Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.
N/A: Down below
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12th Precinct, Monday ~2:00 PM
Buried in the paperwork closing last week's heartbreaking case, Beckett doesn't hear the first few attempts to get her attention.
"Beckett!" Esposito whisper-shouts, finally drawing her mind out of the booking forms as she looks up. With wide eyes and an exaggerated nod, Esposito redirects her attention to the doorway to Gates' office. Beckett looks just in time to see Agent Britton and AD Sampson enter Gates' office.
"What's going on?" Ryan asks the question they're all thinking.
"Maybe more joint task force logistics?" Beckett answers, thinking of the morass of paperwork and approvals that have slowed the JTF initiative to a crawl.
"I don't think so," Esposito speculates. "They looked upset."
Seeing Gates rise and move to her door with her FBI guests, the detectives don't try to hide their interest. They are all looking at Gates when she walks towards the bullpen and asks Beckett to collect her team and move into the conference room.
Beckett's anxiety level is starting to rise. She spoke with Castle just last night, and he seemed fine – exhausted, demoralized, and still a bit shell-shocked from the horrors of his case – but healthy and safe. And, by the end of their conversation, she'd actually been able to reverse roles and pull some meager laughs out of him.
Seating themselves around the table, Beckett immediately notices the power arrangement of the seating choices. Gates is at the head of the table, with Sampson to her right and Britton to her left. Subconsciously, perhaps, Beckett replied in kind by taking the foot of the table and placing Esposito to her right and Ryan to her left.
As everyone settles into place, Beckett notices Britton studying her. As was the case in her previous visits, there is no overt challenge in her gaze, but it's clearly an assessing stare.
"AD Sampson said he has some news," Gates introduces, then turns to the head of the FBI's NY office.
"Jordan's team apprehended their suspect this morning," the AD begins in his deep, resonant voice. "There was a difficulty in taking him in. The suspect, Todd Garrett, was captured on his way back to the building out of which he had been operating. The building was rigged with explosives and officers entering to search the premises triggered a detonation."
No, Beckett thinks, no, no, no! Castle has to be safe – they've come too far, fought and clawed too hard for what they have, for something to have happened now. She turns to Sampson and asks the question that matters most to her, despite whatever it signals to Gates or Britton. "Is Castle okay?"
"Mr. Castle should be in the hospital by now," Sampson replies in a somber tone. "His injuries are expected to be minor, and we'll know more as soon as they finish removing a bit of shrapnel from his back. He also likely sustained a concussion and was bleeding from his ear, but the onsite evaluation was that he is expected to make a full recovery."
"What happened?" Ryan asks.
"The suspect – Garrett – had been operating far longer than we expected. His recent activities were the second wave of his spree, his endgame," Sampson explains. "The victims of his first wave were … stored in his facility where he used their decomposition gases to contribute to the explosive trap that he set. His plan, apparently, was to be in his 'workshop' when we breached, so that the explosion would take out as many of us as possible. It was pure luck that we apprehended him on his way into the building."
"So you got the bastard?" Esposito follows up with a vindictive tone.
"We have his body. He was one of four casualties from the scene," Sampson says. In response to the attentive looks around the table, he continues. "The part of the team that included Mr. Castle had been pursuing a different lead and had just arrived when Garrett was in cuffs and being escorted to a sheriff's cruiser. Nothing in his MO to that point suggested a bomb threat – he'd done his work with knives and purposefully hidden his attraction to explosives. But, something apparently piqued Mr. Castle's attention as the breach team approached the door. He shouted for them to stop at the same time he kicked the back of Agent Avery's knees and tackled Agent Shaw."
"Are they okay?" Beckett asks, feeling a twinge of guilt that she had ignored others she knows while focusing on Castle.
"Mr. Castle might have protected Jordan from the shockwave and shrapnel of the blast, but he's also quite a bit larger than her. She twisted her arm when they landed and suffered a facial abrasion, but she's fine, and grateful. Agent Avery is also fine, though he made some comment about how his legs aren't cut out for many more cases with Mr. Castle. That didn't make much sense to me, but perhaps it will to you," Sampson ends with a change in intonation, suggesting a question, but no one chooses to bring him in on the joke.
"Who perished?" Captain Gates cuts in for the first time.
