Chapter title is a song of the same name by Jon McLaughlin.

Javier Esposito kicked down the door of Castle's library, splintering the wood along the door handle and the lock. He had his Glock ready as he barreled into the room, rapidly taking in his surroundings. Anderson, Ryan, and a dozen others were right behind him, but Javier wasn't the only one who stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was in front of him.

A man he recognized from a driver's license photo was lying crumpled and still on the floor, with a bullet sized hole in his forehead. It was Derrick Storm. Or Mark DeLucas. Whatever the fuck his name was. It didn't matter.

What mattered was that Kate Beckett was a foot away from the dead man, her face screwed up in pain, a flood of red staining her formerly white shirt. Castle was cradling her against his chest, pressing his balled up shirt against her side to stem the blood flow. He had his face down by her ear, as if he was whispering something.

Mierda, not Beckett.

It was Javier's first coherent thought. The initial shock was replaced by cop thought. "Officer down, we need immediate medical assistance," he barked into his radio. He couldn't stop staring at Beckett.

Castle looked up, his eyes wild with terror. Damn, he was beat up. "Esposito," he rasped. "Is there an ambulance here?"

"Outside," Anderson answered, because Javier was still describing where to send the paramedics. Javier glanced at the FBI agent and noticed that he'd paled noticeably. On the other side of Anderson, Ryan was staring down at Beckett in horror. The radio squawked that the medics were on their way.

Javier headed toward Beckett slowly, the voice from the radio ringing in his ears. Beckett's eyes opened, and she looked up at him as if she was high and couldn't focus. She was having trouble breathing. Javier saw the knife lying nearby, the blade covered with the same blood that was flowing out of his boss. There was so much blood.

He looked back at Beckett. Their eyes held, and Javier wanted to say something. He didn't know what. Her eyes fluttered closed, a whimper of pain escaping her lips and causing Castle to scoot closer to her, hover near her ear and whisper something. Javier had never heard Beckett whimper.

The paramedics burst through the doorway, past the crookedly hanging door that Javier had kicked in only a minute ago. Suddenly the paramedics were next to Beckett, taking her vitals, lifting her onto a stretcher, ripping open her shirt to look at the wound. Javier looked away, wishing he hadn't seen the brief flash of her bra.

He looked back when they were wheeling her away, following a few steps behind Castle, who was hovering as close to Beckett as he could get. Ryan and Anderson followed too. Somehow, in a miraculously short time, they were outside in the cool night air. Javier wished they would've covered Beckett's exposed skin, at least until she was in the ambulance. It was cold.

They were twenty feet from the ambulance when Montgomery appeared, pushing his way through a group of stunned officers and agents, only to freeze when he saw Beckett. After a moment the Captain jerked forward, coming up alongside the stretcher, and Javier watched Montgomery put his hand over Beckett's. She didn't open her eyes; she hadn't for a while.

The paramedics lifted her into the ambulance. Castle started to climb in after her, but one of the paramedics put his hand out to stop the writer.

"You can't come with us, sir. In fact, you need some medical attention yourself."

"I'm going with her," Castle argued. "She needs me."

"Sir-"

"If it means that much to you, you can check me out," Castle interrupted. "But I'm getting in this ambulance."

The paramedic stared down at Castle for a minute, and then sighed. "Fine. But when we get to the hospital you're going to see a doctor."

Castle shrugged and jumped in the ambulance. Javier watched as the doors closed on his boss. His bleeding, barely breathing, possibly dying boss.

X-X-X-X-X

Ben Anderson watched the ambulance turn the corner at the end of the street, but even once it was out of sight his feet remained rooted to the cement of the driveway.

Kate Beckett was in that ambulance. He'd spent a week and a half with her, working one of the worst cases he'd seen in his eight years with the Bureau. Ben had been beyond intrigued by the detective who looked nothing like the female cops he'd met before. The fact that she was good at her job, very good, in fact, was like getting a second candy bar from the vending machine when you only put in enough money to get one. Beckett was the whole damn package in one long legged, snarky, brilliant bundle. Ben was on the same page as Castle; women like Kate Beckett didn't come along every day.

Of course, that's what DeLucas thought too. And now, because DeLucas had decided to play sick savior, Beckett was fighting for her life.

Ben let his gaze roam his surroundings. Cops and agents were milling around in groups, talking quietly, but it was the huddle of the guys from the 12th precinct that Ben settled his eyes on. Montgomery was staring after the ambulance with a blank look on his face. Ben knew that look incredibly well. Montgomery was well trained, and he was in a position of leadership; the fear that was ripping at the insides of the Captain would never be outwardly expressed.

