Ghost on the Canvas

by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles


AU : Assuming all things are equal, the watch is for the life she saved; the ring is for the life she lost; but the bracelet is for the life she misses.


Hot water pounds on the sore muscles of her back, of her neck, working wonders, and the detective has never been so glad that they redid this area of the precinct only a few years back. It was hell at the time, the constant noise of the drilling that echoed through the whole building (she was already working in Homicide, though, which was a lot better than being down in Vice), but boy, was it worth it.

Only then does she allow herself to think back on tonight, on the fact that Castle, some way or other, found out about Beth. Hell, that she willingly told him about Beth. Even the warm water can't do anything for the painful spot in her chest that is claimed by her sister, that hole dug by absence and an unwillingness to forgive.

This is too much, too much to be thinking about when she hasn't slept, when a serial killer has fixated upon her. She drives her thoughts down another road, one she believes to be safer.

Her dad will not be thrilled to hear about her apartment, but at least she knows how to handle him. And he won't mind having her over. She cringes to think of the time it'll take her to get there, but this will save her the expense of a hotel room. And since she's already gonna need to find a new apartment, furnish said apartment... Yep, her dad's it is.

It's only reluctantly that Kate steps out of the shower, dries herself with the spare towel she keeps in her locker. Shaw's probably waiting, however, along with the guys; and after she calls her dad, the detective has a goddamn serial killer to catch.

And catch him she will.


"Hey. Dad."

"Katie, it's early."

She glances to the clock in the locker room, surprised to see just how early it is. She's been up for so long now that time has already gone back around to early again. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to warn you-"

"I already know, sweetheart."

She blinks, running her hand through her still-wet hair. It's not in a french braid any more, of course, and she kind of misses it. She still keeps finding bits of her apartment in her hair, debris and dust. "How did you find out?"

"She always. . .comes here first, Katie. I know I should've-"

"Wait. What?" She shakes her head, frowning at her cell phone. She pops out of the women's locker room and heads into the hallway, zipping up her leather jacket. All she had in her locker was a workout shirt with spaghetti straps, but at least it has the built-in shelf bra. "Dad. What are you talking about?"

"Your sister. Beth is here at the house."

Beth is at the house. "Oh."

"Wait, what did you call to warn me about?"

"Uh." She plops down on the top of the stairs; she's just about run out of all that reserve energy, adrenaline is gone, and she's ready to crash. "My apartment was bombed. But I'm okay."

"Oh my God."

"I'm okay."

"Katie-"

"I'm okay, Dad."

Third time's the charm. It always is with him. He lets out a long breath and sighs disappointedly. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

"The FBI is looking for someone. A killer."

"And?"

"And he was setting a trap. But Castle figured it out before anything happened."

"Before anything-?" Her father snorts into the phone. "Your apartment was blown up!"

"But I told you. I'm okay. I promise."

"Where are you right now?"

"At the 12th, Dad. The Captain put a security detail on me-"

"Which you'll use. You'll use it, Kate."

"I will," she promises with a sigh. She wasn't planning on it, but now. . .

"Beth is right here. Do you want to-"

"No." She rubs at her forehead. "Dad, this has been a really long day-"

"Beth is different now, Katie-"

"Dad." She knows she sounds petulant, like a child, but she just can't do this right now. "Not right now."

"She visits me a couple times a year, Kate. She calls. She misses you. I know she'd love to talk-"

"Dad. I really, really can't. I can't."

Kate leans her head against the stair railing and pulls the phone away from her ear. She can hear her father still trying to convince her, but she won't. She can't. Not right now. If she has to dig into this wound, dredge it up, she's not sure she can recover.

So she ends the call in the middle of her father's plea.

Looks like she's bunking at the 12th.


Seeing Alexis, as always, is like being bathed in pure, salutary light when he's spent the whole night in the dark, both literally and figuratively speaking.

Even when Rick hits the shower, the sweet concern of his daughter continues to shine on him, and the shadows retreat, inch by inch. Beckett doesn't have that; she doesn't even have a home. She has to shower at the precinct, instead of getting a hug from his wonderful kid, instead of the shelter, the privacy of one's own apartment.

He wants her to stay with him. If for some reason she can't, or won't, stay at her dad's, he'll have to insist, prod and poke until she gives in. Better yet, he can talk to Montgomery. She'll probably hate him, but at least she'll be safe. Cared for.

Castle feels better after making that decision. It gives him renewed energy, lifts his spirits – which, if he's honest, is rather necessary considering he has only slept for like an hour. He grabs some food on the way out, the first things he can get his hands on. Crackers, and an apple. That'll have to do.

Kate probably hasn't eaten anything either, he realizes. Except that junk food they sell at the precinct. Well, along with coffee he can buy a bear claw, and a muffin. Muffins for everyone, actually, because Ryan and Esposito deserve it just as much.

He makes a detour to stop at this little coffee shop that makes the best bear claws (those got an almost-moan from Beckett once, and he's been trying to repeat the experience ever since). Alas, they're closed – an "emergency", the sign on the door says, and Castle stares at it mournfully, then looks around like a lost puppy.