"The breach team did not survive the blast – two sheriff's deputies and Agent Chris Davenport of our Los Angeles office," Sampson says sadly, while both he and Britton hang their heads. The FBI has a remarkable record for keeping agents alive, but the news that one more memorial star will adorn the walls at FBI headquarters is cause for heartache. "The suspect was impaled by a piece of rebar propelled by the explosion, pinned to the car to which he was being escorted. Waste of a perfectly good piece of metal," Sampson concludes with some venom, finally showing some emotion.
"What does this mean for our task force plans?" Gates asks, mentioning something that Beckett was also wondering. There must be a deeper agenda in play – the head of the FBI's NY office wouldn't come to the 12th to relay news when a phone call would've sufficed.
"Our plans should be unaffected, so long as we can maintain information security on the details of the assignment," Sampson answers obliquely. "Information about the explosion has been contained thus far, but that will not last – there were just too many different groups involved: Bureau, LA County Sheriff, local coroners and law enforcement from Upland, the fire department… too many. Plus, there's the gruesome nature of the explosion." After a short pause and prompted by curious looks, Sampson explains. "Garrett didn't just use the bodies for the explosion, but also for effect – the … pieces … of his victims comprised a fair portion of the explosive debris. If we're lucky, everything removed from those injured at the scene will prove to be non-biologic."
Ryan looks a little green and Esposito looks resolute, both of them probably thinking back to Beckett's comments about the ME reactions to the crime scenes. As Beckett imagines the ghastly scene, she understands the nature of Sampson's concerns.
"Oh lord," she says. "Body parts raining from the sky, a case near Hollywood, and one on which the 'Master of the Macabre' is consulting? The media will love this," she says in a dire tone.
"Indeed. Which is why I think we'd all prefer," Sampson says directly, "that any discussion of the case, even including confirmation of the personnel involved, receive only a 'no comment' in response."
Gates is nodding while Sampson is speaking, and orally confirms her agreement as soon as he's done. With that, members of their group begin to stand and shift toward the door. Beckett notices that Britton is again studying her, but the look is broken as everyone files towards the door. Thanking them for the update and assuring their agreement with the way forward, Gates leads the farewells as the members of the 12th escort their guests to the elevator. While this meeting was intended to convey and contain information, it's failed at least in one respect as other members of the 12th are keenly interested in the visitors and whatever news has left Beckett's team looking so gloomy.
12th Precinct, Monday ~5:00 PM
"Hey partner," Beckett says as she answers her phone a few hours later. With no active case and having been barred from the shocking one that was reported earlier today, the approach of the end of a conventional workday has Beckett looking forward to a little exercise, a long bath, and some careful planning. "How you feeling?"
"A bit like a pincushion, actually," Castle replies. "But I think I'm done with the poking and prodding."
"Only until you get home," Beckett says with a sultry voice, figuring that it might help cheer Castle. From the sound of his warm, rich chuckle it seems to have worked.
"It's not too bad. A couple stiches, some difficulty hearing with my left ear for the next week or so, and I got my bell rung," Castle summarizes. "Plus, I lost the money that I put in the pool for you giving me the concussion."
"The other pools still seem to be in operation," Beckett says, letting Castle know that the boys have surprisingly remained true to their promise to keep any news gathered in the Hamptons under wraps.
"Good," Castle replies, "I want to be back in peak shape for my strut when that news breaks."
Huffing at the ridiculous image he's planted in her mind, Beckett's still anxious to see him. "So, when are you coming home?"
"Look, Kate," Castle says faux seriously, "I know this looks bad and I promised to use my powers only for good, but I'm flirting like a madman with anyone and everyone – male or female, animate or not – to get sprung from this place. There's a red-eye flight tonight and I want to be on it."
"Your powers, huh?" Beckett teases, letting him off the hook.
"Absolutely. And if I catch that flight, I'm back in time for the workday tomorrow," Castle says happily.
"Castle, you remember that I'm a detective, right?" Beckett asks rhetorically. "It's okay to mention your ex-wife, especially if she's part of the reason you're so anxious to get out of Southern California."
"Busted again," Castle laments. "That knock on the head must have affected my game, thrown off my natural stealthiness," he says and provokes an indulgent smile. "Fine. I'd like to be gone before Meredith finds out I'm nearby. It's only a matter of time before she finds out that there's someone serious in my life and pops up to wreak a little havoc."
