Close Encounters 22

Going on eight hours now since the last round of dialysis, and Beckett was still asleep. Castle was glad for that, because he had the idea his demeanor was making her feel worse, hovering at her side like a sad ghost.

She didn't need to see that.

Black had fallen asleep sitting at the kitchen table, and no wonder. It was going on seventy-two hours since they'd escaped Luxembourg Garden, though Black might have been crawling off to find a hole to sleep in during one of the times he'd left the apartment for supplies.

But he was asleep now, and Castle was standing down from red alert, still working at full capacity but no longer seeing Death in every heartbeat. Kate did actually look better, even in the pale light of his cell phone, and he thought it might be a good idea to call her father again when she woke, reassure Jim - give him a chance to say to her - for her to say - what needed to be said.

Not good-bye. Never good-bye. But Jim deserved their consideration.

Castle stood up from the cot, slipping his fingers from hers, certain she was deeply asleep. And Black was as well, so he stayed quiet, stepped around the cot towards the blacked-out window. He hadn't cared before, had only seen it as a closed circuit in the loop of their apartment hideout - the newspaper in the windows and the aluminum foil taped across it was simply a check mark in the security category.

Now he peeled back the crusted masking tape and took down a corner of the newspaper, blinded by the sudden sunlight streaming inside. He made a careful triangle in the window and leaned in against the sill, getting his bearings.

When he'd gone out for their clothes and the gun, he had headed west, away from this side of the complex, and used the signs around him to find what they'd needed. The drug dealers on the street corner five blocks from here had made their way to higher-level suppliers, who had in turn gone to two-bit dealers. Far enough away that Castle had felt confident to take the gun from the idiot and not bring the dealers back on them here at the apartment.

He scanned the streets now, watching afternoon in Charleroi, Belgium, studying the traffic patterns and the pedestrians, the poverty-stricken neighborhood in its element.

Except he didn't see what he would expect. No old men playing chess on their porches, no clusters of disreputable youths, none of the young adult males dipping in and out of apartments on gang errands. The women weren't out there either, which wasn't that strange, but the kids.

The kids were gone.

School was out, they should be scattered about the grounds like a flock of birds. He'd heard them - yesterday? two days ago? - he'd heard them out there, screaming, shrieking, playing.

But nothing.

Now he was worried.

Black had been lying when he'd said the police were going through the complex door-to-door. It was subsidized housing, or perhaps outright government housing; in between the vast network of apartment complexes were wide ranges of metal fence over ten feet high. They were used to keep suspects from running, their knowledge of the housing development giving them an edge over the police.

Cops were prevalent; their cars patrolled frequently. The stolen Fiat couldn't have been tracked to this one specific complex, not when they were surrounded by pockets of gangs and organized criminal outfits who probably would be investigated first.

But the quiet out there...

The silence spoke volumes.

Castle pressed the newspaper back to the window, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. He made sure the tape caught and held the glass, and then he pushed an empty water bottle into the sill against the newspaper - the tape wasn't as sticky as it could be.

He shifted past the cot, glancing down to check the heart monitor, her blood pressure. Steady, holding steady if low. He brushed his fingers across her cheek and she didn't even twitch.

So he took the keys and unlocked the front door, slipped outside to see for himself what had spooked the neighborhood.

His gut told him it was bad.

Castle pushed his hands into the pockets of the hooded zip sweatshirt, kept his head down. He didn't attempt to pull the hood up, that was sure to have him scrutinized by whatever was out here, but he did keep his walk to the shadows of the buildings.

It took longer than it should have. He was criss-crossing complexes, moving in and out of junkyard backyards, along routes that the shadier elements obviously used. Well-worn paths in the brown grass, his feet crunching through dead weeds and broken glass and dirty diapers.

Castle paused at the corner of a building when the rusted vehicle came into view. He wasn't sure why he'd taken note of it; the car looked like the yards and the apartments, half-broken down, permanent fixtures.

A man was asleep behind the wheel. Supposedly asleep. There was that. There was also the strange feeling that the car was more threatening than anything else on this block.

