A/N: Tenth chapter! Thanks for the support. It's been a fun ride so far. Thanks for the constructive criticisms, and the lovely words of encouragement. I appreciate your thoughts, so keep sending them in. I'd really like to know what you think.

Thank you so much for being a part of my awful short summer break I spent writing. Wish me luck on my third year in college. :)

So here goes chapter ten. It goes with a boom, or I don't know.

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CHAPTER X

So many things that I wish you knew

So many walls that I can' break through,

I'm dying to know if it's killing you

Like it's killing me

Story Of Us, Taylor Swift

Two hours till his deadline with Gina. Phew!

Castle hit the send button, and closed his laptop—stretched his arms, and sunk back to his chair. The sun was a full force giant spotlight in the sky, and he glanced at his desk clock: 9:47 AM. It was Stefanie's day off, and she doesn't get off the bed till it's past ten, making up for lost sleep. This morning though, she went for a run, and probably hit her friend's bakery when she didn't return an hour and a half later. A little over nine fifteen, she came back with a bag of croissant and new cartons of orange and blueberry juice, all the while wearing her purple and orange sports bra and yoga pants that had him practicing deep breathing exercises.

Just in time, he caught the smell of brunch lingering from the kitchen. A smile spread on his face. One last memo, though. He reached for his drawer and searched his memo pad. He really should start keeping things to where they belong for easy access. Castle found something of greater value instead. It was the only photograph he kept of Kate Beckett, after he had deleted all of their photo ops from his phone, and sent back the frames she bought. But this one photograph—he must have long forgotten about this one. It was taken from her place, on their third month together, and yes, he remembered every detail of that night. Her left cheek was tightly pressed on to his right, one arm around his shoulder, the other holding the camera in front of them, her mouth stretched into that warm, loving, Kate Beckett smile. Yeah. Too bad. He really thought she was going to be his three-and-done girl. But Stefanie—damn, she's great. Really great.

"Kate will always be Kate, right, dad?" Alexis' words suddenly hit him, and he was quick to shrug it off of his shoulder. His daughter was right. Kate will always be Kate. But Stefanie will always be Stefanie, too. Kate will always be the woman who broke his heart, and Stefanie will always be the woman who mended it.

"Richard, there you are!" Martha, cold sweat trickling down her make-up free face, hurried and stopped by the doorway of his office. The look on her eyes told Castle this wasn't about a shrunken coat from the laundry.

"Mother, what's wrong?" Alexis. The first person that entered his thoughts. Stefanie, the next. "Is Alexis okay? Stef is just in the kitchen, right?" His heart was racing. After all that had happened to him, and lately, to Alexis in Paris, he could no longer afford to take these looks of horror lightly.

Martha shook her head, holding up her phone in the air. "It's Katherine."

He sighed in relief. Wait. No. He shouldn't be relieved! "Wait…what? What happened to Kate?"

"She's been shot, darling."

"What?" His voice went up a notch. "I'll give her a call…" he reached for his phone, only to be cut off by his mother's voice.

"A call? Richard, pay the poor girl a visit!"

He stopped in his tracks, and felt strings of guilt eat away at him. He brought a hand to cover his mouth, his eyes drifting to the picture on his desk. Last year, he'd take a bullet for Kate Beckett. And today, when he learned that she was shot, his best bet was to give her a call? He looked up at Martha. His mother was right.

"She's alone. She's scared."

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She clenched her fists. Hard.

Beckett knew the shoot-outs weren't going to stop. This was an occupational hazard, or so the lectures from the academy told her so. The shots still rang in her ear, and she remembered falling to the ground, she remembered Tom's voice seeping into her shocked state, she remembered standing up, and feeling the searing pain of the GSW to her arm; she remembered everything. The seconds that led to it, and the moments that came after. Just like she remembered everything on Montgomery's funeral. Castle tackling her. Castle pouring his heart out to her.