Ryan and Esposito, on the other hand, were a little less experienced. They were staring after the ambulance with the same kind of blank horror as their Captain. Their body language, however, gave them away. Their shoulders were hunched in defeat, their mouths were hanging open slightly, their arms rested limply at their sides. Ryan was the worst. While Esposito just looked shell shocked, Ryan looked downright terrified, as if he was eight years old and he'd just watched his big sister get hauled away in an ambulance.

Ben made his way toward them slowly. When he reached them and Montgomery looked at him, Ben held out the keys to one of the SUVs.

"Go," he said quietly. "I'll take care of everything here."

X-X-X-X-X

Just another scar, just like the one he'd found before.

That's what Rick kept telling himself as the ambulance flew toward the hospital; that the blood gushing out of Kate would end up as just another scar, something else for him to trace his fingers over as she lounged naked and relaxed in bed. The back of Rick's head smacked against the side of the ambulance for the hundredth time as the vehicle raced over a bump on its way to the hospital. Suddenly the sight of the oxygen mask over Kate's face, the never ending blood, the paramedics and the deathly pale pallor of her skin was too much; Rick closed his eyes.

It was Sunday, a little after eleven in the morning, two weeks after their game and their first night together. They were in her apartment. He'd made tacos the night before and they'd played Monopoly until midnight, which was when Rick got tired of looking but not touching and decided that on top of a Monopoly board on the dining room table was as good a place as any to test Kate's determination not to be heard by her neighbors.

When they finally woke up the next morning in Kate's bed, Rick volunteered to make coffee. He reentered her bedroom with two mugs in his hands, but stopped in the doorway just to look at her. God, she was stunning. She was lying on her stomach with her head resting on her arms, the sheets draped over her hips. Rick let his eyes trail over her bare back and his gaze rested inadvertently on the top of her right shoulder where he knew there was a faded scar about two inches long.

He made his way across the room and set the mugs down on the table that was by her side of the bed. Then he leaned down to press his lips to her scar.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispered, and then kissed the scar again.

"You're sentimental in the morning," she said quietly, and he couldn't miss the smile in her voice.

He trailed his index finger over the scar instead of answering, leaning away into a sitting position next to her. She was still on her stomach. "What's the story behind this?"

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked over her shoulder at him. "What's the story behind what?"

"This scar."

Her eyes shifted down to look where he was pointing, then moved back up. "Not everything has a story, Castle. Sometimes a scar is just a scar."

Rick moved away from her and bent his right leg, so that his knee was in Kate's eye line. "See that?" he asked, pointing to a long scar on his knee.

"Yeah."

"I was twelve. I was fooling around backstage at one of Mother's productions and fell; cut myself on a steel grate. Seventeen stitches." He grinned. "Didn't cry once."

She smirked. "Of course not."

He moved, lowering himself on top of her and pressing his naked chest onto her back. He loved the way her skin felt on his. He kissed her scarred shoulder, and she tilted her head to give him access to her neck. He took it as an invitation. "When's the last time you spent the day in bed, Kate?" he whispered in her ear.

He drifted a hand around to the front of her and cupped her breast. She hummed appreciatively and arched her back beneath his chest. "Long time ago," she murmured.

"Let's change that."

He rolled her over onto her back, and his lips were passing along her collarbone on his way down when she spoke.

"I was a rookie."

Rick leaned away and looked at her.

"Just a beat cop," she continued, meeting his eyes. "It was a robbery gone wrong, and the bullet grazed me. I was lucky. A step to the right and it probably would've killed me."

Rick opened his eyes.

That had been the first time he'd actually realized how close he'd come to losing Kate before he'd even known her. Now he knew her, loved her, and he was staring head on at the possibility of losing her just when he'd discovered how incredible it was to have her.

X-X-X-X-X

"This is the third call tonight, Montgomery," Commissioner Brady's voice said gruffly in Roy's ear. Roy gripped his phone tighter and leaned against the brick wall of the ambulance bay.

"I know. It's Storm."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and then, "I thought you were working on that clue. Who'd he kill now?"

Beckett.

The thought raced across Roy's mind before he could stop it, and he was furious. She wasn't dead. She was in surgery. Emergency surgery. She'd lost a lot of blood. She was unconscious. But she wasn't dead.

"He's dead, Commissioner."

"Storm?" Brady demanded, and Roy had an image of him sitting straight up in bed. "Well I'll be damned. Beckett finally got him, huh? I knew she would."

"Not exactly, sir."

Roy couldn't forget how cold Kate's hand was underneath his right before they lifted her into the ambulance. Her eyes weren't open. There was no cocky I'm fine, I'm just humoring them smirk on her lips that he'd seen so many times before.