Guys slept in their cars, that was true. Gang members protected their rides by appointing a lesser member to sit watch, also true.

But drug dealers and gang bangers in the projects - even in the projects of Belgium - didn't own beaters. They went for flash. They intimidated with style and chrome and rims; they had status symbols.

Not rusted-out hunks of scrap.

Castle stayed in the shadows, his sweatshirt catching on the brick of the apartment complex. He studied the landscape, the dead calm center of the storm that was that damn vehicle.

Not police, no. The cops set up obviously in unmarked cars that had been bought through government subsidies - the European equivalent of a Ford Taurus, usually. Or the detectives came in with their BMWs, dusty and well-traveled, decades old.

This guy, faking sleep behind the wheel, was enough of a professional to attempt not attracting notice. He was doing everything right - blending into the landscape, using common practices, making no untoward movements.

If it weren't for the long-held silence in this neighborhood, the caution and carefulness of the whole community, Castle's awareness wouldn't have been piqued. His attention might not have been caught at all.

But for the wariness.

He was inordinately grateful to his father for choosing a location that, at first glance, had seemed entirely too dangerous for a crippled old guy, a woman who needed medical attention, and a big white guy who screamed cop. But it was ideal. It was more than ideal, because that very neighborhood of thugs and gangsters had warned them something was wrong.

A stranger in their house.

Castle knew he couldn't stay long studying this guy, but he took note of what he could. The car was most likely armored, the windows had that warp that meant bulletproofed. The 'rust' was strategically placed; Castle assumed he had a semi-automatic or an automatic rifle poised on his lap to shoot through one of those holes. The trunk was reinforced as well, plated welded to the sides as if to replace portions that had been rusted out.

This man was a professional. Not the police, not even Interpol, but someone trained. Someone with covert skills. Someone who would know, instinctively, that he was being watched and he would watch right back.

Someone specialized.

Looking for them.

Castle sank back behind the building and scanned the apartments rising above him. Every window was occupied, curtains or plants or silent AC units. But he might be able to talk his way in, sit watch for a few hours, observe the car. Might.

Or the guy in the car had already talked his way in, and he had observers up there right now.

Fuck.

Castle hurried off, already convinced.

They didn't have much time.

She woke to arguing, confused by the rasp and rattle of angry voices. She stayed swirling in the dark dizzy dreams, but she knew Castle's voice. He was upset. She couldn't place the words in the right order, not quite, but he was - torn.

Alternatives. A decision was being made, or delayed, and she needed to be awake for this. She had to make him do what was right, what saved him, them, what kept them safe despite her.

"Castle," she husked. Her voice sounded weighed down. She felt the darkness sitting on her chest, wanting to sink her back to nothing. "Castle."

She wasn't loud enough. They were arguing. She heard until the Collective is right outside your door but there were no facts, nothing in evidence. Old argument or new?

"Castle," she called out.

The voices stopped; she heard his feet on the floor as he came to her. She realized her eyes were closed and opened them, struggling.

"Castle, what."

He dropped down to her side, on the balls of his feet that way, ready, and she pushed her hand across the cot to hit his knee, touch and connection. He was still hesitating to tell her everything.

"What is it," she said again. Not even a question, just the prompt to get him going.

"We have surveillance," he sighed. "About four blocks down. Quiet, but definitely armed."

"One man?" she asked, trying to think. Trying to gather enough of herself to think.

"That I could tell. Might be a partner in the apartments. Might be. Or to relieve him. Old car, but built for a siege."

"Stationary surveillance," she mumbled. She had to close her eyes, the weight of sleep was so hard to fight. A man watching, a man in a car built for a siege. Not good. "When do we go?"

"No," he said.

She sucked in a longer breath, opened her eyes again. She needed him to look at her, but he wasn't. He was staring over his shoulder at Black, she assumed Black, the fight she'd heard.

"Yes. Move. We can't stay with him out-"

"We go to ground, Beckett. Those are the rules of engagement. He's hunting his quarry and we go to ground."

