In Pieces

by

A.K. Hunter

Chapter Four


He couldn't believe he was doing this, but he didn't know what else to do.

"They're taking an awfully long time." Castle shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic seat.

Kevin and the writer had been sitting in the waiting area of a Manhattan surgical center. Kevin glanced at the double doors that stood between him and their suspect-turned-victim. She'd been so out of her mind with sickness and panic that she'd had to be sedated. Kevin ran his hand through his hair, remembering how she'd refused to let ago of him, how her body had sort of slumped forward once she'd given in to the drugs. Though the circumstances could not be more different, the scene was terribly familiar. How many times had he watched Jenny get wheeled away on a gurney?

"She was pretty messed up," Kevin responded. Understatement of the century. Alexis' frightened, glazed eyes and corpse-colored skin were branded into his memory.

The writer had been true to his word. Once Kevin had called and explained the situation, Castle had pulled some strings with a surgeon he knew to get Alexis the treatment she needed without identifying her as the suspect in an ongoing murder investigation.

"What do you think happened?"

Kevin considered the bruises scattered across her face, the sharp angles of her cheekbones cutting against her skin, the deep wound that poisoned her entire body. She was starving, beaten, and unclean. A stray left to fend for itself. "I think her involvement with Ivanova caught up to her."

He heard the writer sigh. Kevin understood the sentiment. They were way off the straight and narrow, basically rogue, helping a criminal who had fallen victim to other criminals.

Clipped footsteps echoed down the hallway, and the double doors opened to reveal the surgeon. Both men stood as she approached.

"Laura," Castle began.

"It's Dr. Howard," she corrected him, a sharp frown on her face. Kevin briefly wondered what kind of history the two might have.

"How is she?" Kevin asked.

"Stable. For what little good it will do."

The detective's heart stopped. "Excuse me?"

The surgeon glanced between the men then jerked her head back in the direction she'd just come from. "I'll take you to see her."

The two men followed behind the doctor into a procedure room and Dr. Howard closed the door behind them. Alexis was curled up on her side, her back to the group. The hospital gown exposed fresh bandages over her shoulder, and several IV lines were connected to each of her hands. Kevin moved closer, needing to see her face. The bruises were no less glaring against her pale skin, but she seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

"It was a nasty cut," the doctor explained. "I had to open the wound up to fully clean it, but it should heal nicely if it's taken care of."

"So what's the problem then?" Castle asked.

"She's homeless." The doctor's tone was blunt, and she frowned at the lack of understanding on both men's faces. "The cut wasn't a clean slice. It was serrated, torn, like she got caught on a nail or a bit of chain link. It's the kind of cut that most people take care of at home with antibiotic cream and Band-Aids. Maybe they'd get a few stitches. The fact that you brought this girl to me half-starved with a septic cut tells me one thing: she's not going to get the care she needs." She turned to Castle. "I don't know what this is all about, and I don't want to know. But this girl is better off in the hospital. Fixing her up and letting her go won't help. She's not going to survive on the streets like this."

"What does she need?" Kevin's heart felt like it was going to break out of his chest, and he reached for Alexis' hand without thinking. He couldn't let anything happen to her. Duty be damned; protocol be damned. The image of the redhead dead in some alley from a treatable injury made fury and panic boil in his veins. It wasn't fucking acceptable.

"Antibiotics. Dressing changes. A warm, safe place to recover. Three square meals."

"I'll take care of her. Whatever she needs."

"Ryan—" Rick began.

"I can't just leave her, Castle."

"I wasn't asking you to. But Beckett and Esposito—"

"Can't find out," Kevin answered. He ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. "I'll figure it out later. Right now I just want to get her home."

The doctor nodded. "I'll write you instructions for her care moving forward. And you," she directed to Castle, "where should I send my bill?"

"Ah, let's just take care of it now. Don't want a paper trail, do we?"

Kevin moved closer to Alexis, gently tucking a strand of hair away from her face. She looked tiny on that procedure table, helpless. Her skin seemed impossibly pale, but her chest rose and fell evenly. If they'd done things properly, Alexis would have been taken to the hospital, treated for her injuries, and transferred to a medical facility within the county jail. Out of his reach, where he couldn't help her, couldn't save her, where the system would fail her.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured. "I promise."


The alarm on his phone blared, and Kevin jerked awake, groping at the device to quiet the offending noise. His feet came to rest on the floor and and he rubbed his face, preparing himself for another long day. He was beyond tired, but he didn't have the option of slowing. His day off was too far away to bring him much comfort.

