; Nice to meet y-"

Ryan cut him off abruptly. "How is he? How's Castle?"

The doctor's face fell as he perched his glasses on his nose, flipping worriedly through the pages of Castle's chart before looking back to the waiting trio.

"When Mr. Castle arrived, he was in a state of hypovolemic shock due to massive blood loss. This state caused an interruption in the normal flow of oxygen to his heart and brain, which in turn lead to ventricular fibrillation. Fortunately, our ambulance technicians were able to revive him before he slipped into cardiac arrest, but he was still highly unstable."

Beckett felt bile rise in her throat as memories of the ambulance flashed through her mind. Visions of his bleeding, lifeless body replayed to her, echoing what she had been trying to repress since the final surge of electricity opened his eyes to the world one last time before he was lost again to the darkness. She had almost watched him die, just as he had done for her that day in the cemetery.

Is this the same hell that he went through?

"He was rushed to the O.R. and our surgeons were able to remove two .22 caliber rounds from his abdomen. They didn't fragment, but..." the doctor removed his glasses and rubbed his temple tiredly, "...the problem with .22 rounds is that they're highly deceptive. One would assume that damage would be minimal due to their small size and density; However, that also usually means that they don't have the necessary velocity to exit the body like a larger caliber might. In most cases – and in Mr. Castle's case, specifically – the rounds tumbled instead of making a clean exit, essentially "bouncing" around inside of him. This caused...significant...internal damage, hence the massive bleeding despite the small wounds."

He returned his glasses and offered a sympathetic face to the detectives, closing Castle's chart.

"My surgeons are still working on fixing him up the best that they can. At this point in time, it's hard to say with certainty what his final prognosis will be, but we're hopeful. The aforementioned bullets will be bagged as evidence and signed over to your crime lab by Mr. Castle's attending physician."

Beckett was the first to speak, so quietly that it almost went unheard.

"When can we see him?"

"It's hard to say for sure, but I expect that he'll be out of surgery in under an hour. After that, he'll be in recovery for another 45 minutes or so before visitors are allowed back."

Ryan's hand squeezed her shoulder. "You should be here. We'll take this stuff back to the station and figure out where we are with CSU. Stay here...he – Castle needs you."

She turned into his shoulder and embraced him in an unusual display of affection before releasing him and turning a watery, strained smile to Esposito.

"You guys get out of here...keep me posted on everything that you find, okay? He's going to be okay. We're all going to be okay."

None of them were sure whether she was trying to convince them or herself, but they departed with reassuring smiles.

"You got it, Beckett."


Ryan and Esposito stood across from each other in the evidence locker, darkly surveying the objects on the table before them, cleanly displayed in parallel rows.

Under normal circumstances, they were just props. Pieces of evidence to be analyzed, tagged, and filed away until their owners came to claim them or they were terminated by the state. But not this time.

Even if just in passing, these objects were a part of their friend. The broad suit jacket, sharply cut at the shoulders they way that he liked it. The small, worn lanyard on his keyring that he had proudly boasted was Alexis' handiwork in fourth grade art class. Even the NYPD sticker that he had stuck just barely off-center on his phone's case at the last precinct picnic; These miniscule nuances that they had brushed aside or laughed about were a collection of him. But on this table, they were just scattered memories. Their linchpin was gone.

"It just doesn't seem right, you know? His life, spread out like this. Like just another case."

Ryan was murmuring quietly to his partner, his gloved hand pushing the possessions around listlessly, unsure of what to search for. Esposito stilled and looked to him:

"It is just another case, bro. That's our boy in there, sure – but he needs us right now. He's counting on us to put this bastard down, and we can't do that if all we see is him instead of the evidence. Right now, this is what we have. Let's talk it out, from when he went down."

Ryan picked up the collared shirt and eyed the front before flipping it over.

"Two shots to the gut, here, and here," he said, pointing with gloved fingers, "like the doc said, they weren't through-and-throughs, so no exit holes. Most of the buttons on the front are missing, probably from when Beckett pulled it apart."

He paused, and brought the fabric to his nose. He handed it to his partner.

"Do you smell what I smell?"

Esposito's brow furrowed. "Cordite, and it's strong. To be expected, I guess – if this was a mugging, it would have been at close range."

Ryan shrugged and flipped open Castle's wallet: "Well, it's empty, as expected. No cash, no credit cards, nothing. So far, I'm liking the mugging theory, but that hand print just isn't adding up. It was fresh, and..."

He moved closer to the shirt that Esposito was still holding up to the light, spread apart at the shoulders.

"Wait a second, Espo...here, put the two front pieces together. I think I see a...no, it can't be. That doesn't make sense."

Esposito laid the shirt onto the table, pulling the two halves together.

"Look at the gunshot residue patterns. The two points of entry are fairly standard – wider, more prominent burns in a circular pattern radiating from the point of origin. But look at the residue on the upper chest and right shoulder...and here on the right shirt sleeve cuff. The residue here is concentrated and disjointed from the two bullet wounds. "

Esposito's jaw tightened as he made the connection that his partner was indirectly explaining.

"Bro...you're not saying what I think you're saying, right? He can't...it's not possible. He wouldn't."

Ryan wiped a hand down his face and stared distantly down at the table. He felt his stomach twist.

"Remember what you said, Javi. We can't make this about us, or about him – not if we're going to be able to look at this objectively. It's about the evidence, even if we don't like what it tells us. We don't know what it means right now, or its context in the scenario, but we do know something."

Esposito looked away darkly, running a hand roughly over the back of his neck. His partner was right, of course, but the realization still stung him.

"We won't say anything to Beckett until we know why, but..." Ryan finished quietly, as if almost unable to believe his own words, "Castle was the one who fired a gun last night."