Chapter 44: Starin' down the bullet

Kate is not vastly cheered by Dr Burke's encouraging words, but she supposes it's better than nothing. She knows that re-evaluation will probably also require Dr Burke to confirm she is fit for duty, and she's not going to mess that up. So if he needs her to re-attend, she will. It's just as well the NYPD insurance is paying for it, though, otherwise she'd need a size of bank loan that would bail out the Fed. Anyway, time for the next unpleasantness of the day, the range.

Esposito's waiting for her there, looking slightly less disapproving than two days ago. Still, that isn't exactly wholesale happiness being lavished on her.

"Yo, Beckett. Ya sure you're on for this?"

"Yes. Haven't we had this discussion? I gotta. Everything else is getting sorted. I need to sort this out too. I won't carry on if it starts going wrong."

Esposito hrmphs disgustedly and stops arguing. "Where is your back-up, anyway? He should be here by now. I'm not taking you in unless he's here." While that piece of irritation is subsiding, he thinks of another tack. "Beckett, you wanna come for a beer tonight with me and Ryan? We got a lot on right now, and we could use some help – off the book, yeah? Seeing as you're just sitting on your ass at home, doin' nothing" – Beckett splutters wrathfully at him and follows up with a glare – "you could help us out, without it interrupting your busy social life. You can bring Writer-Boy, if you like, so we've all got some crazy ideas to laugh at." He grins evilly. He can see he's hooked her from the first mention of some help. But Beckett's not that easy.

"So what you're saying, Espo, is that without me you and Ryan can't actually handle the caseload? Did I get that right?" She quirks up an eyebrow just as she would have before the summer, and watches Espo start to squirm, just as he would have before the summer. Without her noticing, a chunk of Detective Beckett-ness starts to slip back into place. Being needed makes her happy. Having something to do, even more so. Suddenly the day's got a whole lot better. She'll check the news for pigs circling over JFK, later.

Castle turns up, puffing and breathless, just as Esposito's about to start defending himself. Espo's pretty relieved. Beckett was looking as if a little casual ragging wasn't where she was planning to stop.

"Sorry-I'm-late-I-lost-track-of-time-I-was-writing." He smiles apologetically, as if that should be enough excuse. Oh no, Castle. That's just not good enough. Time to mess with you a little.

"And you don't even have coffee with you. You just can't get the help these days." Kate smirks up at Castle in a way that makes it fairly clear that she's pretending offence. Still, he stammers and sputters and ends up trailing in behind Esposito, ineffectually trying to hide.

"I'll get you coffee after, okay?" And then Castle notices that Kate is much more like Beckett and decides a little ragging is perfectly allowable. "Please tell me you've had some coffee before anyone puts a gun in your hand? If you've not had coffee I think it's a safety issue. Don't you agree, Espo?" Esposito is not stupid enough to reply.

Beckett glares at him. It's beautifully familiar. "I won't need a gun to deal with you, Castle. I can take you with one hand tied behind my back."

"Really, Beckett? Wanna try?" The words are (mostly) innocent. The tone is anything but. Beckett colours slightly, taking the implication without effort. Now it's Castle's turn to smirk. Fortunately Esposito can't see the expression on his face. It's reasonably certain that it would get him arrested for indecent grinning in a public place. Buoyed up on Beckett's familiar look of irritation, he reaches for her hand and manages to squeeze it and let go before Espo turns round. That doesn't get a glare. It gets a look that says save it for later. Very hopeful. Very hopeful indeed. But Beckett's ignoring him in favour of talking to Esposito – ah, about tonight? So Espo's taken his suggestion. That explains the substantial feeling of Beckett-ness. He congratulates himself on the success of his brilliant idea and as a consequence nearly walks into the door. Not that the others notice his pain.

"So I'll see you and Ryan at the Old Haunt at 7.30 or so?" Beckett's saying.

"Sure. Now, one Glock, three clips, an' you remember that if anything at all goes wrong ya stop, okay?" Castle can see the eye roll through the back of Beckett's head.

But as soon as Esposito's left a measure of Beckett drains away and she looks rather more Kate, rather more scared, than a moment ago. She steps much closer to Castle, staring down at the gun and the clips, flicks up a glance which asks for reassurance, drops her eyes to the gun again.

"You got this, Kate," Castle says, no teasing tone left, and gives her a brief hug. If it weren't brief, he thinks, he'd be considering a rather more … enthusiastic… reassurance, which wouldn't be related to guns at all. Suddenly she shrugs, as if she's throwing off a coat, glares at the clips and the gun as if they've offended her and stalks into a booth. Clearly, she's decided to hit the problem head-on. By the time Castle's followed her she's loading the first clip, and though her hands are not entirely steady and her lip is shredding under her teeth, it's clear that she is not inclined, today, to be defeated at the very first point. The rush of adrenalin ceases, though, when she chambers a round, and hard upon the click stops, leaving the gun pointed at the floor.

