You gave me back the HOUSE!

by Piper68

They are strange people in love. Decided not to take any Vicente, no McCord, Beckett works for Shaw's team and is wholeheartedly happy with it.

Chapter 1. Hello again, Castle!

- I hear you two are together now, Kate," Shaw looked at Beckett approvingly. For a brief moment of quiet, they went down to the café for a casual chat over a cup of coffee.

- Yes, that's true, but our lives are nothing without a little complexity! - Kate smiled modestly. - After we came to a decision that was as mutual as it was complicated, I'm working on your team. For which, in fact, I am grateful to all of you.

Kate was clearly twisting her heart when she said that. Her long-awaited move to the capital was actually quite a shake-up, especially for Castle, but to Jordan's credit, she didn't mince words. She just nodded in agreement.

- I know what you mean. You're probably going to go far with such healthy, well-grounded ambition, but you've somehow forgotten how complicated your relationship has been. Castle's been waiting for you for five whole years, and to appreciate the degree of risk you both understand, just put yourself in his shoes. No matter how loyal, strong, and loving a man Rick is, one day he will hopelessly give up, and then, finally and irrevocably, it will be over between you.

- Don't be gloomy, Jordan, because we have so much in common. Habits, preferences, ways of thinking, traditions, and all those different things that unite us more tightly than blood ties," Beckett looked up from the dainty sun on the coffee froth and met Shaw's inquisitive, studying gaze. Their visual duel lasted literally a fraction of a second, and judging Kate's nonchalant, complacent look, Jordan snickered skeptically.

- Really?" Shaw brushed the invisible crumbs off her jacket and leaned back in her chair, putting her foot behind her. - Are you sure about this?

Beckett only stubbornly pressed her lips together. When you walk hand in hand on the hard path, and even protect against bullets with your body, you can not help but have complete and unconditional trust, and any gloomy thoughts shun away. At least because it cannot be otherwise between such realists and dominants like them.

- Hmm, are you having second thoughts, or are you persisting? Shaw gestured beautifully to the lapel of her beige jacket and waved hello to someone behind Kate's back. - And I told you two years ago that being a mom and a badass cop together was a lot of work. And I'll tell you something else: work and motherhood are a little incompatible.

Shaw smiled enigmatically. She paused, beckoned the waiter with a soft swipe of her finger, and when he brought the women a couple more cups, she leisurely continued:

- You and your baby are always an indivisible whole, but your soul and heart have to be constantly torn in two. While your daughter takes her first steps, you frantically chase demons and see your child only on the phone, somewhere secretly in the corner, shedding tears of tenderness and joy. Where would your girl ice cream to treat, to delight in her innocent babbling, and tell a bedtime story, falling asleep with her in the arms, but your merciless boss, spitting on maternal feelings, is already calling up early in the morning and demanding a quick and accurate response. It is clear that the family is immediately relegated to the background, and the inner protest is just deafening, but what is the worst and the saddest - you can not change it. There are only rare meetings, communication from afar, and joyful "I love you, Mommy!" in the tube, hearing which I involuntarily grasp my chest. Now my heart is "decorated" with another scar, and I don't think there are fewer on yours. And when you do have to choose, it will be both painful and difficult and scary. Of course, I know that patience and secrecy are your hallmarks, and that you need my persuasion and persuasion, but please listen to what I have to say. And the voice of reason.

- It's already decided, Jordan! And why should things be any different between us? - Beckett answered quickly, but Shaw shook her head in disbelief.

- The longer you live in this world, the more often you try to warn your friends against fatal mistakes, which is practically impossible without timely heart-to-heart talks. That's why my friendly participation is one of my most important missions. I hope you are not tired of listening to me yet?

- No," Beckett replied nonchalantly. - No one has or can ever match Castle in this business.

- I believe so," Jordan drew a napkin from the tray and gently brushed crumbs from the corners of her lips; cleaned her hands of the grease stains and rolled a neat ball onto her plate, and smiled encouragingly. - And I like you, Kate, with your tenacity, your selfless devotion to our cause, and your indifference to laurel wreaths. It all reminds me so much of the poured me in my youth: the same calculating, poised, sober and unconventional thinking; sometimes stubborn, and often rigid and uncompromising. And almost never sweet and homely. And I'll tell you why. To put good into this cruel and unpredictable world, you have to give your all, and then there it is - a worthy result. It encourages, hardens and raises self-esteem, but at the same time cools the heart and coarsens the soul. And while there is not a favorite, and the most affectionate word in your address - this duty "Thank you!" from the mouth of your boss, you - it's not you. You are who you really are: feminine, loving and real. And anticipating your thoughts, I'm not asking you to make sacred sacrifices," Jordan smiled enigmatically with a sly squint. - While there's still time to spare, why don't you go home? You should go home and hang out with your friends, get some sleep, get some rest, because those persistent circles under your eyes are making the whole department depressed. I'll try not to bother you as much as possible. And please don't hide your phone under your pillow. Our lives are so unpredictable.