The other coffee shop she really likes isn't close exactly, and he already stopped at the jeweler he knows and likes, near his loft, to give them her father's watch for repair. This is time he could be spending at the precinct. Alright. There's a very good bakery right at the corner – he can buy food there, and rely on the break room machine for coffee. There's a reason why he bought that thing, after all.

Only fifteen minutes later, Castle walks into the precinct with a full bag of sweet-scented pastries. When he pushes the button, the elevator doors open on Ryan and Esposito; the guys say hi and barely wait for his invitation before they start digging into the food.

"Bro, seriously," Javier exclaims through a mouthful. "I'm not sure why Beckett hasn't married you already. This? This is heaven, Castle."

"Agreed," Ryan concurs softly, looking at the cupcake he's holding like he wants to marry it. "I'd marry you in a heartbeat, Castle."

"Jeez, guys, thanks for the love," the writer smirks, wishing the way to Kate's heart was as simple as the way is to their hearts – or should he say stomachs? He's being a hypocrite, he thinks with a tiny smile. The first thing that attracted him to Beckett (okay, other than her gorgeous eyes and smoking hot body) was the multi-layered personality that she let him catch only glimpses of.

"Speaking of Beckett –" he says, itching to get back to her now that he's fed her teammates.

"Right," Kevin answers, swallowing the last of the cream with a blissful expression. "She crashed in the break room like ten minutes ago. As long as Shaw is busy elsewhere, might as well let her get some sleep, you know? She looked like she needed it."

Rick nods, taking in the information, trying to hide his unhappiness at Kate's sleeping on the uncomfortable couch that he wouldn't even sit on.

"Where are you guys headed?"

"Talking to Ben Conrad's sister," Esposito shrugs. "In case she's had any contact with our unnamed killer."

The writer wishes them luck, steps past them to get into the elevator. In a swift move, Ryan grabs another one of the cupcakes, his arm barely escaping the trap of the shutting doors. He hears the detective's partner exclaiming, "And you call me a pig –" and chuckles as he leans against the back wall, his mind up in Homicide already, with Kate.

She really is sleeping on the break room couch. Her knees are drawn up against her chest, her head in an awkward position, twisted to rest on the back of the couch. Her neck is gonna be painful when she wakes up. Her arms were probably loosely wrapped around her knees; they've fallen to her sides now.

Castle hovers, hesitates, eager to move her into a more comfortable position, to brush his hand against her cheek. At least she showered, and changed. Her hair looks soft and shiny, even in the artificial precinct light.

She's still beautiful, slumped in exhaustion, all sharp lines even in the slackness of sleep.

In the end he decides against moving her; she would probably wake, and her sleep matters more than potential soreness. She's probably sore already, anyway.

She is *so* sleeping at his place tonight. He won't take no for an answer. He's got security, and he's certainly closer to the precinct than her dad is. Even though he has, in fact, no idea where Jim Beckett lives.

Stealthily retreating out of the break room, Castle pulls the door closed, protective of Kate's rest. Then he walks back to her desk, shuffles through the papers that litter it. He's at a loss what to do here. Jordan is nowhere to be seen, the FBI agents look like they're busy and in no need of his unput.

Well, he's got a good ten minutes here, right? He could go out again for coffee. There's this nice enough shop, right out of the precinct. And he still has his coat on.

Rick tucks the bag of pastries under Kate's desk (he learned his lesson after that time he left a bag of Chinese food unattended for fifteen minutes, and came back to find it all but empty), and he heads out again, anxious to move, to be useful, to do something.

To help.


There's a commotion at the entrance of the precinct when Castle walks back in. He doesn't pay much attention to it at first, because his eyes are on the text he just got from Alexis, but then he hears Kate's name and looks up, suddenly interested.

The uniform at the desk is telling a dark-haired woman that she cannot go in without providing him with a driver's license or some identification. The woman has her back to him, but she looks vaguely familiar.

"Why the hell would I need an ID?" she exclaims. "I just want to see her, talk to her."

"Miss," the red-haired cop says sternly, "I cannot let you in..."

"Yeah? Well watch me," the young woman retorts challengingly, and she spins on her heels, beelining for the stairs.

Except, well, Castle is in her way. By some miracle he manages to hold on to the coffee cups, even though his phone lands on the floor with a sound that doesn't bode well.

The woman finds her balance again, her hand resting on his forearm as she apologizes.

Whatever she says, it's lost on Rick. He can only stare, speechless, stunned.

She's Beckett. But at the same time, she's not. The line of the jaw is softer, rounder; she's a little shorter than Kate, by an inch maybe. Her hair is wavier, though the chestnut shade is identical. But the large green eyes, the high cheekbones, the surprised, tentative smile?

Oh, man. They're the exact same.

Why is there no air left in the room?

