I don't own Castle.
Title: Elektra
Rating: T+
Description: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.
Chapter 24 – "The Killer's Still Alive"
Alexis was sleeping soundly when Rick walked into the apartment at ten that night.
His mother was watching an old black-and-white movie, something Rick didn't recognize, with Alexis's head resting in her lap and playing lightly with the tips of her red hair. He walked up to the armrest of the couch and sat down, wrapping his arm gently around his mother's shoulder, squeezing it tight.
She looked up from her movie and gave Rick a small smile.
"How are you, Mother?" he asked.
She sighed and glanced down at Alexis, brushing her hair back from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. "She's getting so big, Richard," he said. "It feels like yesterday I held her in the hospital. That little bundle of pink and that bright patch of red hair." She chuckled and Rick smiled down at his baby girl, who was almost six. Six.
"I know," he said.
She said, "She misses you, Rick. She loves spending time with Grams, but, she really does miss you. She keeps talking about summer when you were home all the time. She misses her mommy too but she doesn't say that as often. Mostly you."
Rick felt his throat drop to the pit of his stomach. Great – not only did their killer commit suicide but Kate broke up with him and now his mother was giving him a guilt-trip.
"Mother, this really isn't want I need to hear right now."
"I know, darling, but—"
She gave him one of those looks. One of those looks that said she knew everything. She may not have known exactly what had happened but she knew enough. Enough to know that Rick was hurting deeply.
"Mother…"
"Rick, stay home tomorrow," she said. "Stay home and spend some time with your daughter. This case has taken over your life. I'm not saying it isn't important but you need a break."
He rubbed his eyes, feeling the back of his throat burn. He really didn't need this talk right now. All he wanted to do was kiss his daughter goodnight, pop open the bottle of Scotch he had in the bottom drawer of his desk, and drink until he couldn't remember Kate Beckett or Ben Conrad or Richard Castle anymore.
"It doesn't matter because the case is over," he said. "We found the guy."
His mother pursed her lips. "Did he confess?"
"He's dead."
There was a long pause. He listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall and the cars honking down in the New York traffic. He watched outside the window to the night sky, clouded by the smog of the city. He had always wanted to take Alexis outside the city to an open patch of wilderness somewhere and stare up at the stars until they couldn't keep their eyes open any longer.
Finally, his mother patted his leg and squirmed out from under Alexis's sleeping head. The girl muttered something that sounded like "Cotton candy" and then turned over and continued her sleep. She stood up and stretched.
Rick bent down and picked up Alexis. Her head lolled on his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her tightly against him. It wasn't until that moment when he realized how much he missed his little girl. Women would come and go – girlfriends, partners, wives – but his little girl would always remain the same.
She would always love him.
He walked toward the staircase, rubbing Alexis's back gently, listening to the sound of her snotty breathing. She sounded like she was catching a cold. Maybe tomorrow he would take her to the doctor to get her checked out. Afterwards, they could maybe watch a movie. There had to be some Disney movie playing.
"Oh, Rick."
He stopped short at the edge of the staircase.
Turning his head, his mother said, "She asks about Katie sometimes too."
And with that, she was gone.
She always did have the last word.
Later that night, Rick had his laptop open on a blank document.
In front of that rested the open file of Ben Conrad. He had pictures of the man throughout his lifetime – a graduation photo, one taken inside a bar, a couple of his mug shots, and, finally, his dead bloodied body. Rick sighed, picking up the graduation photo.
With thick black hair and dark brown eyes, Ben Conrad had once been an attractive, swarthy human being. How did people have so much promise at their graduation and somehow lose it all soon afterwards? This man wasn't much older than him – and while Conrad had once had this promising look that Rick never had.
He tossed the picture on the table and grabbed for his glass of scotch. This was his third glass and while he didn't feel drunk – he felt tired and depressed and grief ran through his blood instead of alcohol. He had wanted to drink to forget Kate Beckett but the alcohol only amplified is new-found loneliness.
Shaking his head, he took another swig of drink, finishing it off, and looked back down to the pictures. It doesn't make sense – the ending of this case was not right. There was no way a case like this would end up so neatly, wrapped up in a little box with a bow on top.
He bit his tongue, hovering over the files, trying to ease his mind. He had just sighed again and leaned back on the couch when the doorbell rang. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that it was a little past midnight. Who would be at the door at this hour?
Not bothering with the files, he shuffled to the door and didn't bother with the peephole, opening it widely.
On the other side was Gina, giving him a dirty look.
"What?" he asked.
She glared at him and huffed, shoving her way past him. "It's been three weeks, Mr. Castle," she sneered, her shoes clacking loudly as she made her way across the hardwood floor. Rick breathed deeply and quietly closed the door behind him. Leaning up against it, he rested his back on the door, not wanting to hear this tonight.
After a long silence, he finally looked at Gina. She biting her tongue, trying to contain he anger that is oozing out of every pour on her body. "Rick," she said in a deathly-calm voice. "I'm trying to reasonable here. But you're six weeks late on your manuscript. I have to have something. Anything to run by Black Pawn. They're pissed."
He ran a hand through his hair, walking passed her and into the living room. "I know, Gina," he replied. "It's just with this case—"
She stepped in front of him, slapping his shoulder. "No more excuses, Rick," she said. "None. I'm not buying them anymore." Rick tried to say something, anything, to get her to understand. "I saw the paper. I know you've caught the killer. 'Detective Beckett and Rick "Castle" Rodgers catch serial killer Ben Conrad.'" She bit her lip. "Rick, you knew when you had your first book published that it would be hard to handle both jobs. You did it well for awhile…"
"But?"