"What do you mean not exactly?"

"Castle shot him. But…he got Beckett first."

"Castle got Beckett?"

"No. Storm did. Knifed her right up through the abdomen. She's in surgery. Southampton Hospital."

Another long pause, and then Roy heard the murmur from the other end of the line that matched everything he was feeling.

"Fuck."

X-X-X-X-X

Kevin Ryan had been watching Rick Castle pace across the waiting room like a lion in a cage for he didn't know how long. Ever since Kevin had seen Beckett bleeding and gasping on the floor back in Castle's library, time had blurred together; seconds seemed like hours, hours seemed like days, and there was a ball of terror sitting in the pit of his stomach that twisted painfully every time he thought of losing Beckett.

When he was twelve, Kevin's grandfather had died. The open casket funeral had been the stuff of nightmares for a twelve year old, but his mother held his hand the whole time. Don't remember him like this, his mom whispered in his ear when they stood in front of the casket. Think of your favorite memory of him. That's what you should remember.

Kevin was trying desperately to conjure up an image of Beckett other than her pale face as they'd loaded her into the ambulance, the brilliant red of her stained shirt, the way her eyes wouldn't open and her mouth wouldn't move. But he couldn't. He stopped watching Castle when Esposito plopped into the chair next to him.

"You think she'll make it?" Kevin murmured after a long pause. He made sure his voice wasn't loud enough for Castle to hear. Kevin didn't look at Esposito, and Esposito didn't look at him.

"She better," Esposito muttered. "I can't be your boss."

"Richard?"

Kevin looked up to see Martha Rodgers hurrying toward her son, looking considerably less put together than she had the other times Kevin had seen her. Castle intercepted her into a tight hug when she was close enough. Kevin caught the wince that danced across Castle's face. The writer had gotten the shit beat out of him by Storm. DeLucas. Whatever. The son of a bitch was dead, and rightfully so.

"Are you okay?" Martha asked when Castle let her go and she got a good look at her son in his borrowed scrubs.

"Yeah. Looks worse than it is."

"You look awful, kiddo." Martha fussed over the butterfly stitches over his eye.

"Its fine," Castle muttered, waving her away.

Martha lowered her hands, studied her son for a moment, and then reached for his hand. "How is she?"

Kevin watched as the emotion that had been simmering under Castle's expression suddenly burst through the surface, but only for a moment. Castle ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, shaking his head. "They won't tell me anything. She's in surgery-"

"Mr. Rick Castle?"

There was a doctor standing a few yards away, a surgical mask hanging from around his neck and a scrub cap on his head. Kevin bolted to his feet, Esposito not far behind, but they still weren't as quick as Castle, who literally sprinted toward the doctor.

"How is she?" Castle demanded. "Is she…I mean, is she going to…"

Kevin could hear the thickness in the writer's voice, the lump in his throat that he was trying to talk around and couldn't. He was choking on the reality of the words.

"Miss Beckett-"

"Detective," Castle corrected. "Detective Beckett."

The doctor nodded. "Detective Beckett is being moved into recovery now. The knife punctured her liver and her diaphragm, but we've repaired both."

"So she's going to be okay?"

"We've admitted her and we're going to monitor her for a few days, but it's very likely she'll regain all normal functions."

"Oh thank God," Martha murmured, her hand over her heart. Kevin found himself thinking the same thing. Esposito pounded him on the back happily, and for the first time in hours Kevin let a smile form in the corners of his mouth.

"Can I see her?" Castle demanded.

"After we move her out of recovery, yes. She's already asked for you. Multiple times. I'll have a nurse come get you when she's ready."

Castle nodded. The doctor nodded once in return, then turned and walked away. Montgomery appeared down the hall and Esposito started for the Captain eagerly, a massive grin on his lips. Kevin stayed put, confused by the way Castle actually looked worse after hearing the good news.

The writer took a few steps forward toward a row of chairs, and Kevin watched him sink lifelessly into a slumped sitting position. Martha moved toward him, lowering herself gracefully onto the chair to Castle's left. Castle put his head in his hands, and after a long moment his shoulders started to shake.

"Richard…" Martha murmured so soft that Kevin barely heard it. Martha's hand moved around her son, and Castle's shoulders kept shaking.

Kevin turned away, realizing that his composure wouldn't hold if he didn't.

X-X-X-X-X

Rick hovered outside the doorway of Kate's hospital room like a shadow, reluctant to enter but unwilling to take his eyes off of her. She was lying motionlessly in the bed, her arms resting next to her sides. God, she looked terrible. Her skin was pale, lifeless against the white blankets. Dark, tired rings circled her eyes, and the way her hair was laid nicely across the pillow looked nothing like it usually did when he woke up next to her.