Kate had got through loading on a surge of confidence largely based on Esposito's request for help. When it wears off, though, drowned by the sight of the gun and the insidious knowledge that this is the biggest hurdle to getting back to the precinct, she's left looking at a loaded piece and her hands shaking and palsied. She can sense Castle standing behind her, waiting for her to decide what she needs. For a minute she simply breathes, trying to calm herself and still the trembling in her hands, looking at the gun and repeating silently what Esposito had told her last time: it's just a tool, what matters is how it's used. It's not working. After another minute she glances round to find Castle, summons him with one strained look, and waits for him to join her in the booth.

"I need you to help, again." The last word carries a freighter load of bitterness. "Please?" Just like last time, Castle slides into place behind her, lets her relax fractionally into him, and steadies her hands on the Glock.

"Okay." Kate raises, somewhat more smoothly than two days ago, and fires at the top of the draw just as she ought to. Well, ought to if there weren't two of them holding the gun, anyway. And although she freezes at the shot, she's shivering less badly than the other day.

First clip finished, slowly, but with less (certainly not no) reviewing, tension, or huddling, she asks Castle to take his hands off the gun, but support her. He puts his big palms over her waist and stands patiently. Kate looks balefully at the target, raises for the shot and just about manages to hit within the outline. Her expression is equal levels of misery and disgust with herself.

"I used to be able to put five shots through the chest in rapid fire. And look at that. I might just about have ripped a coat. If it flapped. That won't stop anyone, unless they're laughing too much to move." It doesn't sound like a joke. Her shoulders slump, and Castle longs to comfort her. But now is not the time.

"So do it again," he says briskly. The tone flicks her on the raw. Her back straightens, her head rises, and Castle knows that he will probably die when this is all over because she clearly hasn't appreciated that tone of voice at all. But her pride has taken over, and there's a lot of that to support her.

The next shot is still pretty poor, by Kate's previous standards. But it's better. And she's aiming, all by herself, not reliant on Castle's grip. Though she definitely needs him there. She can't do this alone.

When the hour is up, all three clips are gone, and Kate's aim is improving. It's still, she thinks acidly, an even bet whether she could hit a suspect – or a barn door – at ten paces, but she hasn't freaked out, she hasn't had a flashback, and she hasn't spent quite as much time being cuddled and soothed and reassured. All of which is a very good thing, but it's all so very, very slow. She needs coffee, she decides.

"Coffee, Castle? Seeing as you didn't bring one earlier?" And maybe a little bit of reassurance, so to speak.

"Sure. Round here?" Castle is also feeling that a small amount of … reassurance … is indicated, but he's not sure that it will be a good idea if they're in the vicinity of the precinct with the chance of lots of familiar faces passing by. He doesn't guess that Kate will allow him to be reassuring at all if there's a possibility anyone other than Ryan or Espo will see it, and he's none too sure about them. However, it looks like Kate's making the same calculations. She's wrinkled up her nose and is clearly considering other options. Finally she nods briskly, as if she's decided something, and says come on.

They eventually end up some reasonable distance from the range and the precinct, where there's not likely to be anyone who might ask difficult questions. Kate slips neatly into a small booth near the back of the coffee bar and looks pleased when Castle ignores the seats opposite and sits beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the cushions in best innocent male I'm not doing anything except stretching fashion. That lasts almost a whole minute until Kate moves very slightly into him and he gives up pretending that he isn't going to make sure she's wrapped in.

"How're you feeling?"

"Been better." She sounds depressed. It's not improved when their coffees arrive. Kate buries her nose in the mug and doesn't look like she'll be emerging any time soon.

"It was better, though. You didn't need me to hold the gun. Another coupla goes, and you won't need me there at all." He tries not to sound very disappointed with that thought.

"I'm sure I can find other uses for you, Castle." He's just about to make a cheap crack as to exactly how he can be useful when she forestalls him. "You're more interesting to talk to than a spaniel." He chokes and sputters. A spaniel? She could at least compare him to something a little more... butch. A wolfhound, say. He forces his ill-disciplined mind away from thoughts of being wolfish and returns his attention to Kate. She doesn't seem to have noticed his momentary lapse, staring back into her mug. "I'll still want you around." It's so faint, almost under her breath, that he isn't sure he was supposed to hear that. Especially in that precise intonation that she only uses when she's sure what the outcome ought to be but hasn't the evidence to prove it. It dawns on him that reassurance or not she's still pretty insecure about him. Them. He'll make sure she has her evidence. Just as soon as she's ready for it. In the meantime, now...

The hand that's not occupied around Kate's shoulder arrives on the table, intertwines itself with hers and generally makes its views on the desirability of affectionate touching very clear. When Kate's hand turns up under it to be more comfortably arranged, Castle tightens his clasp in a way that intends rather more than just friends. They're a little way past friends, after last night. He thinks. He hopes. (Jackass, a little voice says in his head. Don't be more of an idiot than you already are. Of course you are. Get back to this planet, stat.) Still, he feels the need to pull her closer, and when she is, he also feels the need to kiss her, gently and undemandingly and for less time than he'd – and from her reaction she'd - like. They're in public, after all.