He pushed himself to his feet, blearily heading toward the shower. Under the refreshing spray, the world became less daunting. He could do this, he reminded himself. He could handle the fatigue. He'd done it all before, after all, and with a much more grim prognosis. A task list formed in his brain: get ready for work, make breakfast for Alexis, keep digging into Ivanova's background.

The redhead had been staying with him for three days, and she'd spent almost all of her time sleeping. He'd wake her in the morning before he left from work and shovel breakfast down her throat along with her pain medication and antibiotics, and when he would get home at the end of a long day, he'd feed her dinner, help her shower and change her bandages, and then put her to bed with another dose of medication. If her wound wasn't healing so nicely, just like Dr. Howard had said it would, Kevin would be worried about the lethargy she was displaying.

Kevin dressed and headed to the kitchen to start on Alexis' breakfast. She was burrowed up in her blankets on the couch, just like every morning thus far. He cooked up some scrambled eggs and grabbed a high-calorie meal replacement shake from the fridge. Deja vu settled over him as he placed Alexis' breakfast on the coffee table next to her medications. He remembered mornings very much like this one: the fatigue, the half-liquid meals, the pill bottles, the obsession with things everyone else in the damn world took for granted. Kevin's only comfort among a sea of eerie similarities was the fact that this time his patient would get better. This time he'd be able to save her.

"Alexis." He gently tugged her blankets down to her waist and squeezed her hand a few times. "It's breakfast time." His hand rubbed up and down her exposed arm. "Wake up." He frowned. She felt warm. Had her fever come back? After a few more requests for her to wake up, her large eyes opened, glassy and blue as they stared back at him.

"It's time to eat breakfast."

She blinked sleepily a few times before nodding, and Kevin helped her sit up. He rested the tray in her lap and wrapped her fingers around the fork. "Eat." He'd found she responded better to orders than requests. It was less work to mechanically do has he asked than it was to engage in a dialogue, apparently. He'd tried countless time to engage her, and each time she stared back at him with heavy lids, barely able to stay upright. While Kevin didn't doubt that she was lucid—the way she followed his requests was proof of that—he imagined she was simply too tired to do anything more than the bare necessities.

Alexis slowly scraped the fork across the plate, mechanically feeding herself with shaking hands. As she focused on her breakfast, he glided the thermometer across her forehead. 99.3. Barely low grade. Kevin made a mental note to check it again at dinnertime. He tried not to despair when she set the fork back down, the plate still half-full. Her eyes were getting heavy again.

"Hey." He squeezed her hand. "You're not finished." Though he didn't really have time for it, he'd argue if needed. She needed to get back to a healthy weight for her body to heal itself. The sweatpants he'd gotten her hung loose on her frame, barely staying on her hips no matter how tight he cinched them.

She just turned her head away, leaning back against the couch.

He grabbed the fork with a sigh. "Open your mouth." He hated feeding her. Nothing made him feel more powerless than being responsible for someone else's life necessities because they were too sick to be capable. She was good patient, though, and she didn't fight him. He set the empty plate aside and grabbed the shake, bringing the straw to her lips. "Drink up. Slowly."

She followed his order, her warm hand resting over his as he held the cup for her. His phone buzzed, and after making sure she wouldn't spill her breakfast, he let her hold the can.

"Hey, Espo."

"I was digging into your girl's background a little bit and I've got a couple places she might be. I'm on my way to your place."

Shit. "I'll meet you outside."

"See you soon."

Kevin ended the call with a sigh. Javi called Alexis his girl, but if he knew the truth, he wouldn't be so inclined to joke. Kevin couldn't keep her hidden away forever, not while she was entrenched in a murder investigation, not while there were so many questions to which he was desperate to learn the answers. One look at the young woman in front of him silenced the nagging voice in the back of his head. She was too fragile for questioning.

Gentle heat pressed against his fingers, and Alexis' hand weakly squeezed his own. She watched him with half-lidded eyes. "Thank you."

The anxiety in his chest momentarily softened, and something sharper took its place. They were the first two words she'd said to him since the night he'd found her on his doorstep, spoken with the same weak tone she'd used in her crazed apologies. For a moment, Kevin was struck by the gratitude in her tired eyes, by her attempt to comfort him. He was reminded of the last time she'd comforted him. When she'd touched his face and told him he didn't have to be strong all the time. In that first night together, she'd seemed fearless, a dream girl in the flesh. Now she huddled in front of him, that perfectly made up face all yellowing bruises and hunger-edged cheekbones. He'd had an amazing night with her that was both sexually satisfying and emotionally intimate. At least, that was how it had felt to him. He'd seen her naked twice since then, and the clinical, totally sexless way that he'd washed her skin and hair drew a stark contrast to their erotic coupling.