"Are you going to stand in the hallway all night, or are you actually going to go in and see her?"

Rick jumped at the voice in his ear, and turned to see a short, squat, dark haired woman smiling up at him. Her scrubs were pressed nicely, but a bit tight on her plump frame. She stuck her hand out in front of her, her friendly brown eyes fixed on Rick's. "Sally Mavens," she introduced. "I'm Detective Beckett's nurse for the night."

"Rick Castle," Rick introduced, shaking her hand limply.

"Are you a cop, Mr. Castle?"

Rick tried not to be surprised that she didn't know who he was. "No. Do I look like one?"

Sally let go of his hand. "Most cops that come to visit their partners hover outside the door like you're doing. I guess they figure if they don't get too close they don't have to feel anything."

Rick rested his eyes on the still form of Kate again. "Does that work for them?"

"Is it working for you?"

Rick looked back at Sally. "No."

She smiled. "Well there's your answer. She's still coming out of anesthesia, and she's on a lot of pain medication. They gave her a subarachnoid nerve block too, which means the nerves in her abdomen aren't registering that she's in pain. It'll minimize the initial pain as she comes out of anesthesia. She's pretty loopy; she most likely won't remember anything you say to her. But you should still go in." Rick didn't say anything. "She's asked for you, you know."

"The doctor said that."

"It's true. You were the first thing she asked about. Kept holding up her pinky too."

Rick laughed. It sounded strange, felt even stranger, and his eyes found Kate again. There was a long pause, but Sally didn't move. She didn't say anything either. She seemed to be content with letting Rick stare at Kate.

"She doesn't look like herself," he murmured at last.

"Of course she doesn't," Sally answered gently. "She just got out of surgery. And you know, in my experience, women who get out of surgeries like the one your detective just had usually like to see their men when they wake up."

Rick looked at Sally Mavens, who smiled up at him with her kind brown eyes and her dimpled smile. "You let me know if you need something, honey," she said next. And then she waddled away and down the hall toward the nurse's station. Rick watched her go, and then he slowly crossed the threshold of the hospital room.

He moved across the room quietly and stopped next to Kate's bed. He hesitated, afraid to wake her up, and then put his hand on hers. He shivered instantly; Jesus, her hand was ice cold. He tucked the blankets more tightly around her automatically, and he was leaning over her to tuck in the other side when she stirred.

Rick froze, his face just a few inches above hers, when her eyes fluttered open. Kate blinked at him sleepily, and then her lips slid into a lopsided smile. "Rick," she mumbled. Her voice was scratchy.

"Hey beautiful," he whispered, leaning forward to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"You look like shit," she drawled, then giggled.

Rick leaned away from her and sat on the edge of the bed. "Well, gosh, thanks," he joked, but there was no giggle behind his words. Kate was heavily medicated; she didn't realize how much pain she was going to be in soon, or how much emotional shit she was going to have to sort through. Rick, on the other hand, focused in on the dark circles around her eyes and the frailty audible in the beeping of the monitors surrounding the bed, and knew that their hell wasn't over yet.

But still, wasn't there time for one moment? Couldn't he block off one sphere of time and revel in both of them being alive and being together, marvel at the way that Kate Beckett had survived despite the horror of Derrick Storm? Couldn't reality wait, even if only for a moment?

"You look great," he said quietly.

"Liar," she challenged. She was smiling, and even if it was medicinally induced, it made Rick happy.

"You could use some sun," he amended. "You interested in running away with me, Detective? The Virgin Islands are beautiful this time of year."

Kate was still smiling. She lifted her head as if she was going to move, but she didn't. She looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I can't move."

"They gave you a nerve block," Rick explained. "It probably hasn't worn off yet."

"I've had one of those before," she informed him. She sounded like a child. "On my leg." She moved her hands up to the neck of her hospital gown, and pulled it away from her body so she could look down inside the gown at her body. Rick saw her eyes widen. She let go of the gown and looked up at him.

"Ow," she whispered.

Rick felt like he was going to cry. "I know," he murmured quietly.

She held his eyes for a long time. "This is going to suck, isn't it?"

Rick stared at her for a second, taken aback, but the beeping of the monitors reminded him just how much medication and anesthesia she had in her system. He nodded.

"Yeah. It's going to suck. Bad."

"No beach for a while," she said wistfully.

"We'll go when you're better. I promise."

"Pinky promise?" she giggled. Her smile was back, and for a second Rick wished she'd be this heavily medicated for a long time; when reality sank in, she wasn't going to be smiling anymore. He hated that she had to go through this, that there was another inch of light inside of her now covered in darkness.