- Thank you," Beckett thanked discreetly and turned away, lightly touching a finger to her temple. Her heart rejoiced madly, indescribably, but neither Shaw, nor Gilbert, nor Avery, nor anyone else, should see the wild, unbridled surge of joy in her eyes. No one should doubt her, and as long as Agent Beckett is in control, her judgment is listened to, her performance is appreciated, her intuition is trusted.

Having hit another hole in the air, the plane immediately started descending, cutting through the thick pall of clouds: since lunchtime it was supposed to rain in Apple. Unobtrusively the display was switched on, the warning cry of a stewardess echoed politely. Passengers dryly clicked their belt buckles, and Beckett, making herself comfortable, looked again at the ring. Glittering with dozens of flawless facets, it sat on her finger like a perfect fit. How could Castle have guessed its size? Had he meticulously measured it on the sly? Unless in her sleep... Well, Castle might have. Beckett grinned understandingly as she pictured it. So caring, loving and insightful, always knowing exactly what she needed. And now, after a four-month separation, she was flying to him, for three happy and intoxicating days.

"Thank you, Rick!" - A satisfied, soft smile brightened her lips. Turning the brush back and forth, Kate examined the jewel with admiration. A beautiful gift, that's for sure. As a token of his purity of thought and eternal devotion. And, of course, of a long and unconditional love.

When Castle opened up to her, he looked like Mr. Seriousness, which was both happy and frightening at the same time. For a moment it even seemed that they were getting rid of her, for all her many years of antics, in this "beastly" way, but... Rick's sincerity knew no bounds. His confident, fuss-free gestures, expressions and such simple, clear words instantly dispelled her fears, but without firm conventions, of course, did not do: career, career and career again. In the capital, in the federal service, albeit with a short separation.

Castle's response was a deep and disappointed sigh, but he accepted Beckett's choice without reproach or resentment. Only his face grew darker, and he pressed his lips together longingly. Gently taking his beloved's hand, he gently kissed her knuckles, looking at her face sadly, but hopefully. After hesitating, he asked briefly:

- Will I see you again?

And I was glad to see the glint of joy in her eyes. And then there was a gorgeous evening with wine, candles, and undivided devotion to each other. Everything was mixed up inside her at once: conscious submission, ineradicable physical desire, love to the point of self-forgetfulness, and, of course, boundless happiness. The only thing that tormented and disturbed her was the words she needed to say, but for some reason she couldn't. Even though she wanted to.

After frantic, pleasantly tiring caresses, Castle passed out first, holding her palm in his hand, and she... Gazing fondly into his calm, flushed face, stroking, caressing, kissing him wherever she could, keeping the memory of him in herself, in her sensations. And longed for the same from him, because it could not be otherwise. Here he is, Castle, beside her, so understandable, dear, loved, with an open, responsive soul, so why does it persistently pressed sense that any words will sound like an inappropriate and belated excuse, and her departure looks like a treacherous, cowardly flight? Why is it so, since everything is known beforehand, and there is no turning back?

These sad, haunting thoughts made her eyes tingle, and she slipped quietly into the bathroom. The powerful contrasting jets hurt her naked shoulders and back, but, feeling the eerie, overwhelming pain inside her, Beckett stood for a long, long time, resting her forehead against the slippery matte plastic. Such suffering could not be healed by anything, it could only be muted, and, choking back bitter tears, Kate wrung out the hot water until she was completely frozen.

She clenched her teeth and left the stall, removed the moisture from her body with sharp, convulsive strokes of the towel, and slipped out of the tub. I was covered in goosebumps from head to toe by the time I got to the bedroom. I crawled with relief under the covers, snuggled up against Castle's hot side and pressed my knee against his thighs and dipped my cheek against his chest. The cold touch made Rick involuntarily wince, mumbling something unintelligible. When her breath touched his chest, he opened one eye, smiled sleepily, lingeringly, and murmured softly as he put his arm around her shoulders:

- Oh, Mrs. Claus is here to see me! It looks a bit odd, but I thought I'd fallen in love with a hot African lady. I didn't get it wrong, did I?

- You just haven't noticed the change in my image," Beckett murmured, making herself comfortable under his big soft hand, "and tell me you don't like it!

