Disclaimer: Just in case the disclaimers in the first ten chapters didn't take, the characters are still not mine.

I'm not going to start celebrating just yet, but I published the first chapter of Fallout on November 5th of last year. There's a real chance that I might be able to finish before the anniversary. I appreciate all the reviews and reminders from everyone who decided to see it through to the end.

Fallout, Chapter 11

Sometimes, in Kate's dreams, she rescues him.

Grabs the collar of his vest to pull him out of the line of fire, shoves him to the ground and holds him there with her knee in his back. She sees a threat to him, and she acts instinctively. Most of the time, the assailants are just nameless, faceless punks, but every once in a while she relives the day that she exchanged her past for Castle's future. She remembers how every thrust of her hands on Coonan's chest just added more blood to the pool beneath him until Castle finally pulled her gently away from the body of the man who killed her mother and then died with his secrets untold.

These are the good dreams.

Other times, she's too late. The hands pulling at her belong to Ryan and Esposito, and when she looks at the bloodied body lying at her feet, it's not Coonan's, but Castle's, and no matter how hard she scrubs, the bloodstains on her hands just won't wash away.

Two days ago, that nightmare was almost realized. She'd dropped to her knees beside Castle's body, ripped his shirt open, and run her hands across his bloody chest, unaware of the extent of his injuries, but desperate for him to live. Now she listens to his slow breathing in the early morning quiet, nestles her head a little more snugly into his shoulder, and wonders what the future will hold for them.

When he's in her world, he's a cop too, at least in most of the ways that really matter. When she's in his, what will she be? A mother figure for Alexis and a daughter figure for Martha? A target for his ex-wives? Someone to dance with him at launch parties and sit beside him at book signings? She knows there will be interviews, and publicists, and much more attention than she's used to, as well as plenty of Nikki Heat comparisons, but there might be certain compensations as well. She's looking forward to taking advantage of them.

Her fingers drift lazily across his bandaged pectoral muscles. He must have taken his shirt off at some point during the night.

His eyelids flutter for a moment and he uses the arm that's already wrapped around her to pull her a little more tightly to him. "Hey there."

"Hey yourself."

"So how do you feel today?" he mumbles drowsily.

The meds knocked her out long enough to get several hours of pain-free rest. She feels good, and she wants him to know it. "You tell me."

Castle opens his eyes and runs his hand from her shoulder down to her hip and back again. Her camisole slid up her body while she slept and his fingers linger on the exposed skin of her back. "You feel amazing. Soft in all the right places." She hits a ticklish spot, and he lifts her hand to his mouth and examines it closely before kissing her knuckles lightly. "Looks like we're both going to come out of this with a few scars, though."

"If we're lucky, most of them will be visible."

"And the ones that aren't?"

"Just like any other scar." She takes the painful memory of finding him in the ruins of his apartment and pushes it firmly down into her subconscious. "They fade with time."

"You know, you can tell a lot about a person by their hands," he says. "Yours are strong, just like the rest of you. Definitely a cop's hands."

For some reason, the comment rankles, and she pulls away from his grasp. "I'm more than just a cop, Castle."

"I know that, but—"

"There's a difference between knowing something and really understanding it." Sure, she doesn't take much time for herself away from work, but, all too often, people assume that her job defines her and she lets that thought pass unchallenged far too often. No more. "My hands can do a hell of a lot more than hold a gun or collect evidence." She reaches beneath the covers and rests her palm on the smooth skin on his stomach, smiling with perverse satisfaction at the sudden clenching of his jaw. Ever so slowly, she begins to toy with the waistband of his boxers. His muscles jump beneath her fingertips and she notes in passing that his jeans came off at some point as well.

"These legs can do much more than chase down suspects." To prove her point, she throws one over his hip and uses it to roll him firmly against her. The sudden contact draws gasps from both of them. Her body may be soft in all the right places, but his is hard, especially where it matters most. There's an unexpectedly intense rush of desire that she struggles to tamp down. It would be so easy...but dammit, he's going to hear what she has to say.

Their faces are separated by just a few inches now. His eyes are darker than she's ever seen them, and his breathing is rapid and shallow. Now that she has his undivided attention, she's going to make good use of it. "My mouth can give you instructions that I know you're never going to follow, or it can do..." she lowers her voice suggestively, "other things." He blinks, drops his gaze to her lips, and swallows convulsively. "And my mind can solve a murder, play a mean game of chess, tell you what year Dark Horse first published, and think of at least a dozen ways to make your voice break on my name."

She waits for a response, but he just stares at her, slack-jawed.

"Well?"

"Sorry," he says quickly. "I, uh, I was still focused on your mouth there for a second."

She makes a sound of frustration and tries to free herself, but he's having none of it. Careful not to put any weight on her shoulder, he moves to trap her beneath him, resting his weight on his forearms instead of where her traitorous body would prefer it.

"You forgot something, you know," he says. His hair is hanging down in his face and there's an almost-feral gleam in his eye.