"That sounds like something to look forward to," Beckett says sarcastically to Castle's accompanying chuckle.
"No, but there's only so much you can do to plan for an hurricane. Just set a strong foundation and be ready to rebuild," Castle says warmly, and Beckett again appreciates the economy of his words and the imagery they create.
"There's something we need to talk about when you're back," Beckett says, switching gears.
"That doesn't sound good. If it was a letter, it wouldn't start with 'Dear John,' would it?" Castle replies.
He'd better be joking, she thinks. "'Enduring,' Castle. Have some confidence," Beckett cajoles. "No, this is a B&E case."
"Beckett, my life is fantastic right now, but I'm not sure that I'm up for working with Demming just yet," Castle says.
"Just listen, Rick," she replies, using his given name to drive home their connection. "We've been warned off of this case, but someone broke into Evelyn Montgomery's house this weekend. Things have been rifled through, but it's not clear whether anything was taken. We should talk about a care basket or something," she says, hoping that Castle's knock on the head doesn't lead him to say something he shouldn't in case of being overheard.
"That poor woman," Castle says, "seems like she's had enough tragedy. We'll figure out something nice to do for her," he replies. Message received, Beckett thinks.
"You know who else needs some TLC?" Castle continues, reclaiming her attention. "This guy," Castle says in a rowdy voice, and Beckett can envision him using his thumbs to point to himself. "You busy tomorrow night, Kate?"
"You need to spend some time with your family, Castle," she chides in response while she feels virtuous for putting the needs of Alexis and Martha ahead of her own.
"That's exactly what I was suggesting," he says shyly. "Just the four of us together again. Well, maybe three – you never know with Mother."
"Castle…," Beckett drawls out, torn between seeing him again and intruding on his time with Alexis.
"Hey, you wanted me to have some confidence," Castle replies. "If you're worried about Alexis, you shouldn't be. She wants to see me happy, you make me happy, so we're good," Castle concludes as if he's a professor who's just completed a mathematical proof.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Beckett finds herself wondering if she's going to get a permanent indentation there. "Okay, smart guy," she says in a lilting tone. "Let me call Alexis, without any coaching from her dad, and as long as we're okay, I'll be there."
"Deal," Castle says happily as Beckett feels a smile stretch her cheeks. "I'll take it and entertain any side bets about Alexis' reaction."
"Quit while you're ahead, buddy," she chuckles. "I've got to run, but Rick?" she pauses to make sure that he's listening. "I'm glad you're safe and I'm glad you're coming back to me."
"I love you, too, Beckett," he says sincerely. "See you soon."
"You two are disgusting," Esposito calls from his desk. She prefers his comment, though, to Ryan's "I think they're cute."
12th Precinct, Wednesday ~10:00 AM
"Hey Castle, good to see you again," Ryan calls out to Castle as he approaches with a carrying tray of coffees and a bag of pastries.
"Still on West Coast time?" Esposito teases while exaggeratedly looking at his watch.
"'A wizard is never late nor is he early…,'" Castle begins, quoting from one of his personal favorites before Beckett interjects.
"A wizard? How hard did you get hit on the head?" Beckett asks and Castle harrumphs as he distributes the coffees.
"I would have been in yesterday …," Castle starts, but Beckett cuts him off.
"Except that you were too tired to stand up straight, you were on painkillers, and were still recovering from having nearly been blown up," she says drily, remembering his meager attempt to dissuade her from driving him home rather than to the precinct yesterday morning.
"Yeah, that," Castle agrees, slightly contrite.
With coffees and pastries distributed, Castle settles into his chair beside Beckett's desk.
"Did you tell them about Jordan?" Castle asks her quietly.
"Not yet. I thought we'd wait to do it outside of the precinct," Beckett replies. One positive from the "Bodybomber" case in California was that it afforded Castle the opportunity to reach out to Jordan in vague terms, to test the water about whether she might be an ally on their project. Nothing like shielding someone from a bomb to build a little goodwill.
While Beckett thinks about the possibilities, Castle bends down and from his bag withdraws a new laptop computer, a beefy looking contraption that wouldn't look out of place on a construction site or oil rig.
"New toy?" Beckett asks.
"Yes?" Castle replies.