He didn't know her. Not really. That much was obvious, made clear by the dichotomy in front of him. One side of her all bravado and sex appeal, the other so vulnerable, so terribly breakable. The real Alexis was somewhere in the middle, he suspected, tucked away with glowing sculptures, stacks of books, and a kind heart that had long ago stopped believing in the division of right and wrong.

He let his hand slide out from underneath hers as he reached for the pill bottles. "Here." He placed two tablets in her palm and gestured to the can in her hand. He couldn't accept her gratitude; he had no idea what to do with it. Especially when her invalid status was the only reason he wasn't interrogating her, demanding answers to the relentless questions that plagued him. How was she connected to Ivanova? Who, exactly, had hurt her? Why had she let Kevin believe that he was something special when she'd been planning to leave in the morning?

Something pained flashed in the depths of those glassy eyes, and she swallowed the pills down, handing him the can and easing her way back down on the couch without looking at him. It seemed their impasse would continue.

Kevin pulled the blankets up around her and stood up, quickly depositing the dirty dishes in the sink and tossing the can in the garbage. He grabbed his keys from the counter and left a glass of water on the coffee table, sparing one last glance at her. "I'll see you tonight."

"Be safe," she mumbled, her eyes closed, either from exhaustion or because she didn't want to look at him.

Kevin paused, taken aback by her response. "I will." He shook himself and left the apartment. Javi texted on his way down the elevator, and Kevin prepared himself for a day of working on Alexis' case. Hopefully he could pull Javi away from the manhunt long enough to get some actual work done. Kevin knew his partner might never forgive him for secretly caring for their suspect, but Kevin knew he was making the right choice. Unanswered questions and lingering bitterness aside, he would help Alexis as long as she needed it.


The world was heavy, too heavy to bear. It's insistent sensations—the heat that suffocated her body, the dissonant traffic outside, the comforting and familiar scent of her too-soft blanket—pressed in on her, grated against paper-thin skin and sent her drug-dulled neurons pinging in wrong directions. She had been lying in the same spot, floating in that half-life between sleeping and awake, for what felt like an eternity. It took years to get her ten-ton eyelids to lift, decades to keep them open for longer than a heartbeat.

By the time Alexis managed to lift her body up into a shaking, half-huddled sitting position, the daylight coming in through the windows was fading. She glanced around, recognizing her surroundings but unsure how she'd gotten there. There was an unrelenting ache in her bones and she felt weak as a newborn kitten.

Her eyes landed on a tepid glass of water. She greedily gulped it down, then replaced it on the table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Memory echoed dimly in her mind.

I'll see you tonight.

Kevin. Kevin Ryan. Detective Kevin Ryan. If she had the energy to panic, she would have sprinted for the door but—

Images flitted in front of her eyes like slides on a projector. That's right, she had run from him. She'd drugged him and had spent days in hiding.

Fresher, crueler memories made her flinch. Not that hiding had done her much good. She ended up beaten and starving with a painful, poisonous gouge in her back when she'd tried to run. And through that mess she'd gotten herself into, Kevin had been there. Hazy images of him holding a straw to her lips and feeding her, of peeling away her hospital gown and washing her hair and skin, of tucking her blankets around her each time he said good bye or good night.

Alexis glanced down at her gray sweatpants and blue tank top. She certainly hadn't come to his apartment in those clothes.

Something hot twisted in her stomach. What did he have to gain by taking care of her? Why would he go to the trouble in the first place? After all she'd done to him? With perfect clarity, she recalled the fury in his eyes when she'd drugged him. Alexis had little doubt that the detective hated her for that. So why keep her in his apartment, feed her, clothe her, monitor her temperature and treat her wound? Why not dump her at the hospital and leave her in police custody?

She looked down at the nest of blankets and pillows on the couch she'd been sleeping on, the same couch she and Kevin had slept on mere days before. It was all too easy to lose herself in the memory of his arms wrapped around her, his heart beating beneath her ear.

I want to see you again.

God, if only he'd known what that simple wish would turn into. She was back on his couch, but she had a feeling that if he could undo recent events so that she remained a stranger, he would. What man would want his one-night-stand to end up sick and broken in his custody? Who would sign up for that?