"Like what?" she challenges him.

He lowers his mouth to her chest, following the edge of her camisole with his lips and stopping just to the left of her sternum. She bites her lip to keep from whimpering when his mouth leaves her skin as he says, "Your heart. You're cautious with it, and that's understandable, but you do the job anyway. Not because you love it, and not just to put the bad guys away, but because you're unwilling to let anyone else go through the same hell that you did. You give people the gift of closure." He kisses her there again, and she shivers. "I don't see you as just a cop, or as just a woman."

"Then how do you see me?"

His voice is soft, but sure, and he meets her gaze without blinking. "As my partner—in every sense of the word."

This time, she doesn't have to describe what she can do with her mouth. She wraps her hands in his hair and pulls him down to her, kissing him until they're both breathless, until the pounding of the blood in her veins almost drowns out the sound he makes as she wraps her legs tightly around his waist.

He breaks the kiss and asks, "Do you hear that?"

She lifts her head for a moment and realizes with dismay that the thumping sound isn't from her elevated heartrate, but from the vicinity of the front door. "I think we have company," she pants softly.

"I thought they were going to be up late watching surveillance footage," he says incredulously. "Don't they ever sleep?" He nuzzles her neck lightly and whispers into her ear. "You know, we would be entirely within our rights to shoot them. When you consider the extenuating circumstances, there's no jury in the world that would convict us."

She runs her lips along the edge of his stubbled jaw. "I think I could throw my support behind a flesh wound or two."

Miraculously, the noise stops. "Maybe they're going away," he says hopefully.

They wait for the space of a heartbeat. Then five. Then ten. Her fingertips wander slowly down the length of his spine, and then the knocking starts up again, albeit more hesitantly. "Doesn't seem like it," she sighs.

"You think they brought coffee?" he asks hopefully as he rolls over onto his back.

She gives him one last, lingering kiss before getting out of bed. "If not, I'll give you my gun and my blessing."

Kate readies her notebook as Esposito pulls up in front of Teresa Jacobi's Brooklyn apartment.

"You really think this is going to be worthwhile?" he asks.

"Honestly, I doubt it," she admits. "But a night in jail didn't convince Jacobi to change his story, and the department psychiatrist couldn't get him to talk at all this morning. I'm running out of other ideas." When Esposito moves to open his door, she puts a hand on his arm. "Do you mind waiting outside? She was questioned yesterday, but I'm hoping she might open up a little more in a one-on-one setting."

"No problem." He pulls out the technology department's file of messages from Castle's phone and email accounts and starts looking through it. "I'll be here when you're done."

"Thanks." She walks up to the apartment and rings the doorbell. It's answered by a thin, neatly dressed woman who appears to be in her late sixties, but Beckett suspects that she's a good bit younger. Her skin, already pale, has an almost-translucent quality, and Kate can make out a few gray, wispy hairs peeking out from beneath the bright blue bandana covering her head. She's obviously ill, and now she has a son in jail to add to her worries.

"I'm looking for Teresa Jacobi."

"I'm Teresa."

"My name is Kate Beckett." She pulls out her badge. "I'm a detective with the NYPD. I know you gave a statement yesterday, but I'd like to ask you a few more questions about your son."

Mrs. Jacobi nods tiredly. "I guess you'd better come in."

The apartment is small, but neat. The walls are covered with pictures of teenage boys and young men representing every race and nationality. A picture of a younger Teresa and a man who must be her husband, Frank, hangs in a prominent place in the living room, and a high-school graduation photo of Philip hangs right next to it. Mrs. Jacobi waves at an armchair and takes a seat on the sofa. Kate tries hard not to stare at the collection of pill bottles neatly arrayed on the coffee table. A stack of unopened mail, probably bills, sits beside the television.

"What can you tell me about Philip?"

"I can tell you that he's the last one of the boys I'd expect to get into trouble. We had issues with a few of them over the years." She points at a picture of a dark-haired young man with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Jack had a temper and could never seem to hold a job longer than a week or two." She indicates a few more photos. "Kevin brought drugs into the house. Donnie took money from my purse and forged Frank's signature on a couple of checks, and Javier stole the neighbor's car because his bike had a flat."

Kate tries to smother a smile but Mrs. Jacobi notices anyway and lifts her eyebrows. "I work with someone named Javier," she explains. "But I have to ask—the information we have says that Philip is an only child."

"We used to have a house not far from here," Mrs. Jacobi explains. "It belonged to Frank's mother, and it was a big place. Too big for just the two of us. Frank and I couldn't have children, so when his nephew got in trouble and needed a place to stay, he came to live with us. Before long, he brought a friend that he had met on the street. Those friends brought their friends, and Frank and I took them all in. The neighbors even used to call me 'Mother Teresa'. Some left again, and some stayed until they were old enough to be on their own. Philip was only twelve when he came to us, and he had already been on his own for almost two years." She looks lovingly at his portrait. "He was always so kind, so willing to do anything he could for the family. We did our best for all of them, but Philip was the only one of the boys that we adopted."