But Castle had already all but passed out, muttering one last word:

- I have given you my body and my soul," he whispered indistinctly, as if he did not want to be heard, "and I would give my life if I had to. Always!

"Jesus, Castle!" - It's the kind of revelation that makes you feel like a bitch, and all you have to do is re-hide in yourself with a painfully bitten lip.

And in the morning there was a humming airport, and a humble goodbye, and a small ray of hope, and an oppressive pain in his eyes. At last Rick held Kate's hand in his, but she kissed him briefly on the lips, then gently but unyieldingly released and marched to the landing. Castle stared after her so intently, burningly, that a nervous chill ran up and down Kate's body, and her throat felt as dry as an abandoned well. A bottle of sparkling water, taken from the stewardess, helped, and only for a short time.

She'd been wearing the ring during the flight, but she'd taken it off before she landed because she didn't want everyone to think that her connection would be an insurmountable obstacle to her career. And then Kate was whirling, swirling, like a tornado that crushed the coast - new colleagues, new responsibilities and a new car, a new rented apartment, so unlike her own, and new, hitherto unseen, technical aids. Even the coffee machine was bigger and cooler than Castle's.

She was as immersed in her work as she had been long ago, at the beginning of her police career, with barely enough energy to crawl to bed. And so it was repeated day after day, almost without breaks and weekends. Suspecting the intense preoccupation of her beloved, Castle did not call every day. More often he sent messages with funny texts and pictures, to the extent of brightening her hard weekdays. Kate tried to answer whenever possible, but then less and less often, assuring herself that in any case she would be understood and not judged. Certainly Beckett was pleased by the powerful, confident prospects that were opening up before her, but in her year with Castle, something had clearly shifted in her. It tormented her with brief but painful memories, sometimes appearing in her sleep in painful visions. Sometimes a creepy, incomprehensible, unexplained anxiety would come over her for no reason at all, forcing her to hide away from everyone. And then, begrudgingly, Beckett found an explanation. Simply put, she was worried, secretly and to herself.

And now, finally, there she is, Beckett standing at the door of his loft, not even a warning, and just knocking on the door like she once did.

Martha opened the door. She was unspeakably happy, hugged him tightly and shouted to her son. He jumped out of the office, took her in his arms, kissed her, spun her around, then dragged her to the table.

As the fleeting dinner prepared, Rick happily shared Alexis' creative plans and successes, his mother's new productions, and the latest comic book series, while she responded with modest nods of her head, eagerly, with her eyes quenching boredom for him and his loft. It was like seeing him for the first time.

Everything around her was the same as it had been since her departure, except... except for one thing. Except for the master himself. His short, boyish curls had turned noticeably grayer, his eyes had wrinkled in the corners, and only the distinctive blue of his eyes sparked with the same youthful fervor and irrepressible energy.

He was glad. Extraordinarily glad, eager to second-guess every raise of her eyebrows, unassuming gesture, and cryptic glance. Castle was simply "Mr. Adore," and Beckett was once again burned by a fleeting annoyance that there, hundreds of miles away from the inimitable master of this loft, had never been what is usually called the short and succinct word "Home.

There was no smell of fresh, fragrant coffee and appetizing pancakes in the morning. There was no thin trail of expensive men's makeup in the bedroom, and she was awakened in the morning not by insistent, hot kisses, but by the piercing beep of an electronic alarm clock. And there was not his terry-cloth robe, in which she loved to wrap her legs after a shower to spread out on the couch and his lap before another movie marathon. And there wasn't the shirt that had become the symbol of their reunion. How could I put it on sooner?

Kate begrudgingly glanced at Martha, who took a sip of wine, gave her a sly wink, and scurried out into the hallway. It was her turn, Beckett, and there was no way she was getting off Castle now. So, after apologizing, Kate slipped away and returned as a beautiful, half-naked nymph.

Castle was expecting something like that, but the words stuck in his throat, and the silver pancake spatula bounced miserably to the floor. For a second, Rick stared at a smiling Kate as if he couldn't believe his eyes, but when he reached out his hands, she held hers out.

Their long-awaited rapprochement had finally happened, and it was fleeting, powerful, beastly mad. And when she just gasped with happiness, no words were needed. But Castle would never refuse help, and in four hands, laughing and teasing, they quickly gathered up the scraps of food and broken dishes. Then Beckett moved to the shower, and while Castle cooked, she lolled under the hot jets, exposing her heated back and her sensitive breasts to the touch.

Suddenly the curtain pulled back, and his hand gently handed her a mug of coffee.