Tabitha Draughty wasn't kidding when she said it was raining bullets, and both the FBI and NYPD are working extra hard to catch whoever lunatic had showered the streets with gunshots, squeezing information from the convict as she was being stitched up by the plastic surgeon—Dr. Bigelow—she caught him say—every now and then reassuring her of a scar-free healing process.

"…you're done. You're lucky the bullet only grazed your arm and missed your torso. Good for your vital organs." The doctor said, strategically taking off his sterile gloves and tossed them into a rubbish bin. Beckett only nodded, because a smile seemed to be a heavy chore at the moment, in between the PTSD she was possibly having again, and the elating effects of the drugs in her system.

If she hadn't blankly dodged the bullet that wounded her right arm, she could well be in the same position that she was two years ago. And Castle wouldn't be there to catch her.

Oh. Castle. After all these time, it had been one and the same thing. I almost died, and all I could think about was you. Her own dialogue haunted her. Only a year ago, she found courage within her to tread to his door, asking for him to take her back. And he did. They were both powerless to resist each other.

The nurses took over, and wrapped her upper arm with gauze. It was a lucky flesh wound. Gates called and gave her the rest of the day off, and the day after if she needed it. Tom, who was even luckier to dodge every single bullet, had the go signal to go back to work. Wow, the odds are certainly not on her favor. It hadn't been a month yet since she came back, and she was already wounded at a shoot-out. If this was the universe's way of telling her to go back to D.C., she was absolutely shrugging it off of her shoulders.

"Kate?"

Beckett looked up. There Castle stood, out of breath, standing by the entrance of the emergency room. He came closer to her side, and Beckett swore she had never felt so relieved. "Castle."

"Kate, are you alright?" Castle hovered, studying each and every dark bruise she earned from being tackled by Tom out of the vehicle for cover with his finger, then to her gauzed arm, caressing the pink spot ever so lightly. She missed him. She missed his touch; and controlling her emotions was a continuing battle made even dreadful with the drugs she was under.

"Don't worry, Castle. It's just a flesh wound." Beckett replied, keeping her cool. And she was glad she did. Because Castle didn't come alone. Stefanie, not-at-all-pleased, made her way in. And she had every right to be upset. Ex-girlfriends should stay out of Castle's hair for as long as he was in another relationship. In her hands, were two cups of black coffee from the cafeteria. If she hadn't come any sooner, Beckett wasn't so sure for how long she could contain her feelings. It was an easy shot to throw her good arm around Richard Castle, and tell him all things she wished she had told him on that afternoon in the swings. She wished she could tell him those things and a lot more. But instead, she was left to agonize over the wearing off of the painkillers, and the sight of Castle sharing coffee with another woman.

Because it was never just coffee for them. It was their unspoken 'I love you' when they were too afraid to let the words out. Their way of comforting the other in times of tribulations. Their very language in the form of morning kick.

Stefanie casually gave Castle's share, and sipped into hers.

"Detective Beckett, right? We have met." She extended an arm, and Kate took it with her good hand, nodding in affirmation. "Thank God you're alright. Rick was very worried."

Beckett looked at Castle, who gave him a sly smile. It didn't take long before his attention was once again taken by the woman around his arms, so Beckett looked down. But in the corner of her eye, she could still see her arm flung around his shoulder, and his warm smile that was meant to be for her, not to some girl he met very recently. For a moment there, she wondered if he came to make her feel bad. As if being shot wasn't bad enough. Those were brief moments that seemed to intensify the throbbing sore of her muscles and the stitches. It seemed to drag on and on.

Maybe Lanie was wrong. This wasn't a grain of sand.

The pain? It's freaking Mount Everest.

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"Beckett's fine." Esposito hang up, followed by each and every cop in the room's relieved sigh. But the burning inside him didn't ease a bit. The fact that they almost lost one of their own because of a case got into his nerve. He was certainly not looking forward to sleeping until this all goes to rest. The FBI tracked down the detectives who worked the Finn Taylor case. They found out they were in for something more serious than a double agent's murder. Two detectives had already mysteriously disappeared, one from seven months ago, and the other from three months ago. Kate Beckett could easily be the third; the last detective who put Tabitha Draughty into prison.