Alexis never would have believed that she'd carry so much guilt over disappointing a stranger. But maybe that was because Kevin had never exactly felt like a stranger. From that first interaction in the bar, Alexis had felt like she was reconnecting with an old friend. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to talk to him, to tell him things, to share her real name, which she never, ever did when meeting guys in a bar.

She'd hurt him. That was obvious, from the look of shock and betrayal when he'd burst into her bathroom, to the way he now spoke to her, simple commands devoid of any warmth. The Kevin she'd met that night at the shitty bar had been cautious, too, but he'd eventually warmed up to her. The way he spoke to her, touched her, kissed her—there was a kindness there, almost a kind of reverence, like he really had believed she was special and he felt privileged to be gifted with her company. She missed it. She missed feeling like she was more than just a strange hybrid of genius, slut, and vagabond.

But now he knew exactly what she was, the trouble she'd gotten herself into, the people she associated with, and the embarrassing conditions in which she'd lived. Shame warred with guilt. What he must think of her.

Base urges forced her to stand up, and she leaned heavily against the wall on her way to the bathroom, fighting the spots that threatened to white out her vision. She couldn't remember ever being this weak, this sick, this broken.

She mechanically washed her hands, and her eyes landed on her reflection in the mirror, pale and gaunt with a nest of wild red hair. She gingerly touched a yellowing bruise around her eye, remembering all too clearly the cruel hands that had left the mark. A shudder ripped up her spine, and she splashed warm water on her face, determined to wash away the hollow-eyed woman in front of her. Her hand hovered over the toothbrushes next to the sink. There were two, red and blue in color. She chose the blue, and dug around the bathroom drawers with shaking hands for toothpaste. Her hands stopped on a makeup bag, but she pushed the discomfort and accompanying question aside. The company he kept wasn't her business.

After erasing the gritty taste from her mouth, she found a comb and attempted to tame her hair. Her arms grew tired from her grooming, and she leaned against the vanity to ease the shaking in her legs. Though she felt better from her simple tasks, she was still paler than she'd ever been and thin as a stray cat. Suddenly aware of a strange throb-turned-itch that burned across her scapula, she reached around her shoulder, her fingertips finding medical tape and bandages.

She shuddered again, and chills danced across her skin. She was cold all over, frozen as the late January air had been on her unprotected body. Memory took over, hazy images of running through the snow and filthy city slush, tripping over numb, clumsy feet, climbing underneath a hole in the battered fence, pain flaring up her back when a loose bit of chain link bit into her body.

You cannot run forever, myshka.

She jolted at the sound of heavy plastic bags smacking against a hard surface.

"I do care, Espo. Of course I care." She heard a familiar voice say. "Going home at a decent time doesn't mean I—"

She'd had an opportunity to run, and she'd let it slip through her fingers. Irrationally, she looked for something that could be used as a weapon, her deeply ingrained flight or fight instincts taking root.

"I have plans, okay? The dead ends will still be there in the morning."

Alexis dug through the medicine cabinet, and her fingers wrapped around a well-used shaving razor.

"Listen, I've gotta go. Do yourself a favor and get out of there, too. Lanie's been awfully cranky lately."

She eased herself out of the bathroom, exhaustion biting into every muscle as she surveyed her options.

"You too, brother. Bye."

The hallway would take her back to the kitchen and living room, where she could hear Kevin moving around. The bathroom was a dead end. Her eyes landed on a closed door. It had to be Kevin's bedroom. Maybe she could hide—

"Alexis?" he called, his voice getting closer.

She made it a few steps; her hand landed on the doorknob.

His voice cut through her like tissue paper. "What are you doing?"

She shrank back against the door, the razor held in a white-knuckle grip in front of her. His eyes took in her appearance, then stopped on the pathetic weapon in her hand. She watched his mouth twist into a frown, and he held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Alexis gripped it tighter, pressing herself back against the wall.

"Give me the razor, Alexis. Now."

She couldn't fight him. She knew she'd lose. And she didn't have the strength to run. She barely had enough strength to stand on both of her feet. Kevin seemed to have the same realization, because before she could even consider another plan, he'd crossed the space between them and gripped her wrist firmly enough to break her hold on the razor. It fell harmlessly to the floor, the blade separating from the handle on impact. Anxiety curdled her stomach at the sight.

"What exactly did you plan to do with that?" Kevin asked. He still hadn't let go of her wrist.

Alexis didn't answer, her gaze locked on the broken razor next to her cold, bare feet. The detective gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Answer me." His voice was quiet, but firm. Something steely flashed in his baby blues and Alexis was reminded how angry she'd made him.

"I don't know," she whispered.