- Sorry, but that's all for now. And never eat pancakes under a man-made waterfall, they lose their shape and embarrass the cook.

Taking a step from under the water tent, she took the mug in her hands and brought it to her lips.

"Latte! With a heart! And vanilla flavor!"

- (Gasps) Oh, my God! You're still insufferable, Castle!

- On the contrary, I'm quite tolerable, because I understand the phrase "get off halfway" perfectly.

There was an obvious hint and reproach in his words, and she frowned because she didn't want to dwell on the past. When everything was already decided, and the most important thing right now was her career, the best prospects, she just had to give it time. Not everyone got that chance, and Rick had always been able to wait for her.

- Always...- Kate said it quite loudly and quite unexpectedly to herself. Castle even pulled back the curtain in surprise.

- Hey, did you say something?

- I just wanted to tell you that your coffee is always on time," Beckett ducked back into her mug, glad that the steam smoking in the bathroom masked her embarrassment. - Honestly, the capital drink tasted different than the local one, and it was stronger.

- Ha, it's not the only thing," Rick's eyes were sly. He accepted the empty cup, tracing an airy sine wave with his free hand. Another cup?

- No, thank you," Beckett covered the water and bowed her head, wringing the moisture from her heavy strands. - Isn't there anything more substantial?

- What, you want to do it again right here? There's so much steam, you can't see anything!

- You don't need eyes for this case, the meeting will take place in a different way," and reached for his boxers with her hand, but Castle snatched a terry towel from behind her back and hung it on her wrist. - I'm waiting for you.

Rick slid noiselessly outside, and again she was seized by an uncontrollable impatience, an eerie boredom that no amount of fleeting sex could quench. A tumultuous, albeit brief, love madness awaited them, which made her fingertips tremble, and so painful, so familiar and sweet whimpering in her belly. Thanks to the shrewd Martha, who had left them for three whole, insanely short, and three long days at the same time.

Beckett threw on her robe, slipped her feet into her slippers, and slipped into the bedroom. Castle was already patiently waiting for her, amorous and thoughtful, with candles, champagne, and unsparing tenderness in his eyes. When Kate cautiously sat down on the edge of the bed and, carefully accepting the glass, took a short sip, Castle bowed his head slightly, and looking intently eye to eye, inquired softly:

- Did they really give you three days in jail? You're not making this up? I want to be sure!

- We got it right, Castle: three days of mayhem in all its glory! - Beckett smiled modestly and honestly withstood his gaze.

After all, she could not deceive his hopes, since it was Castle, who had achieved, against all odds, her hand and heart. He had earned the uneasy right to bring her coffee, to tolerate her whims and rejection, self-torture and an enduring desire to shut herself out, to get away from herself. Now they were united by trust.

They finished their champagne in complete silence. Without losing eye contact, they set the glasses on the nightstand, and Rick, holding out his hand and lightly wiggling his fingers, asked in all seriousness:

- You promise me that, Kate?

- Yes!" she answered confidently, but her insides clenched. What if she was wrong?

She didn't want to think about that at all, only about him and them. Kate did not even notice how her lip found itself between the clenched teeth, but Castle had already gently, but insistently pulled his beloved to him. So malleable, warm, smelling delicious of shampoo and his adored cherries, ducked his hand under the robe, ran his hand over her breasts and slid down her body to her hips, feeling her innermost. It was time to quench a persistent love 'thirst'.

Chapter 2. Duty before love

- Oh, my God! - Kate struggled to peel her eyelids open. It wasn't easy to wake up after a stormy, prolonged and impressive encounter, but the phone, buzzing obsessively, fidgeted on the furniture varnish so much that it actually flopped into the palm of her hand as she pulled up to the edge.

- Beckett," Kate answered sleepily, but prudently turned her back to him when Castle wiggled beside her.

- I'm sorry to be so cavalier, but the bastard who earned his time before he was even born doesn't care about the day or the night," Jordan said dryly. - Are you ready to listen?

- Ready," Kate struggled to her feet and wandered back and forth by the bed to wake up, ruffling her disheveled hair and panting silently. Shaw was laconic, though. She quickly "laid it all out," and in no time at all, cutting off her already short day off, she gave the all-clear.

Kate put the phone back on the nightstand and covered her face with her palms, making vigorous passes to dispel the remnants of sleep. Thoughts, and not the rosiest ones, also scattered somewhere far away, but most of all Castle was both anxious and worried. He had to understand, to keep his distance, or any excuse would be useless.

Beckett squinted her eyes questioningly at Castle. She turned on the nightlight, and Rick sprawled on his side with a disgruntled, frown.