"What about us, Espo?" Ryan asked shakily. "We worked the case, too."

"We'll catch this lunatic." Tom added before the other could answer back to Ryan, stoically passing through the door and blending into the sea of suits. Beckett's blood was still on the white shirt underneath his black vest. Esposito made a mental note to fetch an NYPD shirt from the closets. The fact that this sometimes childish, yet awful serious Special Agent they barely knew saved Beckett's life made Ryan and Esposito warm up to Tom. "Got wind from ballistics?"—Tom asked, leaning over the computer, eyebrows furrowed.

"In twenty minutes, sir." The younger FBI answered, eyes fixed on the monitor, keyboard snapping under his fingers.

"Let's go for witnesses, Ryan." Esposito turned away, and went for the elevator. It was a one in a million shot to find a witness in the streets that hadn't fled the scene, but it was a shot worth taking. They hit the streets with their Ford crown victoria, and went straight to the site of the shoot-out, and decided to start with the nearby delis scattered around the streets. Miller's Buffet, one signage read, and the one closest to where it all happened. Ryan and Esposito entered the premises, looking past the tall chalk board that said: Today's Menu: New York Deli Platter. It was empty, considering that the customers flew out of panic.

The elderly woman behind the counter turned her head to their direction, "How can I help you?" Petite, pear-shaped stature, and strawberry blonde hair tucked behind her head by a bowtie, stern and all business-like.

They flashed their badges, "We need to ask you some questions about what happened earlier. You own the place, ma'am?" Esposito asked politely. The least he can do.

The woman nodded, followed by a small grunt. "Make it fast. We have a lot going on around here."

"Did you notice anything strange happening before the ambush?" Ryan didn't waste any more precious time, and went through with the first question. Routine.

"No, not at all." The woman answered; quick as lightning. "My customers are mostly regulars. Not an unfamiliar face in the crowd today."

"There were two." A voice, small and shy, interrupted. They all looked to the direction of a young waitress—or the apron and trays told them she was a waitress—standing by the far-end of the counter. She was tall, had brown hair tucked by a similar bowtie, dark eyes, and dark circles indicative of sleepless nights, and hard work. "There were two people. They stayed at the corner over there…" she pointed to the last booth by the window, "…didn't order anything."

The detectives shifted their attentions to the younger woman, Esposito holding his notepad, ready for action. "Can you describe them?"

The brunette shook her head, "All I can tell you is that it was a man, and a woman. They were both wearing aviators that covered most of their faces. The guy was wearing some kind of hoodie—blue, right." She went on, coming closer to Ryan and Espo. "…had stubble. The girl had long, brown hair. She was wearing a black cap. That's all I know. They left shortly before the mayhem outside began."

"And what time is that?" asked Esposito, clicking his pen.

"Uhm, nine, I think. And the shots began at around nine oh-five."

Ryan nodded, as Esposito took down the information. "Did you see them leave?"

"Yes, I did. I had on eyes on them because I don't like people who come in without buying anything. They crossed the street. And oh, guy was about 6 foot four, and the girl smaller, around 5'6''. Really fit. Anyway, I think I saw them enter that building…" she pointed to the old, 1920's seven story motel. They bet their hats it had a rooftop that made for easy targeting.

"You never saw these people before?" Esposito asked, and the young woman was quick to shake her head.

It was still a long shot. They could well be following an innocent couple staying across the street. But without much to go on, Ryan and Esposito didn't have a choice. They bade farewell with a simple 'thank you' and made their way to the other building. Both felt the weight on their shoulders as they walked out in the open. Because they knew that if Beckett was a target, they could very well be targets, too.

And a badge and a gun wasn't much of an assurance for safety.

Not today.

Thoughts? Keep them nice and civil, though. :) Have a good day!