"Pinky promise," he agreed. He didn't touch her. She frowned at him.

"You're not touching me."

"I…" he trailed off. "I don't want to hurt you."

For a brief instant, the lucidity of the detective he knew flashed across her eyes. "Don't treat me like I'm fragile, Castle."

His hands were on either side of her instantly, his face above hers as he leaned over the bed. "Okay."

The detective disappeared, and suddenly she was back to the drugged stabbing victim that had no idea she was going to be investigated by the IAB, that she might lose her badge, that she'd nearly died, that she wouldn't be able to shake the feelings of violation for a long, long time. He wanted to hug her, wanted to just hold her and never ever let go, because if he didn't let go then he couldn't lose her. Christ, he'd almost lost her.

Rick gazed down at her. "I want to tell you something, Kate. And I'm only going to say it because your nurse told me you wouldn't remember it."

"Ooh, deep dark secrets," she whispered.

"Not a secret," Rick corrected. "Just…" he sighed. "I love you."

Her eyebrows furrowed again, like she didn't understand. "Huh?"

"I love you."

She stared at him. "Oh. Well I-"

He clamped his hand over her mouth, and when she frowned up at him he shook his head. "I don't want you to say it back," he explained. "You're in a hospital bed and high out of your mind and I don't want to hear it unless you're sober and you mean it. So don't say it. Okay?"

She nodded. He moved his hand, and she was opening her mouth to say something when Martha's voice floated into the room from the doorway.

"Really, Richard? The poor woman's been out of surgery for less than an hour and you're already on top of her?"

Kate giggled. "Busted."

X-X-X-X-X

Kate woke up to a stab of excruciating pain. The pain radiated through her entire abdomen, and her hands flew to cover the area instinctively, as if she could somehow will the pain away. She couldn't. She closed her eyes, fighting the hot tears that were coming unbidden, but she couldn't. Fucking Christ, it hurt. The tears started spilling down her cheeks as she winced, gritting her teeth and trying and failing to breathe. Oh, God. Oh, God.

"Detective Beckett?"

Kate's eyes flew open to see a chubby dark haired woman peering at her from next to the bed. Another wave of pain washed over her, an incredibly sharp twinge slicing through her abdomen, and a soft moan slipped through Kate's lips.

"How bad is the pain?" the nurse asked softly.

Kate exhaled through her nose sharply. "Bad," she answered, and instantly regretted it. It hurt to talk. Hurt to breathe. Everything hurt. Being alive hurt. She didn't want it anymore. She wanted something else. She wanted it to be over. Kate looked at the woman, hands still clutching the middle of her body, wishing she could curl up into the fetal position and disappear.

"Your nerve block is wearing off," the nurse explained. "Don't worry; I've already got the pain medication in your IV. It'll kick in soon."

Kate didn't have the strength to nod, let alone say thank you. She closed her eyes. Everything in her revolved around the searing pain. It was all encompassing, blurred the lines of everything she knew, and she didn't have the strength or the desire to consider the implications of her thought that maybe she would've rather bled out in the library than go through this.

She felt something on her cheek, and opened her eyes to find the nurse dabbing at her tears with a tissue. "I know," the nurse murmured quietly. "I know it hurts."

The pain got worse, maybe at the realization that she was so helpless she couldn't even wipe away her own goddamn tears. The nurse smiled down at her, a broad, kind smile that made her cheeks dimple. "It'll get better," she murmured. "Soon the pain will go away and then you'll get to go home with your man."

Kate frowned, confused, and followed the nurse's gaze to the other side of her bed. Rick was slumped in a chair by the bed, fast asleep, his hand reaching out and resting on the bed next to her. Seeing him brought on a fresh wave of pain, pain beyond the agony of what her body was going through. Everything came crashing back. Rick had killed a man; she was responsible for the deaths of seven people; her dad was in a coma; she'd ignored procedure; she was in an unbelievable amount of pain because a psychiatrist had shoved a six inch blade up the center of her body. Derrick Storm was dead, but he wasn't even close to being gone.

The tears started pouring out of Kate's eyes uncontrollably, blurring the sight of Rick, and she closed her eyes. She tried to steady her breathing, reminding herself that the drugs would probably knock her out; hospital drugs were always stronger than the ones the doctors gave you to take home. Soon she'd be in a pleasant fuzz, she'd forget it all again, she'd be blissfully unaware of the awful reality of her life.

Kate gritted her teeth around the pain and waited, because the promise of the meds was the only thing that kept her from wishing that Mark DeLucas had finished the fucking job.