- Who is it, Kate? - his voice was labored and hoarse from sleep. When your chosen one is a federal agent, don't expect calls from holiday impresarios.

- It's Shaw. Our guy's showing up at his ex-wife's tonight. I should be there.

Kate crouched on the bed with her arms around her knees, her sad, guilty smile sort of saying:

"What was to be expected?!"

Then she stretched out beside him so she could see his face better. And his expression didn't look good to her.

- When are you coming? - Castle exhaled intermittently, and there was a growing resentment in his heavy breathing.

- The sooner the better.

Beckett distinctly heard the creak of his teeth, but Rick only pressed his lips together tightly and pulled back the blanket and sat down with his back to her.

- Should I make coffee? - his voice was distinctly shaky. - Pancakes or scrambled eggs?

- Just the way you know how," she ran her fingertips playfully and affectionately over the knuckles of his vertebrae, but pulling away nervously, Rick sprang up springily and stepped out without looking back.

"Oh, shit, shit, shit! Castle! Ca-asl!" - Pulling a pillow from under her head, Kate covered her face with it. A dry, sprawling lump was already firmly lodged in her throat, the corners of her eyes tingled treacherously, her breathing became ragged, with short and silent sobs. Believe it or not, Shaw was right, and their seemingly strong bond was inexorably thinning against the hard ribs of circumstance.

A large tear rolled down her cheek and disappeared into her luxurious strands, scattered in disarray over the sheets. God, it hurts, it hurts so bad! Releasing her hands, Kate stood up to check the time on the phone. It was eight minutes to eight. The last flight to Washington was in two hours, and she had to, just had to get on it. And she would definitely make it, but... then what about Castle? Will he be patient or not? Maybe Rick would just pout at her and forgive her, as he had more than once, but the look on his sullen and so familiar face was enough to make her ghostly hope go up in smoke.

He was looking somewhere into the void, fixing the edges of the crispy pancake with his spatula. Very uncertain and tired, his lips pressed tightly together, and his face grew sharply aged and gaunt. Out of the corner of his eye, as the collected Beckett sat nonchalantly on the edge of a chair, Rick put a cup of coffee in front of her.

Her heart instantly fluttered and collapsed in an icy clot somewhere. It was a cup of indifference and resentment. The same enchanting, inimitable aroma, but without the familiar, touching heart of creamy foam. He put a plate of food in front of her, just as silently, but he didn't sit down, leaving the kitchen to stand by the window as usual.

A sash creaked, and a warm, night breeze blew into the loft. Keeping his thumbs in his trouser pockets, Castle stared somewhere into the windows of the neighboring buildings and remained sullenly silent. Yes, he was resentful and angry, and his rejection touched him with horror. Chunks of pastry stuck in her throat; coughing, Kate choked on crumbs and finally returned the unfinished pancake to the plate. Only the coffee was in demand. Too bad the cup wasn't big enough for her grief.

Setting the empty mug aside, Beckett slipped from the table as carefully as possible. A few easy steps toward the window with her head down, a friendly touch on his shoulder with the shaky hope of understanding, but Rick immediately broke free. He clearly wasn't burning for conversation.

- Castle! - cautiously but firmly, Beckett called out to him. - Don't start that again! You gave me the time and you know how important it is to me.

- Of course I made a promise. Of course I gave you time. Of course it's important to YOU," regret and bitterness hovered in his every word. - It's important to you FIRST, and it always has been, and I ended up with nothing but a cruel life lesson.

- What lesson? - Beckett couldn't believe her ears. - What are you talking about now?

- Your job," Rick's voice changed unrecognizably from the resentment choking him. - She's a masculine person, and you could only marry her. What an arrogant ass I am for thinking I could change things! I should have realized that much earlier!

- What is there to understand, Castle? - her breathing got hot and labored with growing resentment. - I'm a grown, independent man, I'm a cop, after all, and you made my choice, and now you're backing out?

- The trouble is, Beckett, there's no "we" in your words and thoughts; there's only an "I." That's the talk of proud, independent loners who don't need to consult outsiders," Castle slouched down so much he looked like an old man. - Now go away, I'm not keeping you any longer.

"Jesus! - Covering her mouth with the palm of her hand, Kate recoiled as sharply as if she'd stood under an icy shower. - Jesus! He despises... no, he rejects me!"

There was no resentment, only an emptiness and persistent despair. And confirmation of the worst assumptions. Beckett tried to say something, but the words stuck in her parched throat. Stepping back, she brushed a thin, salty trickle off her cheek. Blood oozed from her bitten lip, sobs racked her chest, but she had the strength to restrain herself. Castle seemed to hear everything, but indifferently dropped it, like he cut it off:

- There's a cab waiting for you. And a job.