He frowned, and Alexis braced herself for pain, flinching when his hand slipped up her arm.

He sighed at her clear expression of fear and his grip on her chin loosened. His thumb stroked across her jaw line before he dropped his hand. "Don't do that again, okay?"

"Okay." She didn't know if she truly meant it, but trapped against the wall, his unrelenting gaze burning into her, she wasn't about to argue.

"Come on then." Kevin's fingers wrapped lightly around her bicep as he led her across the apartment and into the kitchen. He effortlessly lifted her onto a bar stool and walked around the kitchen island to unpack his groceries.

Alexis watched him move around the kitchen, mute with shock. He hadn't punished her. Hadn't hurt her, even though he was clearly still upset. She glanced through the doorway, where the edge of the couch was just visible.

"Stay here," Kevin said. "I can't cook and keep an eye on you if you're in another room."

Alexis didn't offer a response. Her rash actions had led to this, to Kevin treating her like she needed a babysitter. Adrenaline thrummed through her veins from their earlier confrontation, but she kept still, her head resting on folded arms as she watched him cook. He moved around the kitchen with confidence, pouring uncooked pasta into boiling water, cutting bunches of leafy vegetables and bright-colored peppers, stirring a thick white sauce while strips of chicken grilled in a neighboring pan. His badge was in its uniform place on the counter, next to his car keys, but his service weapon was still in its holster on his lower back. His sleeves had been rolled up and his tie and jacket set aside. Alexis was reminded how handsome the detective was, how attracted she'd been to his lean build and kind smile. Something like embarrassment fluttered in her stomach as she recalled her own haggard appearance and how different it was from the polished facade she'd put on when they'd first met.

"Something on your mind?" he asked.

Alexis blushed deeper and shook her head. She wasn't about to give him ammunition, and she was fairly certain that he had less than zero interest in being intimate with her ever again.

Kevin seemed content to let her sit in silence, and the kitchen soon filled with delicious scents. He placed a bowl of salad in front of her with a fork. "I hope you like kale."

Alexis picked up the fork, her mind briefly considering how she might use it to improve her circumstances. Short of throwing it at the detective, she didn't have many options.

"You didn't strike me as the shy type," he said, his back to her as he turned over the strips of chicken.

Alexis picked at her nutrient-rich salad. "Anything I say will be used against me, won't it?"

He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised, but he shook his head. "Not necessarily." He began dishing the pasta into two big bowls. "Besides, you're not under arrest."

"Right." That was bullshit.

A bowl of chicken Alfredo appeared in front of her. "Eat up." He leaned against the opposite counter with his own bowl, digging into the food he'd made. It seemed he was done talking about her future convictions. Alexis couldn't understand it. Her mind raced through variables, possible explanations for the detective's behavior. She'd lied to him, assaulted him, had likely made his job very difficult, since he was harboring a fugitive and all. Why wouldn't he want to arrest her? Why wouldn't he punish her for everything she'd done to him?

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, focusing on twirling pasta around her fork. "What do you have to gain by helping me?"

He chewed thoughtfully then asked, "Why did you come here when you got hurt?"

Anxiety shot through her belly, and she gripped her fork a little tighter. Her memories of that night were hazy at best, punctuated with pain and heavy sickness that had smothered her entire body. She'd never been so scared in her entire life. "It was the safest place I could think of."

Kevin nodded, like he'd suspected as much. "It still is." He nudged her bowl. "Eat. You're not going to get better if you don't gain some weight."

She mutely followed his instruction, avoiding his burdensome gaze as she focused on her meal. It didn't escape her that he hadn't answered her question, and unease tickled her spine. She was heavily indebted to him now, more so with each bite of food she consumed. Alexis had learned long ago that any gift given was simply a debt unpaid. The detective might act like he'd forgiven her trespasses, and he might be serious about nursing her back to health, but sooner or later his kindness would come with a price. If he were any other man, she'd know exactly how to repay him, and that unknown variable set her teeth on edge. She couldn't protect herself from what she didn't know.

Alexis finished her food, meekly whispering her thanks as Kevin took her used dishes.

He set a glass of juice and her medications in front of her. "As soon as you're done, I need to change your bandages."

The sweet liquid tasted bitter in her mouth as she mentally added a few more tallies to her debt and wondered how she'd ever dig herself out.


Author's Note: Um, hi guys! I'm so sorry this took so long to update. I've been working on this chapter for a few weeks now, adding and deleting and generally agonizing over it. I hope you like the new installment, and I'd love to know what you think. Thanks for reading!