From the corner, Black's voice came, strong and certain. "And then he's got us treed. No, she's right. We have to move."

"She can't be moved."

"I can move-"

"No," he shouted. He turned back to her, that furious blue grief. "No." Softer now. "No, Kate. It's not viable."

She thought about it; she was trying not to be stupid, trying not to cause that grief. She curled her toes and assessed her body. "I could-"

"No. You can't."

"You could carry me out," she said. It was true; he was super. But to have Black as their defense...

"I need my hands free," he said. Intent, deadly. He wasted no time in letting them all know what he felt about having Black as his right-hand. She didn't blame him.

"We just wait?" she said back. She turned her head on the cot, caught him staring back at his father. "Rick."

His head whipped around to hers, startled blue eyes. She never called him that; she didn't know why except for the power of it. She didn't want to waste it, abuse it, the intimate call of his name.

"We can't stay here," she whispered. "We can't. Not if they've narrowed down their search to this block. We'll be stuck. We'll need supplies eventually, food. The police found the stolen cars; we need to get entirely out of this area. We have resources, Castle. Don't forget that we have friends."

His mouth opened, closed again. She could see that she'd budged his stubborn insistence that he alone was right, moved him just enough to consider a new angle.

"Friends," he murmured.

"People out there who owe us favors, at the very least."

"We don't know who is Collective, who isn't," he said, but his words didn't hold the same conviction. He was considering it.

Black came into her line of sight, suddenly and silently, like a snake. "I have people. I know who is and isn't Collective."

Castle's face shut down. Kate glared at Black, let him know it was his own damn fault, that she'd been getting somewhere with him and Black had ruined it. "Just shut up, would you?"

Castle gave her a startled look, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, and at least there was that. She'd take it. She tried hooking her fingers at his knee, but she didn't have the strength.

"Tactics, Rick. Think about it tactically. We're under fire, what do we do?"

"Create a diversion," he said immediately, tilting his head. "Okay. I - we might. But we're going to be obvious the second we step out of this building, Kate."

"So we figure out a way not to be obvious."

Castle looked at her, then glanced back to his father. No one said anything - no one had a clue how to accomplish that. Kate and her medical equipment, Black and his strange gait, stranger face, Castle with a gun, most definitely he would be armed...

"It's going to be obvious we're doing a fast evacuation," Castle sighed. "I can't think of a diversion big enough to cover that. Besides, what car are we going to use? We steal another car and we're just giving the police - and the Collective - an entirely straightforward path right to our front door."

Kate grimaced. That was true. They had no transportation. "The train? A sleeper car would-"

"And how do we get to a train station?" Castle gruffed. "You're not walking. I'm not carrying you out of here when we've got Collective agents right outside our door. Plus, you need medical care, Kate. You need a fucking ambulance."

Kate closed her eyes, but she couldn't deny any of it. She really didn't have it in her to sit up, let alone walk to a train station, let alone get on board without collapsing. The sway and movement of the train - just thinking about it made her sick.

"Actually," Black said slowly. "I might have an idea. We can get an ambulance."

There was fighting, there had been fighting, she was sure, but once Castle had tipped towards leaving this apartment, once Kate had been certain he'd do the right thing even if it was hard, she had fallen unconscious.

Drifted, at least. She was drifting. She heard arguments; she heard silence and the key in the door, opened her eyes to find Castle pacing the apartment alone. She had fallen asleep again and stayed that way for what she thought was a long time, and then the hurricane lamp was over her face.

She opened her eyes and saw Black and Castle standing just before the door, another argument. Logistics, she was sure, but there would be an ambulance, Castle was saying. There must be an ambulance. She drifted again, but couldn't quite fall back to sleep because the light was on her face and she didn't know if she could push the darkness all the way off, but she was aware, at least.

Marginally aware.

They were going to be at loggerheads, she knew, for the whole mission. However long it took. She couldn't remember what day it was, only that at some point she had known, and the knowing was heavy behind her eyes so that she thought she might be crying.

