Chapter 29

"Yes! Ha Ha! Take that!" Rick exclaimed as he took his last shot to finish the level with his highest score yet. He whirled to boast to - someone - but he was alone in the living room of a cabin, miles from home. "Well, not entirely alone," he thought looking through the door to the porch. He could see her hand drooping off the edge of the chair arm and her hair touching her shoulder where her head drooped toward her left. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

After a few moments he sighed and walked out to where Kate dozed. As he really looked at her, he was shocked at her appearance and reminded of Alexis' comment about the woman. She really did look rough. She had dark circles, almost bruised looking, under her eyes, and he could see lines on her forehead that certainly hadn't been there before. Kate Beckett had, even as a child, had a trim build, always on the slim side in every picture he had seen of her through the years, but now…now her wrists looked as though it would take nothing at all to snap them like twigs. Her high cheekbones were even more pronounced, her jaw more prominent, all showing just how much weight she had lost, and goodness knows the woman didn't have much to spare. She looked worse than she had when she had returned from her medical leave after her shooting. The only time he had seen worry lines and dark circles anywhere near how she looked now had been while the team had been working the…sniper…ca…. Well, shit.

Like a proverbial bolt out of the blue, he saw her standing on a bomb, her seemingly irrational acts with Vaughn. Now he saw. He wondered how they had become so good at miscommunication, and hurting each other in the backlash.

The flash of lightning and the accompanying roll of thunder that seemed to rumble on and on roused Kate. She shivered as a gust of cool air and rain, cut into fine mist by the screen, blew in and hit her face and arms. The wind and rain were chill, causing the temperature to drop from the warm afternoon. She stretched her neck, trying to reduce the stiffness from sleeping with it cocked to the side. A large bath towel had obviously been draped over her, but had slipped down to expose her shoulders and arms. A smile attempted to turn up a corner of her mouth at the thought of Rick covering her while she slept. He often did that, trying very hard not to wake her in the process. Looked like he succeeded this time as she hadn't had to pretend to remain asleep to spare his feelings.

She stood up and wrapped the towel around her shoulders, scrubbing warmth back into her arms. "Well," she thought to herself, "Time to face the music." She screwed her courage to the sticking place and stepped back inside… to silence… stillness. The gloaming darkened the interior such that it seemed abandoned and a bit creepy. She stepped over to the kitchen stove and snapped on the light in the hood. Better, at least. A lamp beside the couch added its glow a moment later, definitely reducing the creepy factor. "Good grief," she muttered, "I sound like a Scooby-Doo cartoon!" It really was not a bad place, she thought as she noticed the similarities to her dad's cabin. The stone fireplace, mission-style furniture and pine floors were welcoming features. More welcoming than Rick, actually.

At the moment, though, she needed to find a bathroom. Badly. The sight of the darkened bedroom gave her pause. What if he was sleeping? Or, most likely, avoiding her? But her other option was to find a clump of bushes, which she had done before in her younger days…just not in the middle of a torrential downpour like this one. She had thought she would not have to face the impending awkwardness of the bedroom, but unfortunately, the only other door she had found in the main part of the cabin had opened onto a small utility closet.

Taking a deep breath, she cautiously crossed the threshold. In the dim light she could tell there was no one in the bed. She didn't know what to make of the slight pang of disappointment. After her reception shouldn't she be relieved?

And speaking of relieved…she walked across the room and into the small bathroom, flipping on the light as she entered. After "taking care of business", she looked around curiously as she washed her hands. The simple, bare-bones room was a far cry from his private bath at the loft, or the beach house for that matter. His favorite toiletries were conspicuous by their absence. She grinned as she remembered Rick waxing poetic over his $50 a can, self-heating shaving cream years ago, before he found out it was potentially dangerous. The one on the back of the toilet here could not have been more than $3 or $4. In fact, there was nothing here that couldn't be found at any grocery or discount store. Maybe he was wishing for simpler times.

As Kate strolled back into the living room another bolt of lightning lit up the room followed closely by a tremendous thunderclap that left the windows and dishes rattling. A strong gust of wind roared around the cabin. A moment later she remembered her bike and made a bee-line for the door. She always carried an emergency cover, and she hoped the FBI had returned it when they gave her baby the make-over. Jerking the front door open she stopped in her tracks when it registered there was a bright blue tarp, weighed down with a couple of large rocks, a chunk of wood, and a blue and white cooler covering a motorcycle-shaped lump.

"That man," she thought with a small lifting of her lips. He might be furious with her, but he did know how much her bike meant to her.