"I asked if that was a new toy," Beckett repeats a little louder, thinking that Castle's left ear was giving him problems.
"I heard you, Beckett, I thought you were just trying out a pet name," Castle says as he sends her a wicked smile.
Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Beckett can't deny that she missed his ridiculousness.
"But yes, this is also a new toy. It's what I mentioned last night, for our project – satellite enabled, anonymous, and portable. We can search for anything we want without worrying about the electronic fingerprints pointing back to the precinct," Castle says softly. "Like you said after dinner, there's a good chance that whoever broke into Evelyn's house was looking for photo albums or something else that might lead to the file. We need to be careful now – if they were looking for the photos and noticed that they were gone, they might think that we're looking into the case again."
Beckett's nodding, and keeping her voice low, says "I think we need to assume that he knows. We need to find Smith. Are you going to look into the three of our candidates who were on the seating chart?"
"Exactly. I'll get moving on this, just don't distract me," Castle replies.
"Right. Because I'm the one in this partnership who causes distraction," she says flatly.
"Kate," Castle says, leaning slightly closer. "Your mere existence is a distraction. Just knowing we live in a reality where the wisps of cosmic dust and gossamer threads of anima could coalesce to create someone so extraordinary – how can that not be a distraction?"
"Castle, stop it," she chides, lowering her hair to hide her blush. "I'm not as good at pretending your words don't affect me as I used to be."
"Sorry," he says, a little embarrassed. "I'll stop."
"Wait, don't stop," Beckett interjects quickly, looking up with a smile. "Just not here."
12th Precinct, Thursday ~5:30 PM
"Magnificent as usual, Detective," Castle complements her as she exits the interrogation room with confession secured, leaving her shattered suspect to the attentions of the officers there to escort him to holding.
"Thanks, Castle," she says in reply, still feeling good and a bit charged up from the encounter. "You know the best part?" she asks rhetorically, but Castle tries to answer anyway.
"It's a toss-up between when he flinched when you lead in with Amy's contradictions or how he gulped after your threat about what might happen to him without the 'protective auspices of the penitentiary system,'" Castle chortles.
"Okay, so maybe hanging out with an author is making me a little loquacious," Beckett admits, mostly so that she can see his reaction to her word choice, and she's not disappointed.
"Nope, that right there was the best part," Castle amends.
"No, Mr. Diction, the best part is that with this case closed, the chances for anything interfering with Alexis' graduation tomorrow are greatly reduced," Beckett corrects. "I'm looking forward to hearing her speech."
"Yeah, I'm anxious to hear what that little ingrate has to say," he huffs. "Eighteen years of room and board and I don't get a preview of the speech! Unbelievable," he grouses, his frown growing even more exaggerated when Beckett laughs rather than sides with him.
"So," Beckett says while shifting gears and sitting down at her desk. "How goes the project?"
"Looks like a road trip on Saturday," Castle answers. "I'm pretty sure one of the three is a non-starter, but the other two look equally likely. And I've looked into some of the others, just in case. I think it's time to show up for some face time."
"It feels like an irrevocable step," Beckett notes, "but I think you're right. Your ladies will be out of town and we'll be careful. With what happened to Evelyn, we need to step up the pace."
Nodding, Castle agrees. "I've made some transportation arrangements for Saturday. We can talk about it out of the precinct, but I think you'll be impressed."
"So now the secret comes out," Beckett says overdramatically. "Your interest in this case," she pauses and looks around, dropping her voice, "your interest in me, it's all a pretext to serve your lifelong goal of playing spy. I should have seen this coming ever since they offered the Bond series to you all those years ago…"
"I doubt that Q would let James Bond use Rent-a-Wreck," Castle replies. "But the rest? All true."
"There is a mission I've been thinking about," Beckett suggests, dropping her tone even further and making it a little breathy.
"Really?" Castle asks, intrigued. "I'm your agent, Detective."
"Well, I was wondering if your skills would be sufficient to secure us a spot for a surreptitious supper where we might escape surveillance," Beckett whispers.
"So. Hot." Castle gulps. "I'll take care of it," he has while extracting his phone. "Get your paperwork done, then let's get out of here."