And he slouched down again.

She took another step back. The slap was invisible, but her cheeks were on fire. Kate fought the knuckle of her index finger with her teeth as she held back the moan that rose from within her. Her legs felt as if they were stuck to the floor, the blood pounding unevenly against her temples, and she tasted salty in her mouth and felt a little nauseous.

- Castle... I swear..." Kate started to speak, but Castle just shook his shoulder, not taking her words seriously:

- You have less than two hours before your flight. The show's waiting.

That was it, the wall of alienation was unmistakably solidified. Doomed, Beckett wandered toward the exit, breaking her nails on a spare set of keys, and slowed her steps only at the mirror. Yes, it was the worst she'd ever seen herself. Not even after her mother's death. Pale, sunken cheeks, a network of fine lines on her forehead, and eyes darkened with despair. The shell of a former detective, now federal agent Beckett.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then inhaled deeply and habitually, as she usually did to focus or make a difficult decision. Now, with no equanimity or sobriety, she needed to hide in her work. To save herself, to take time for reflection. These five years were the most momentous in her life, and such a gift of fate cannot simply be thrown away. And now, almost despairing, somewhere in the corner of her mind Kate still believed in them and in the unpredictable villainess-fate, who would surely throw them another chance. If only it wasn't too late...

And Beckett silently shut the door behind her.

In just over an hour Kate arrived in the capital. Dry tears choked her throughout the flight, but putting her personal choices aside for later, her thoughts were already with the team. A nimble taxi driver gallantly opened the door for her, and Kate immediately pulled out her phone.

- Come to Simpson's house," Jordan answered quickly. - Can I have the address again?

- No, I'll be fine. I'll be there soon.

Pulling a makeup bag from her bag, Beckett asked the cabbie to turn on the lights. Okay, she could handle eyeliner, but what about the red rabbit eyes? Kate rolled down the side window and flicked her face toward the current, with its tiny, chilly drizzle and the understandable smells of the big city. No problem, let it blow around, it should get easier. Be strong, Kate, be strong!

An hour and a half later she arrived at the right address. The crazy regulars at the Red Pepper Club had their cars jammed up the street, but what's to stop them? The FBI is always on the lookout! Letting go of the cab, Kate looked around, and her feet carried her to the nearest intersection, to a black van plastered with pizza ads from the roof to the wheels.

Holding her purse at her side, Beckett grinned bitterly. Yes, how right Rick had been, scoffing at the predictability of the feds. Looking around, Kate confidently pulled the handle of the swinging door. The two operatives on the edge instantly jumped out of their seats, but immediately collapsed, and Jordan, sitting at the console with her headphones on, glanced over at Kate and waved her hand in greeting.

- Hey. Sorry it's cold! - Shaw's thin finger dabbed at the cup of coffee to her right. - And it's hardly your favorite kind.

- It's okay, it won't affect the work," Kate sank down on the swivel chair next to her. She took a sip of the disgustingly cold liquid, inwardly crinkling, ran her eyes over all the monitors, and inquired businesslike: "Well, what have we got?

- Lots of things. How are you doing?

- Fine," Beckett said firmly, but Shaw only snorted incredulously:

- I wonder why you need to convince me more.

- It's okay! - Beckett had an instant professional grudge. - I'm fine! Tell me, where's our guy still at?

- Somewhere on the way to the mousetrap. The guys had already cordoned off the house, and all that was left was to slam it shut.

- And if he doesn't come?

- He'll be here," Jordan confirmed with her usual understated smile. - He needs the papers and the money. Even after the divorce, O'J. kept his things at Meredith's.

- Okay," Beckett looked at the mansion with interest. The infrared cameras did a good job of zooming in. Two stories with a wide veranda and peaked roof, a large rose garden to the left of the stone path to the porch, and an expansive swimming pool spoke volumes. And what in the name of all that Simpson wanted to do was to take revenge on everyone? When they got hold of him, he'd be in for a psychiatric evaluation and a biased trial. Just so long as O'J doesn't get cold feet and show up.

Nibbling lightly on her lower lip, Kate looked intently at the largest monitor. When all possible actions are calculated in advance, but there is such a firm certainty of the opposite, one cannot help thinking of the parable about the monkey locked in a room with five exits: four obvious and one secret. The monkey took advantage of it. And it came to mind for a reason. Some time ago, in the beginning of their acquaintance, they had had a big fight with Castle. The topic of discussion was the suspect's possible escape routes, and at first no one wanted to give in. It was a good thing the sparring had taken place in front of witnesses, or else she wouldn't have just dragged Castle by the ear, but would have been happy to drive a nail through his coffin as well. And Rick had relented, slyly, veiledly, but backed down. And at the peak of her triumph, he was right. Later, when her emotions had subsided and the trout steaks were gone, she listened to his clever logic with wry skepticism, but a secret, vivid interest. And she took it in stride. Castle, you had to hand it to him, could and might be right.