It was important to know the day. It was vital. She didn't know why - she wasn't taking those pills, no more pills, she wasn't on schedule for feeding-

James.

She must have made a noise because both men stopped, instantly, and Castle was crashing to his knees beside the cot and cupping the side of her face.

"Kate. God, what's wrong?"

She was trying to open her eyes but she thought that might be a bad idea, very bad idea, that it might actually let everything out that shouldn't be. Not when Black was standing close.

She turned her head away from Castle's hand and into the rough abrasion of the limp pillow. She didn't open her eyes, but she struggled to answer him, reassure him. "Just tired," she finally choked out. The words came out like they ought to, in the right order, and she gave a sigh of relief that went on entirely too long, making it almost impossible to fill her lungs again.

"Kate?"

"Day is it?" she whispered. She had to know, had to find out just how long, how many nights he'd gone to bed without her.

"Hey, hey, Kate, honey, don't cry. You're okay, you're getting better."

"What day?" she said, trying to clear her throat. She opened her eyes to make him say, make him tell her, and the tears fell all the way out and burned down and back behind her ear into her hair. "How long?"

"It's Monday - late."

She closed her eyes. They had been destined for home on Monday morning, at the latest. Tonight would be the first broken promise, the first night she wouldn't come home, Castle wouldn't be home. "I'm tired," she said again, trying to explain, trying not to make Castle feel worse.

"Please don't cry, sweetheart. I hate to say it, but you don't have the electrolytes and fluid to lose."

She laughed, shocked into it, eyes flying open to look at him. He smiled back, widely, pleased with himself and probably her as well. The port was closed in her elbow, though still uncomfortable, but she could crook her arm and touch the side of his face, fingers trailing back to his ear. She tugged. Lightly, all she could manage, and Castle - sweet, heart-breaking - nudged his cheek into her touch.

She smiled back at him, making promises to herself, to him, that it wouldn't be long now. It wouldn't. She wouldn't keep him from his son, she wouldn't keep herself from her son; they would get home.

"I called your dad," he whispered. "He knows it might be - a while. They're going to the cabin."

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, I'm so sorry you had to do that."

"He deserves the truth," Castle said, frowning, eyebrows knit.

Her eyes still burned, and she blinked rapidly to keep it back. But now the crook of her arm hurt and she dropped her hand to the bed, her throat feeling raw. She swallowed, the tender places were scratchy, and her eyes still burned, and suddenly, she smelled it too.

"Castle," she rasped, eyes wide, darting to the door. Black was there and fumbling into his pocket for a phone; he stared at it. His eyes darted up and met hers, then shifted to Castle.

"What?" he said, half-rising.

And then he must have sensed it too, smelled it, and he cursed, jerking for the front door even as Black did as well.

Smoke. There was smoke. The room was tinged with it, and she could smell now the odor of burning things.

Before he quite knew what was happening, smoke alarms were blaring harshly overhead. He turned on his father, jabbing a finger his direction.

"You did this."

Black held up both hands to Castle's accusation, raised his voice to be heard over the shrieking alarm. "I had an associate engineer a reason to pull up an ambulance outside. You should be thanking me."

"Thank you? We're going to die in a fucking fire. I'm not-"

"I'm quite certain there's no real fire. Or if so, only a small one."

Castle growled but he went back for Beckett, hurriedly disconnecting the pulse-ox from her finger, detaching the leads for the heart monitor. She was trying to help, a shaky hand tugging the last line out from under her sweatshirt. Castle threw back the covers and her skin erupted in goosebumps, a shiver shaking her whole body.

"Sorry, babe," he murmured, a hasty kiss to her forehead when he realized she couldn't hear him over the din of the alarm. "Sweatpants," he said loudly, nodding to the plastic bag. She was shivering hard now, arms drawn in against her sides, but he shook the sweatpants out from the bag, handed them to her.

And then stopped when he realized she couldn't even dress herself. Shit. And the catheter bag. Fuck. If they'd had some kind of warning, might have been nice.