Marlowe Academy, Friday ~2:30 PM
Beckett's thankful to see an open parking spot into which she quickly swerves, since it relieves her of the moral dilemma of whether she should abuse her position by parking her cruiser in a blatantly illegal spot in order to make sure they're in the auditorium by 3:00. They've still got a bit of a walk, but they'll make it with time to spare despite the extra time required to address Captain Gates' questions about their latest case that delayed her departure. Still, resolving those issues freed the boys, too, so they can all be there for Alexis' big moment.
It's a beautiful day for a short walk on a pristine campus. It's easy to forget that these little alcoves of intellectual and architectural wonders are tucked around New York City, she thinks, squeezed into the nooks and crannies of the metropolitan bustle. As they approach the auditorium, Beckett takes in the neighborhood, surprised by how close the rest of the city encroaches on Marlowe's campus.
She's about to lower her eyes from scanning the horizon when she notices a flash of movement in her peripheral vision. After taking a few more steps, she swerves to the side, walking in shadow in the lee of whatever academic building they walk beside. Crouching to pretend to adjust her shoe, she waits until the boys notice her and step to her side.
"There's someone on the roof of the building across the street," she says quietly. Esposito feigns a stretch, during which he casts a quick eye at the nearby rooftops.
"I didn't see anyone, but that position would give a clear field of fire at the auditorium doors," he says quietly while looking down at Beckett. "Should we check it out?"
Beckett's torn, thinking about the best way forward. She might be paranoid, but recent events make it feel like Bracken is moving pieces into play. She's also desperate to be inside to hear Alexis. Goodness knows she doesn't want to disappoint the girl when she said she'd be there, doesn't want to become another on the list of women who can't be relied on. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she realizes that she doesn't have time to scout the rooftop and make it for the beginning of the graduation ceremony.
Sighing, she realizes that she needs to minimize the maximum, as her dad would say – better to ensure their safety and apologize later than to attend the ceremony on time and learn to her horror that her fears were well founded. But she has to let Castle know, she thinks, planning her course of action.
"Let's walk around the corner," she says, wary of staying within sight of the rooftop in question for too long. Praying that she is making the right call, she dials her phone as she walks, the call connecting as they round the corner of the building.
"Captain Gates," a voice answers, and Beckett commits to her plan. "Captain, this is Detective Beckett. Please find a different phone and call me back immediately. This is an emergency," then hangs up. If Gates' phone is tapped she's clearly sent up a flare, but it can't be avoided on this timetable. Esposito and Ryan are looking at her is silent disbelief, but she doesn't explain or justify: if this goes south, it's on her shoulders alone.
While awaiting a return call, she types a quick, clumsy text to Castle: Have fun and don't drink too much at the reception, just little sips! As a code word, 'sip' is a pretty obvious acronym, but she and Castle hadn't thought of a better one for 'shelter in place.' Knowing that she's probably caused her writer's heartrate to double, she trusts that he'll keep his family, and others in attendance, safe inside the auditorium.
Her attention is pulled back to her phone as it rings, and she picks it up to abandon the last chance to change course. "Beckett," she answers as she connects to the unknown number.
"Detective, what's going on?" Gates asks quickly.
"Sir, I'm at Marlowe Academy with Ryan and Esposito. I think I spotted a shooter on a rooftop overlooking the auditorium doors. Can you gather a backup team without using police communications and get them down here? We don't have much time," Beckett says, letting a little of the urgency of the situation inflect her tone.
"A different phone and a request to stay off police communication channels," Gates responds. "Why do you suspect a sniper at a high school graduation, and why do you think we've been compromised?"
"Please, sir, there isn't much time. My concerns are well-founded," she pauses before she reveals even more. "We're working on the same case now that we were pursuing when I was shot."
Her admission causes a pause during which Beckett wonders what's happening. "Backup is on the way," Gates answers. "And I'll look forward to an explanation, Detective."
Swallowing hard as she disconnects, Beckett turns her attention to the boys. "Ryan, I want you to go inside the auditorium. Talk to whoever is in charge, quietly, but make sure no one leaves that building until we give them the all clear. When you're done, get back out to meet Gates and the backup."
"Got it," Ryan replies. "Maybe Castle can do a dramatic reading or something to keep them contained," he says to break the tension. "Be careful," he says as he splits off and heads to the auditorium, walking casually despite the knowledge that there might be a gun trained on him.