Sighing, Beckett stroked her temples with effort, unreasonably pulled her blouse down, and squinted her eyes incredulously. Most of the yard, the front gate, and a decent chunk of street along the fence were well lit, but the back of the manor was thickly obscured by night shadows. Not a single window in the house was lit, either. It was as if no one was expected, but it was not as it seemed. Somewhere out there in the darkness, operatives were waiting in a chain, and their reaction, if need be, would be swift and merciless. The Feds wouldn't let them get away with it, but somehow the Mother of All Chance mentioned by Castle might just confuse their plans, and then... Then it would start all over again.

- What kind of building is that? - Kate lowered her head slightly, noticing the fence around one of the apartment buildings. Even in the pitch black, the structure had an eerie, uninhabitable appearance, and it was a short walk from the Simpson house.

- The former Charlton Hotel, abandoned a few years ago," Jordan brought up a cross-sectional view of the house. In cross-section, its shape resembled a small football field. - The building was in a state of disrepair, dangerous to enter. The pipes had been sealed off, making it hard for the squatters to move in. Several sections have already collapsed on their own, without waiting for the lazy municipality, and to run through the rest...

- ...you'd have to be Batman or Daredevil," Kate grinned in the spirit of Castle, and then heard Shaw chuckle softly.

- Hopefully we won't have to," Jordan yawned sweetly, "ours have very tenacious paws and big 'owl eyes,' and there's a second chain of cordons posted behind the hotel, on the vacant lot.

- Just as long as Simpson doesn't fly away in a balloon," Kate replied without a smile, and slid her hand discreetly across his chest, near his heart. The memory both hurt and warmed at the same time.

- What are our drones for? - Jordan retreated to a far corner of the van and returned with a voluminous paper bag and a bottle of water in her hands. - You want it with or without sprinkles?

- I've been eating everything since then," Kate leaned back in her chair, wiggling a strand on her finger thoughtfully. Castle's doughnuts always tasted better, and with more, they were delicious. Beckett yawned noiselessly, covered her hand, and suddenly leaned forward warily. The central camera showed part of the street, the hotel boardwalk, and overflowing garbage cans with their lids open. The darkness around them was practically impenetrable, but why then did her eyes catch a faint, soft stirring? And why did it feel like it wasn't a cat at all?

- Some kind of weird shadow," Beckett's trained finger jabbed at the display, outlining the lower right corner. - It wouldn't hurt to check those trash...

- I noticed something too. Seventeen! - Shaw's voice picked up amicably, and the walkie-talkie answered with an understandable wheeze. - Check the container yard at the back of the house!

- Copy that! - Two men detached themselves from the neighbor's fence. The guns gleamed in the glow of the streetlights; with their heads ducked like freestyle skaters, the operatives slid in as a pair.

The women watched them tensely, one relentlessly mocking her own lip, the other with her finger on the button of her walkie-talkie. Only some thirty or forty yards separated the agents from the suspicious spot, when suddenly flashes of gunfire glittered toward them. Simpson, or someone else, had clearly changed his nerves, and was clearly unwilling to communicate with Shaw's team. By firing at the agents he had unwittingly given himself away, but the result was achieved. One of the guys, broken in half, flew headfirst somewhere forward, right under the wheels of parked cars, the other swerved and, holding on to a punctured stave, retreated behind a lamppost. He fired a couple of shots at point-blank range, but without much success.

- Shit! Bastard! - Kate cursed loudly. All their plans were collapsing at the roots, and if she didn't intervene, Simpson would slip away again. Kate mechanically patted her holster, grabbed her spare radio from the console, but when Shaw suddenly intercepted her wrist, she turned around with a cry of displeasure and indignation.

- Where are you going? - Jordan frowned at her subordinate's self-righteousness. - I want your head here, not your bullets there. We have enough men to take him down.

Shaw's grip on Kate really hurt, but when you're a hundred percent sure you're right, you always find something to respond to:

- What if Simpson has a "fifth" exit prepared? - Kate snapped in excitement. - What if we didn't see it coming, and it wouldn't go at all?

- Exit five? - Jordan's eyes rounded, and she loosened her grip involuntarily. - What was that about?