"It's not a fire," his father yelled. "A few smoke bombs. I just got word."

Castle turned his head and saw Black cradling his phone, and now moving to gather up equipment. "Medical first," he shouted. "Forget the fucking computer. Medical equipment first."

Kate's fingers on his shoulder brought his head back to her; she had gotten turned on one side, but the catheter was hampering her efforts. Castle turned to the first aid kit still on the floor beside the cot, rummaged in it until he found the surgical tape. The drainage bag wasn't a leg bag, but he was going to have to make it into one.

"What," she said, and then stopped.

"Tape," he called back to her. The siren was grating on his nerves, setting his teeth on edge. He ignored the clamor, but his heart rate was matching its rhythm despite himself. He found his hands shaking as he taped the catheter tube against her skin to keep it in place.

She had a tight grip of his bicep as he carefully arranged the bag at her calf. He had to tape it so that the drainage wouldn't go back up the tube but allow gravity to pull it down into the bag. Kate wasn't going to be standing any time soon anyway, and in fact, if he carried her down, the bag couldn't be at her thigh or it would go the wrong direction.

Kate didn't look pleased, but that was a good sign, he thought. Now if she asked for a shower, he'd know she was feeling better.

"Pants," she said into his ear.

"Working on it," he muttered. But he snagged the waistband of her sweatpants and tugged them up her legs, avoiding the tube and the bag, trying to be careful at her waist. She had her lips pressed together when he was done, still lying flat on the cot.

She opened her eyes and her brows were knitted together, deep trouble in those brown and gold depths.

"Kate?"

She nodded; her voice wouldn't be heard over the racket of the alarms anyway. He hoped that was all it was, just discomfort and embarrassment and the irritation of those smoke alarms going off in the building.

"Hurry, Richard. He's waiting downstairs with the ambulance."

"Tell him to bring the gurney up," Castle shouted back. He sent his father an assessing look, but the man had actually packed the medical equipment, left the bags at the front door for Castle to pick up. His father likely didn't have the strength to carry them, but Castle didn't know how he was supposed to get those bags, Kate's paraphernalia, and have a hand for the gun.

"He can't use the elevators."

"I don't fucking care. You make him bring that gurney up."

"Richard, it's a fire alarm-"

"You said there was no fire."

Black hesitated, and Castle jumped to his feet, gathered fistfuls of Black's jacket. "What the hell-"

"There's no fire, no fire, Richard! But we have to stick to the ruse. You carry her down. I'll bring the medical equipment with me. We fake smoke inhalation, whatever we have to do to get to that ambulance. There are fire trucks headed our way. We have to go now."

His damn father had done this on purpose so that Castle couldn't possibly have his hand free for the weapon.

But smoke bombs were still smoke bombs, and the apartment was already getting hazy, smelled noxious, and that couldn't be good for Kate either.

He turned back to the cot and found her still waiting on him. She unfurled her fingers from her palm and held her hand out to him, her eyes like a cat's in the dim glow of the hurricane lamp.

At least it was dark; the confusion would help.

Castle withdrew his weapon from his waistband at the back of his jeans and he sank down beside the cot. He placed the gun, safety on, heavy in her lap.

He didn't say anything; he couldn't compete with the raucous noise of the alarm blaring out in the hallway. He just pressed his fists into the thin mattress of the cot and slid his arms under her neck and thighs, lifted her easily up.

She clutched the weapon with both hands, cradling it in the angle her body made. Her forehead pressed to his neck and she lifted her chin.

"I got your back," she said. Quiet, but loud enough that he knew.

Black reached out for the heart monitor on its little support stand, folded it up into its case, snapped it closed. He had all the bags now, and Castle had her. Not how he'd wanted this to go, not how he'd fought his father for it to go, but Black was going to do his own damn thing just to prove he could.

Fine. They had to get out of here. No time to protest; just go.

The End of Close Encounters 22: Win, Lose or Die

Stay Tuned for Close Encounters 23: Nobody Lives Forever