"Let's move," Beckett says to Esposito as they continue to walk to the other side of the building so that they can approach their target from a different direction. "I was thinking that we should be in position to confirm the threat and be ready to move if the backup team spooks him," Beckett says. "Thoughts?"
"We stay together," Esposito replies, already deviating from what Beckett had planned. "Even a decent sniper should already be in position and out of sight. If there's someone up there, you probably saw the spotter. That means at least two unfriendlies."
"Okay," Beckett relents, knowing that this is Esposito's area of expertise. "Where do you think they are?"
"They should be in a room, set up to shoot through a window. But if this came together late, they might not have had time to secure a location inside, which would leave the roof. But the spotter will be with the shooter – there to watch his back. So, let's work our way up top," Esposito recommends.
"Fire escape or internal stairs?" Beckett asks, though they're working towards the door of the building rather than the alley.
Esposito confirms her assumption. "Inside. It'd be too easy to see or hear us coming on the fire escape," he confirms.
Once inside, they learn that the building is a mixed-use structure, mostly populated by small businesses. It's a good thing that the graduation is during business hours, Beckett realizes. Otherwise, it would have been simple to break into one of these units after-hours and pursued the route Esposito suggested.
They opt to take the elevator to the sixth floor, which has several offices they could plausibly be visiting. From there, it's four floors up the internal stairs. They move slowly but quietly, taking time to ensure that their footfalls don't echo up the concrete and steel chamber.
Reaching the top floor, it takes a few moments to locate the door that provides access to the roof, which is separated from the internal stairs. Noticing that it's unlocked, they draw their weapons and enter, seeing a single flight of stairs leading to the roof door, which has been propped open slightly.
Esposito raises a closed fist, and they stop their progress near the top of the stairs. Beckett, a step lower than Esposito, withdraws her phone and texts Status? to Ryan after muting her phone. Seeing the icon indicating that Ryan's typing his response, she waits only a few seconds before she reads Downstairs, alone.
After showing the screen to Esposito, she replies with Advise when friends arrive and places her phone on in the pocket of her blazer. With a look and nod to Esposito, they both slowly advance until they are perched on the last step in front of the door, ready to move with an instant's notice.
As they crouch, they hear movement on the other side of the door and lean forward in an effort to hear what's happening on the rooftop.
"We're blown," says a man's high, raspy voice. "Time to pull out."
"Get the van ready," a lower voice answers. "I'll be right down."
If they're splitting up, there's no use in trying to catch them inside. Nodding to each other, she and Esposito prepare to move. They've no sooner gotten set when the door opens, pulled outward from someone on the rooftop. Esposito's already moving, so that he barrels through the door and knocks down the man who had been preparing to leave.
"Freeze! Police!" Beckett yells as she steps around Esposito, who's standing over a prone figure at whom his weapon is trained. Her eyes are trained instead on a second man about 15 yards away who is kneeling in front of a black weapon case. The case is open so that the lid blocks her view of what's inside, but she's certain that they'll find a sniper rifle nestled in protective foam within.
There is a frozen moment when everything seems to stop: voices, movements, the clouds in the sky, even heartbeats. Then all hell breaks loose when events lurch forward as time accelerates to catch up to where it should have been.
Beckett hears movement and a crash to her right, where Esposito stood over the other suspect. In her peripheral vision, she sees that he's no longer standing, but that's all she notices before her suspect commands her full attention. In her moment of distraction, he's reached into the case and flashed his hand. Towards her, moving and bouncing as if in slow-motion, is a small, spherical device painted in lethal matte black.
As she reacts instinctively, Beckett knows that she's made a deadly mistake. It's a grenade bouncing toward her, a device that would kill them all. A device that still has its pin intact. Which means that it was only a distraction, a feint to force her to refocus her attention and move.
Turning her head back to where the sniper had been, Beckett expects to see him breaking for the door or the fire escape. Instead, she sees him moving towards her. With only a moment to react, she prepares herself for the impact, absorbing as much of his tackle as she can while spinning on contact. She might not have dodged his charge, but her reaction means that they careen sideways, both landing on their sides and sliding on the rough surface of the roof.
Congratulating herself on holding onto her weapon, Beckett curses fate as it's suddenly kicked from her hand and goes skittering away out of reach.