Speaking of Rick, where was he? Another peek outside revealed his truck was missing. Now her mind flipped into overdrive, so much so it would have done the author proud. Where was he? Why had he left? Was he so upset by her arrival that he had abandoned the cabin rather than spend another second there?

A few deep breaths later (ok, more than a few), Kate cleared her head and began to think like the detective she was. His toiletries were in the bathroom as were the towels she was pretty sure weren't park supplied. A quick check of the dresser drawers showed clothing still there. Of course, he certainly had enough money to replace anything he needed, but still. She slowly walked back into the living room and sat on the couch. A look at the coffee table had her a bit placated as his laptop was still there. Not that he hadn't left his laptop behind before, but maybe he was just gone, not gone gone.

"Definitely making sense there, Kate," she admonished herself.

Unable to settle, she wandered back to the kitchen, mainly for something to do, when she noticed a note on the counter close to the sink. It was a simple note, "K. Be back soon. R." How had she not thought to check for a note? She might be a Detective 1st grade, but at the moment she felt like Inspector Clouseau. "Well, at least he left a note." But, really? He hadn't written anything this – sparse? Plain? Unemotional? – since the first few cases they had together. Back when the sight of him smugly entering a crime scene had her shoulders tightening. Actually, any notes back then were warmer than what she held in her hand now. She felt the sting of tears as she folded the paper and stuck it in her pocket, knowing this could very well be the last note she ever got from him.

Rick had stood looking at her, really looking at her, for a few moments. Suddenly, a gust of cool wind hit him. A quick look at the sky told him it was, as people around here said, coming up a cloud. Stepping inside, he checked the weather app on his computer to discover this wasn't a passing shower, but was going to last a while, and "watch boxes" were already popping up in the vicinity. No matter their differences just now, he didn't want Kate on unfamiliar roads in this weather…He grabbed a clean towel from the small dryer and tossed it across her arms. With skills developed over years of research, he swiped her room key from her back pocket and headed for the door.

He had almost made it to his truck when the bottom dropped out - and there was her baby sitting in the rain. With a sigh, he diverted to the back and popped the gate, grabbing out one of his tarps to cover the bike. When he finally climbed in the truck he was cold and soaked to the skin, hair dripping into his eyes, but her beloved Harley was covered. Rick cranked up the blower and raised the temperature a bit. Maybe he would dry out some before he got to the motel. Or at least stop the shivers. That rain was cold!

Rick pulled into a luckily empty space just outside Kate's motel room and cut the engine. He sat with only the pounding of the rain and rumbles of thunder, wondering exactly how he had gotten here to begin with. His first thoughts had been that it would be dangerous for her to ride her bike on unfamiliar roads with the weather moving in, not to mention some people around acted like it rained hallucinogens. He really hadn't been thinking when he pulled her key from her pocket and drove here to pick up her things. He could have just as easily driven her back here himself, or even loaned her the truck.

He dropped his head against the seat back; he was so confused. And angry. And hurt when she went radio silent before he left New York…. But she had come to him - had taken the time to look for him. And if Alexis hadn't stretched the story when she commented (nay, ranted) about him taking his trip, Beckett had taken the time to attend her recital and Martha's play while he was holed up in the wilderness of Virginia. Well, wilderness compared to Manhattan. They needed to talk, maybe yell a little…or a lot. He sighed. As long as he was here he might as well check for anything she might need - at least put together an overnight bag.

After a mad dash to the door and a scramble with the key - a real key on a plastic fob no less - he was in her room. He shook the water off his arms and again pushed back his hair. He wasn't sure why he had run; it wasn't like he could get any wetter! He sure hadn't dried appreciably in the drive to the motel. Housekeeping had already been there judging by the made bed and fresh linens on the rack by the sink. He was grateful as he grabbed a towel and began to dry off. A quick glance in the tub area brought him face to face with the most garish swimsuit he had ever seen in his life. And considering who his mother was that was saying something. Wait, maybe it was his mother's? As he caught sight of the rather low neck line he violently shook his head. Nope. Not going there! Brain bleach!

Looking back into the room he found one of the canvas insert Kate used in her saddlebags, whenever she traveled, sitting on the Formica-covered dresser. Upon opening it, he found what looked like at least another set of clothes. Good enough. Reaching to move the shower curtain away, he found a bra hanging on the shower bar, just where he had expected to find it. He had lived with women all his life - it was a given. A quick check of the bed and he had her night clothes pulled from where she had tucked them under a pillow-a habit about which he had often teased her. He hesitated briefly, remembering how many times he had seen her in this outfit before gathering them up and stuffing them into the bag. He took a step toward the door when he wheeled around, popping his forehead with his hand. "Toothbrush, Rick!" A scan of the counter and he located her toothbrush, paste, and her hairbrush. As he stuffed them into her toiletries bag he saw the pill bottles.