"Did either of you stay in contact with the others? Is there any chance any of them would know what's going on?"

"I still get letters or Christmas cards once in a while, but neither of us has a close relationship with any of them. A few months ago, I started getting money and checks from some of the boys. Philip had written letters to everyone he had an address for asking if anyone could help with my medical bills. I wasn't happy when I found out what he'd done, but..." She glances at the bottles of medication and shrugs her shoulders helplessly. "It helped. For a time, anyway. Is there any chance, however small, that he's innocent? That this was all some big mistake?"

Kate chooses her words carefully. "I can't explain further right now, but I have reason to believe that, at the very least, he's not guilty of murder. You said in your statement that he never showed the slightest interest in Richard Castle or in me. Is that correct?"

"Yes. Oh, he might have read a couple of Mr. Castle's books. Frank was a big fan, so we always had some around the house, but Philip never talked about him."

She hesitates to legitimize Castle's wild theories, but there's no harm in at least asking the questions. "Do you know if he had any biological siblings or if there's any history of mental illness in your son's biological family?"

"He was an only child, and we don't know anything about his medical history at all." She reaches for a tissue and dabs at her eyes. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, Detective."

Kate pauses before closing her notebook. "Has anything unusual happened in the last few weeks, no matter how unimportant it might seem?"

Mrs. Jacobi thinks for a moment. "Well, there's the comic books."

"Comic books?"

"Frank collected them for years. Philip took them a few months ago to see if he could sell them online, but he didn't seem to have much luck. He called me a couple of weeks ago and said that he'd finally found a buyer who wanted all of them and he came over that afternoon and gave me $10,000 in cash."

There was a box of old comics in Philip Jacobi's apartment, but after having been thumbed through by so many boys, they were in less than stellar condition. At best, the collection might be worth a couple of hundred dollars.

The other woman sees the truth in Kate's eyes. "The money wasn't for the comic books, was it?"

"No," she says gently, "I'm afraid it wasn't."

"I suppose I knew all along, but part of me still wanted to believe." She shakes her head sadly. "Oh, Philip." Mrs. Jacobi gets to her feet and takes an envelope from a drawer beneath the end table. She holds it out to Kate with trembling hands. "I'm afraid I already spent most of it."

Kate looks at the array of medication on the table and the stack of bills before taking the envelope. It's evidence, and, legally, she's required to take it, but that doesn't make her feel any better about it. "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Jacobi's voice is strained. "It's just money, Detective. What good is it to me now? It won't give me back my son."

After her interview with Mrs. Jacobi, she has Esposito take her back to the safe house to discuss strategy with Castle and Ryan. "We're back to the beginning," she says as she taps the tabletop with the end of her pen. "Philip Jacobi didn't have any reason to want you dead, but someone else did and they were willing to pay him for his assistance. Why?"

"I don't have any bright ideas, but I think I'm insulted," Castle comments. "My life is worth a measly ten grand? My mother's shopping sprees run more than that."

"Maybe this will help you feel a little better," she says. She reaches into her bag and hands him his laptop. "I got this from the lab guys this morning. It didn't take any damage and they've already copied everything that might have any bearing on the case, so the captain said you could have it back. I thought you might want to look through old emails and contacts to see if someone or something jogs your memory."

"I may write a little as well," he smiles. "Some recent events have been very...inspirational."

She's sure he's referring to what transpired between them this morning, but, fortunately, the guys seem to be oblivious. They're going through the printouts of all the messages that were sent to Castle's computer and phone.

"That's kind of morbid," Ryan says. "Everyone thinks you're dead, so what's the point of emailing and texting you about how much they're going to miss you?"

"Why do people leave flowers at gravesites?" Castle asks. "Our rituals aren't for the dead. They're for the living." He turns the laptop on and waits for it to boot up. "So what's next? Lean on Jacobi again? Or let him know that I'm alive and that he's not facing a murder charge?"

"I haven't decided yet," she says. "And we—"

"Yo. That's weird." Esposito stands quickly and turns the page in his hand so that she and Castle can see it. "Time stamp and ID say this was a text sent by Alexis a few hours ago."

I can't live like this, Dad. I miss you too much. Please forgive me.

"That—doesn't sound good," Ryan says somberly.

Castle blanches. "She wouldn't," he insists.

His laptop has finished booting, and his desktop is a recent picture of Alexis, Meredith, and a man whose face she saw less than an hour ago. He's older now, but it's definitely him. Kate reaches for her phone. "She didn't." She dials Alexis's number and points to the man. "Is that Dustin Evans?"

"Yes, that's him," Castle says. "Now tell me what's going on." She can see the effort it's costing him to hold himself together.

"I just saw his picture at Teresa Jacobi's. He and Philip know each other. Come on, Alexis, pick up the damn phone." They all stare at her and wait expectantly. The call rolls over to voice mail.

End of Chapter 11