"Detective Beckett, how good to see you again," her attacker grins as they square off against each other, moving in a slow circle. Beckett's playing for time, hoping for the arrival of backup and trying to slowly rotate so that she can see what's happened to Esposito. To her dismay, she sees him laid out on the ground near the door, his suspect nowhere in sight.
"You've aged since I saw you last," her opponent taunts. "Of course, I was pretty far away last time and those dress blues made you look like a rookie. It's too bad your writer isn't here this time – I still owe him for fouling my shot. Still, he'll get his turn."
She knows that he's trying to distract and enrage her, but why? Drawing this out plays to her advantage, not his. That's when she notices his attempt at misdirection, that his right hand was gesticulating with his taunts while his left crept toward a knife hilt at his side.
Knowing that her odds of stalling or even surviving are drastically reduced if he pulls the weapon, Beckett launches into attack. At first, her opponent underestimates her, thinking that her assault is one of rage at his taunts. Instead, she is controlled and focused. For precious seconds, Beckett thinks that she's likely to succeed.
But as quickly as her advantage seemed within reach, it disappeared. Realizing the ferocity and focus of her attack, her opponent reacts instinctively and effectively. Her blows are countered, while she absorbs three painful hits, including one that nearly drives the breath from her lungs. Thinking she's winded, her opponent moves in for another strike when she lashes out with a brutal hit that lands on his cheek and leaves a cut just below his eye, causing blood to well immediately.
The effect on their fight is immediate and surprising. Dabbing his fingers to his cheek and pulling them back to see the blood, he looks at her with new eyes and gives her a nod of respect. Then a feral grin crawls across his face as he rolls his shoulders and settles into a new stance. Without the faintest idea of why this thought comes to her and with no control to stop it, Beckett flashes back to watching the 'Princess Bride' with Castle and Alexis, when Inigo Montoya looks to be faring poorly in a duel until he reveals that he's not left handed.
It's an apt analogy, as her opponent comes at her with redoubled force, hands a blur of strength and pain. While she fights to fend him off, two hits land for every one she blocks, and even the blocked strikes hurt. He's toying with her now, she realizes in dismay, as he hasn't even attempted to use his feet, either to kick or knock her off balance.
Where's the backup that was supposed to be here? Was she a fool to trust Gates? Her arms are nearly useless, beaten and numb, and her torso and sides are awash in flaring agony. She can already feel her cheek swelling. Though he's made it clear that he could do so at will, her attacker has only struck her face once. She doesn't know if this is supposed to be some nod to her one shot to his cheek, or if he's been instructed to allow for an open casket funeral service.
The morbidity of this thought galvanizes her. She'll be damned if this is how it ends, her quest for justice, the beautiful future she can finally, finally taste with Castle. She's going to live, damn it, and she knows how she'll do it.
As the pace of her attacker's blows begins to slow, Beckett rotates again, changing her position and orientation on the roof before moving into a spin-kick intended to distract. When her opponent steps away from the roundhouse kick she transitions into a straight-leg kick aimed at his midsection. It lands, though Beckett thinks she fared worse in the exchange – it felt like kicking the trunk of a redwood tree.
Her opponent's grin is back, and she knows what's coming. He takes the use of her feet as an invitation to do the same. His left foot lashes out, but he retracts in mid-kick and pivots to the other foot. Even suspecting that it's coming, Beckett is unprepared for the force as his right foot connects high on her stomach, throwing her backwards and driving the air from her lungs. Trying hard to retain her wits, Beckett lands hard on the roof in an uncontrolled tumble.
Fighting to remain conscious, she hears a gloating chuckle and realizes that her opponent's decision to toy with her has left him blind. Still rolling from his kick, Beckett comes up in a clumsy, off-balance crouch and with her service weapon back in hand. The gloating smile is still sliding from his face when the first bullet lances through the joint where his left leg meets his torso. Two more bullets stich upward, one high in the gut and the last in his upper chest, just inches to the right of where he shot her a year ago.
"I'm not left-handed either, asshole," Beckett mumbles defiantly as she slumps to the ground and darkness claims her.
.
A/N: If you've read this far, you know that I'm a fan of Castle (the character as well as the show). But that doesn't mean that I'm not also a big fan of Beckett, too. It's great fun writing bad-ass Beckett.