"But," she tilted her head, giving the floor and awkward glance. She looked up into his eyes and he could no longer see the seething anger. Instead, desperation took its place. She needed him to finish a manuscript. Hell, even a sentence would be nice.
"It's not working anymore, Rick. You have to choose. You have to choose Rick Castle or Rick Rodgers. You can't be both."
You can't be both.
The thought struck him.
He glanced passed Gina's shoulder and down to the strewn-out photos and papers of the Conrad case. His eyes focused on the picture of what was left of Ben Conrad's head, the gun settled in his right hand. He remembered something, then, something from Conrad's description.
"That's not right…" he muttered.
"What?" Gina asked. "What's not right? Rick?" She pushed his shoulder, snapping him out of the trance he had been under. His eyes focused back on her and he glanced back again at the documents. "What's not right?" she asked again.
"This… this case," he said, hastily sitting down on his couch.
He heard Gina sigh and mumble, "So much for making a decision." Then she sat down next to him, pushing all other feelings aside. She gave him a look. "What's going on, Rick?"
He showed her the picture. Her pale skin turned a minty shade of green and she looked suddenly seasick. He had forgotten she wasn't used to looking at pictures of dead bodies. While he teetered the line of reality and fiction, she was only living in the worlds her authors created for her. She wasn't used to seeing the gruesomeness of the real thing.
"It's different," he said, "when you see it right in front of you."
She gave him a grateful look. Despite their differences, he and Gina were close. He never would have agreed to the contracts, books on the line or not, if he absolutely despised her. There was once a time he thought maybe something would become of them but then he met Detective Beckett.
Kate.
His eyes widened and he looked back at the picture.
"Ben Conrad," he explained. "He wasn't right-handed, he was left-handed. The medical examiners said that he had killed himself. How could he have done that with his right hand?" He looked up at Gina.
Her face was horror-struck.
"If he had help," she offered quietly.
Suddenly, Rick was on his feet. "I need you to stay here," he said to her. "I need you to watch Alexis. I have to – I have to…"
Suddenly, he remembered back to the crime scene. He remembered the bomb Ben Conrad had put together, the creepy voice that shouted: Johanna will burn. Johanna will burn. Johanna will burn.
Kate.
Kate will burn.
"Kate," he said, feeling sick to his stomach.
Gina understood. "Go," she said. "I'll call Captain Montgomery. Go to her, Rick."
He nodded, grabbed his phone and keys, and was out the door.
"You've reached Detective Kate Beckett. I can't come to the phone—"
"Shit!" he yelled, reaching his car. It was third time he had called in the past minute and she wasn't answering him. What a day for a breakup, he thought bitterly, fumbling with his keys. Finally sticking them in the ignition, he was out of the parking garage with the siren on before he could even process the horrible thought.
He swallowed bile.
"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered, glancing down at his phone.
He called her again.
It rang.
And rang.
"You've reached Detective Kate—"
Some dick in front of him decided to not pull over when the sirens were going and he nearly rear-ended him. He honked wildly as he passed him going nearly sixty on the forty-mile street. The man flipped him off as he had to come to a dead-stop to get out of Rick's way.
He could arrest him for that, technically, but he didn't have time to stop.
The rain beat against the windshield, making it hard to see. The New York lights usually helped but this night it didn't. It was pitch-black in the sky and the rain made everything blurry. The lights hurt his eyes. They made everything look like it was glowing. He honked at a few pedestrians who were jay-walking.
God, why did all the idiots decide to come out on the street tonight?
He called her again.
"You've reached Detective Kate Beckett. I can't come to the phone right now so please leave your name, number, and message and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks." The phone beeped and he yelled, "Kate, for the love of God, answer your phone. Answer it, dammit!"
He clicked it off, throwing it on the passenger street.
Flying through a red light, he pounded his fist on the dashboard. "Dammit!" he yelled, feeling the tears prickling his eyes. He was going to throw up. He was going to cry. It had been almost six years when he cried last – the first time he held his baby girl.
He looked over and reached for his phone, trying a sharp corner. A few honks followed him and he brushed them off, calling her again.
"Rick, look—"
She answered.
Oh, God.
"Kate," he said, breathless. "Kate, Ben Conrad's not the killer. He's not the killer, Kate!"
He was three blocks from her apartment.
Three blocks.
"What are you talking about?"
"He's not the killer, Kate," he repeated, seeing her apartment building in the distance.
Two blocks.
"Someone set Conrad up," he told her. "Conrad was left-handed, not right-handed. The killer's still alive, Kate! He's still alive."
One block.
He heard her gasp and something dropped onto the ground. "Kate?" he yelled. "Kate—"
In the distance there was a deafening silence and then an explosion. Rick came to a dead halt, his car screeching on the wet road. Flames roared to the sky, like the mane of a lion. Kate's apartment building was on fire. Where her apartment had been ten seconds before was now gone. Rubble fell to the ground and Rick could hear pedestrians screaming and crying out.
He jumped out of his car and took off to the building.
"Kate!" he screamed, knowing she couldn't hear him.
She couldn't hear him.
She was gone.
She had to be gone.
No one could have survived that.
He ran, his arms pumping, his breath short with each step. He let the tears fall down his cheeks, the rain disguising them as soon as they escaped his eyes.
The last time he cried, he had never been happier in his whole life. He could still remember the fuzzy cotton blanket that held his tiny daughter, almost four weeks early. He could still feel the soft patch of bright red hair of his beautiful little girl. He could still remember when she woke up, looking at him with her piercing blue eyes.
This time was different.
The grief that washed over him was worse than the pouring rain.
It was like standing underneath the Niagara Falls.
It was crushing.
It made his heart stop, his breathing halt.
In front of him, the flames shot out higher, mocking the rain that tried – and failed – to bring it down.