"You know that woman, Castle?" The uniform – Flannigan's his name – asks, pulling him out of his bewildered trance. Thank God for Jerry Flannigan.

"Ah, uh. Yeah," Rick says, watching the woman's brow furrow slightly.

Beth's brow. He has absolutely no doubt who she is, even if Kate said her sister was in France when she heard of her last. Hell of a coincidence, that said sister shows up here only ten hours after he first learns of her existence.

Can Flannigan not see the striking likeness? Castle is blinded by it, silenced, awed.

"She wants to see Beckett, but I have specific orders, what with that serial killer running around..."

"That's okay, Jerry," the writer answers mechanically, unable to take his eyes off Beth's face, and the nervous, uneasy look that crosses it at the mention of Not-Conrad. "I'll take her."

Flannigan mutters a thanks and goes back to his desk, leaving Rick standing in the hallway with Kate's sister. Who tilts her head, interest shining in her green eyes.

He's so screwed. Two Becketts? He'll never survive this.

"You're Richard Castle, the author," Beth says softly, something like awe in her voice.

"And you're Beth, the sister," he replies stupidly, unable to think of something else.

She smiles then, an intrigued, joyful smile that sets her completely apart from Kate. He's *really* grateful for that, for the great gulp of air it allows him to suck in.

"How do you know my name?" She asks, sounding pleased with the fact, and not freaked out in the least.

Oh, that's good. If she can keep doing that, can keep reminding him that she isn't Kate, he might just make it.

"I'm friends with Beckett. Kate," he amends, after clearing his throat. Using her first name without permission is a little like breaking the law – you know it's wrong, but you can't help the thrill of excitement that comes with it. (Kinda like that time, with the horse...)

"Oh, are you?"

The teasing in her voice, the laughing light in her eye – she's making fun of him, isn't she? How much does she know?

"And Katie talks about me?" She wonders aloud. "Well, that's a surprise."

Castle opens his mouth to say something, maybe tell her that he didn't know she existed until last night, but his phone chimes, calling for attention. He looks around, realizes the device is still on the floor, where it landed after the collision.

He bends over to grab it, balancing the coffees in his left hand. He feels them slipping just when his fingers connect with his phone; he makes a desperate attempt to settle the weight of the cups, but Beth has them already.

She smiles, gestures for him to look at his phone while she holds the coffee. Castle glances at her, startled, grateful. She's not Kate, obviously.

But the text message is. Did you leave anything inside the bakery, Castle? And where did you go?

A grin spreads on his face. At least she found the bear claws. He quickly types, Be back in a minute. I went for coffee, presses send, and finds Beth staring at him curiously.

Right.

"You know," he starts hesitantly, "Now might not be the best time if you wanna see Kate. We're sort of, in the middle of an investigation, and she's...focused, if you know what I mean."

A shadow falls on the young woman's face for a second. "Oh, trust me, I know."

The desire to get back to Beckett wars with the need to dig for Beth's meaning. But Castle swallows the questions that fill his mouth, pockets his phone. Unfortunately, Kate's sister doesn't look ready to give up.

"But I just want to see her for a few minutes," she insists. "Just tell her I miss her, and I'm glad she's okay, and I..." she seems to realize that she's just met Rick, and a mixture of shyness and amusement dances in her eyes. "You know."

Is that a blush on her cheeks?

"I do know," he answers quickly, before he can be overpowered by this charming Almost-Kate. "Really, I understand, but... Kate has barely slept at all. And things at the precinct aren't exactly ideal at the moment. Not to mention, you know, the serial killer we're chasing."

Beth nods slowly, not bothering to hide her disappointment. Again, unlike Kate. Rick is almost having fun now – it's like playing "spot the difference".

"But she's all right?" Beth asks, and her green eyes fix on him, demand the truth. Like Kate's.

"As all right as she can be, in this situation," he answers honestly. "But I'm working on it," he adds with a wink, pointing to the coffee.

The young woman hands the tray back to him and gives him a half-hearted smile, biting on her lower lip. Ah. So *that's* a family trait.

"Will you –" Beth trails, wavers. "Will you tell her I stopped by?" The words come out fast, bundled together, like they will be less noticeable this way.

"I will," Castle assures her warmly, feeling a surge of affection for this younger, more unsure version of Beckett. "I promise."

"And, maybe... Maybe you can take my number? Give it to her?"

"Sure." He takes out his phone again, hands it to her. "Just put it in there. I'll do the rest."

He thinks for a second, adds, "Do you want mine? Just in case?"

Her eyes dart from the screen to his face, eyebrows shooting up. "That...would be great, actually. Thanks." She smiles again, wide and unrestrained, and the writer finds himself longing to see that exact expression on Kate's face.

When they've exchanged numbers, he watches her walk away for a couple of seconds before he hurries inside, all too aware that keeping his Beckett waiting will do nothing to help with her mood. The surreal encounter with Beth lingers at the back of his mind for a moment, before the case takes precedence, along with concerns of poor lighting, lack of area rugs, and the difficulty of being a Knicks fan.