"What the…" He knew she had been taking medicine after her shooting, he just didn't know she still was. His natural curiosity taking over (and "Curiosity killed the cat, Richard," said a voice in the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like his mother), he pulled the bottles out of the bag to check the names. After all, maybe she had a sinus infection, right? A look at the long generic names let him know he wasn't familiar with them, but they had been prescribed by Dr. Burke. "Definitely not a sinus infection," he thought. Looking closer to the labels he saw two were newly filled. He pulled out his phone and took a quick shot of the labels, determined to find out what she was taking and why. A nagging suspicion was starting to form in the back of his mind.

Rick picked up her tote and stuffed the toiletries bag into it as he walked out and pulled the door shut behind him. He dove through the downpour toward his truck. "Whew! That's cold!" he said, as he slammed the door, wiping the water from his face (again) and pushing his hair from his eyes (again!). At this rate he would be pruney by the time he returned. He paused a moment, looking through the rain-streaked windshield. What was he doing? He had left the city to get away from Kate and here she was. Had followed him from New York to the small town. No, not just followed him, she had tracked him. "Or Hunted me," he thought. Speaking of Hunt, he had to wonder if he was involved. He had to have helped her along; the phone call from his father was the proof he needed. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Hell, he was all tied up in knots about Kate, his father, the proposal, her silence.

He started the truck and slammed it into reverse, pulling out of the parking space and heading for the exit. At least having her here was a change of pace from the one man show he had going. It was getting darker as the storm worsened; he wanted to be at the cabin and off the back roads before it was full dark. As he drove through the rain that fell heavier every passing minute, his thoughts roamed back to the woman waiting in his cabin. He was amazed she had managed to find him, not that he had tried to go deeply under cover, but still. There had to be a story there. He snorted at himself, "The story. Right." He shook his head. Of course, ever since he got the call from his father (and wasn't that a kick in the head) his story-teller Spidey Senses had been tingling.

Until she showed up on his doorstep, as it were, he hadn't realized how much he had missed her. Was he still mad? Hell, yes! Was he hurt? Ditto. He was reminded of the summer after her shooting, how she had secluded herself from everyone.

A series of switches started to trip in his mind and he remembered the news story that had started his downward spiral that ended with him stuck to his bathroom floor. Apparently someone had tried to kill Becket. Again. What was going on? And why the secrecy, the supposed death of the detective? Jim! Surely he knew she was safe?

He felt his heart rate rise and the muscles across his shoulders tighten. This was supposed to be over! Once the deal between Becket and Bracken had been struck, no pun intended, it was supposed to be over. Obviously not, but he wondered what had changed in the past months since he had left the city.

"Left your partner hanging," a voice (Esposito this time) whispered in his ear. "What if they followed her? She's there alone. Storm's a perfect cover for a sneak attack. And you know how unreliable the power is out there when it storms…." Rick tightened his grip on the wheel and eased down a bit more on the accelerator. Not for the first time he cursed his writer's imagination.

Kate walked to the back window and stood staring out at the woods near the cabin, watching as the lightning lit up the area before the deep twilight rushed back in. She was reminded of many a summer storm at her dad's cabin. She counted the seconds between the flash and rumble, calculating the distance. It was closer now. As a child she hadn't ever been particularly afraid of storms, had in fact been quite taken with them. The only time a storm had freaked her was when she had been recovering from the gunshot wound. That night she had hid her head under her pillow to muffle the sharp crack of thunder close by, and her sobs. She had just wanted to be held, but no one had been there that night. As she looked out the thunder cracked sharply, she was reminded of the sharp crack of a rifle, the strobe-like flashes became flashes of a scope. She didn't succumb to a full flashback, but that didn't stop her from becoming shaky, short of breath.

Soon she was on the floor, scooted back into a corner formed by the wall and a set of shelves. Her legs were pulled up and she had her face pressed into her knees, blocking the flashes. She had her arms curled in an attempt to cover her ears and muffle the noise of the cracks of thunder. In her mind she heard Dr. Burke saying, "Nice and slow. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out".

She hadn't bothered to turn on more lamps, had only left the small lamp on behind her. The gloom had suited her mood as she had contemplated her situation. Now it only added to her anxiety. The rumbles of thunder that seemed to go on forever and the pounding of the rain on the roof masked the sound of Rick's truck sliding to a halt in the gravel area on the other side of the cabin.