Coffee done, Kate thinks that she ought to get back to her apartment, put some effort into Dr Burke's homework so that she can pass pysch, maybe go for a run.

"Castle, I probably need to get home. D'you want to come out with me and the boys tonight, or have you got one of your favourite book parties?" Castle growls.

"It would serve you right if you had to come to these," he grumps. "Though at least I'd get to see you in a dress. Wait – you could come. You could come to any of them. Or all of them. How about it?" He sounds thoroughly enthusiastic at the thought.

"Let's see now. Seeing the boys and talking cop business with a decent micro-brew and fries, or getting dressed up so you can leer at my legs and doing the pretty with a bunch of New York luvvies from publishing, all the while surrounded by press looking to fill the gossip columns and fans glaring at me. Hmm. Hard choice, Castle. But I'd rather stick pins in your eyes than come to another book party."

"Don't you mean stick pins in your eyes?" She snickers.

"No. I mean yours. Why would I stick pins in my eyes? That would hurt."

"So I guess you won't come with me then," he sulks. If he has to suffer through the PR schedule, so should she. And yes, there's more than a little desire to show her off, show everyone that they're (nearly) a them.

"No. I'm not arm candy and I don't want to be on page six. You could join us at the Old Haunt when you're done, if you want to." He's not sure that was wholly a suggestion.

"What if I don't want to?" He says it very seriously, meaning to wind her up. Kate looks at him searchingly, and then looks away, the light in her eyes dimming.

"If you don't want to, then you don't have to." Oh shit, that attempt at humour has fallen flatter than a pancake his mother might have made. She's halfway back to the I don't care please yourself tone that he hates so much because she just uses it to hide what she thinks and feels. And he's precipitated it, and now she's moving away from him physically and mentally, and she'd just seemed so much better that he'd forgotten how fragile she still is. He'd only thought two minutes ago how insecure she seemed. Well, here's the proof. Pre-bullet, Beckett – she would have been Beckett, then – would have made some sarcastic, flip comment, given him the bird and probably maimed his ear. This Kate is simply slipping away from him without a word. No. Not happening.

"That was supposed to be a joke, Kate." There's not much lightening of the mood. "Of course I'll be there. Whether you want me to come or not." She doesn't say anything, clearly trying to assess what he means, what he actually wants.

"You don't have to do things just because I ask you, you know." What? Where's that come from? He never does anything he doesn't want to, according to Beckett. "You're perfectly free to say no, do what you want instead." It's not hurt, it's not even snarky. It's...calm, cool, controlled. It's also, he is sure, hiding something. The word flabbergasted ricochets around inside his emptied head. He doesn't understand at all what she's trying to say, except that she's not using that I don't care voice, which he supposes is some sort of an improvement. But she's still a lot further away than he likes, now that he's got used to having her tucked in. He tugs, hopefully. She doesn't move. A small cold chill slithers down his vertebrae. She'd been trying to encourage, he realises, and in trying to be the funny kid he's pitched it all wrong and despite all the evidence of the last few minutes and last night, now he's tripped some over-sensitive alarm wire somewhere in her head and she thinks he's stepping back. So she is too. Fuck. Right. He is not playing this game again. He's screwed up, he knows how, and he needs to fix it. Fast.

He tugs harder. Kate perforce arrives where she ought to be, and before she has the chance to say anything he does.

"I don't need to do anything just because you ask me." He means it. He can't be kicked out, any more, because he already has been, so if she doesn't want him around she'll have to say so. And she's saying – with her actions – exactly the opposite. "I do it because I want to. If I don't want to, I'll tell you, and I won't do it. Got it? I'm coming tonight. The end." And when he sees the doubt still pooling in her eyes he leans down and kisses her before she can say anything at all. When he pulls back, far too soon, again, for his taste, there's still some doubt, with something else. But she's stopped pulling away, and the awful apartness seems to have dissipated. Whatever he's done, it's worked. For now. He'll think about why later.

Kate hears the sincerity as Castle's talking, matches it up to how he'd been behaving, earlier, and is gradually becoming less shaken by his failed attempt at a joke. Still, it's painful to realise that she can't tell when he's yanking her chain any more. She's still unhappy about that when he stops talking and kisses her, with the same sincerity that had been in his words. It feels like a promise.


Happy Christmas, or holiday season, to everyone. I hope you all have a peaceful and happy time.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. For those of an age and disposition to appreciate it, by way of a (hopefully) rather better thank you to everyone who's reading, I am posting a second story today. It's called I Hate You. Those of you who waited for forty-odd chapters for Beckett and Castle just to kiss, may like the considerably faster pace.

Reviews are much appreciated, and like all presents will get thank you notes.

I shall be away till after New Year. I should have plenty time to write, but updates may be rather random. If I don't get to post before then, Happy New Year!