- It's from life," answered Beckett, impertinent, but knowing that she could explain herself. As she pushed open the swinging body doors, she sprang out into the street, and immediately heard the sound:

- Barnes will back you up!

Chapter 3. Exit five: The chase

The wind whistled in her ears, her lungs greedy for oxygen, and her feet pounded the pavement relentlessly: It had been a long time since Kate had run so fast! Faint patches of light on the sidewalk alternated with eerie dark gaps, but behind Beckett, panting diligently, a little-talking Casey panted. He'd just recently been transferred from the Texas squad, and the guy was trying hard to please. He was a good shot, efficient and accurate, quick-witted and efficient in getting results. And he wasn't lacking in strength. He could easily pull out the staples with his nails and bend steel bars against his powerful bull's neck. In a word, almost a torpedo, but with a modest combat experience so far. Someday he would grow up.

They made it to the shotgunned operatives in no time. The first agent sat with his back to the lamppost, moaning loudly and long. The second was crouched nearby, with his heels towards them, his head in the shade, and did not make a sound. And there was no silence at all. The place was humming like a fairground on a balmy day: diesel engines roared and sirens wailed, people stamped their feet and gave commands loudly, harmoniously, and the uneven light of the dust-covered streetlamps was flecked with red and blue. The full team was already rushing to their aid, but in the meantime Beckett crouched at the first agent's side. The flashlight button clicked audibly - Barnes was shining expertly from behind her.

- Sal?! - Carefully lifting the wounded man's head by the chin, Kate recognized Salvatore Paelia, Shaw's longtime associate. - Sal, are you okay?

- I'm fine for now, but I'm gradually passing out," he wheezed, "I can't feel my legs. What's wrong with Archer?

Kate turned her head, looking hopefully at Barnes. He was already squatting by the second body, shining a light in his face, touching his neck with two fingers and shaking his head negatively:

- He's still warm, but there's no pulse! What do we do now? - Casey waited patiently for the command, but Beckett had already decided unequivocally:

- Motherfucker, motherfucker," she swore at him, then immediately turned to her assistant. "Casey, don't let Paella die! That's an order!

- Yes, ma'am!" Barnes jumped up to them, pulling down his sweater as he went. - Hold on, Sal! What about you, ma'am?

- That's my business! - Jumping up, Kate intercepted the flashlight from Casey's fingers. - It's a matter of honor, and there's no time at all!

- He... he..." he let out, trying to raise his arm, but dropping it limply along his body, "he... is gone. It seemed to me that... there was a crack somewhere in the hotel fence, with... to the right of the bins. He... he... he couldn't walk down the street without... without bumping into us...

"Devil!" - Time was still working against them. Beckett clapped Barnes on the shoulder in a friendly manner as he clutched Salvatore's wound with his sweater and called Shaw over the radio:

- Jordan! Paella needs help now! Oscar's dead and the suspect has fled to the hotel grounds. Check her underground communications again, and I'm starting the hunt!

- Reinforcements are close, but...

In the heat of the moment Kate didn't hear the rest of the sentence. She almost sprinted from her seat when she let go, but a nimble Barnes caught her by the sleeve of her blouse:

- Grab a backup magazine, Agent Beckett! There's no telling how it'll turn out!

- Os... os... careful, Kate..." the strength was steadily leaving Paella, "t... there, around the d... house...

- What's out there? - Kate started, but Sal hung his head helplessly.

Now everything depended on her quick, coordinated action, and she vowed to HIM to be more circumspect. Hanging the radio from the loop of her shoulder strap and shoving Barnes' clip deep into her pocket, Beckett raced to the containers at double speed. For some reason Kate firmly believed in THEIR hypothesis about the "fifth" exit, and who else but her would be able to confirm it?

Here was the proverbial garbage patch. The secret hole must have been in the unlit part of the fence, and the beam of the lantern glided horizontally, about waist level. It flickered to and fro in one suspicious spot. It looked as if it had been boarded up tightly enough, but there were fresh scratches in the black damp wood. Clutching the flashlight under her chin, Kate confidently cupped the crevice with the barrel of her gun and her fingers at the same time. Oh, there it is! There it was, the "mouse-hole!" For a moment Beckett felt indescribably proud of herself, but immediately cringed fiercely. Damn federal overconfidence! Only the FBI's dumbasses, having thoroughly searched around, could have missed the secret trail right under their noses!

Turning off the light for a while, Kate confidently slid the pitifully creaking boards apart and squeezed her way freely through the hole. The heartbeat was clogging her hearing, and only a breathing exercise from the yoga arsenal helped to calm her a little.

Squatting down, Beckett listened warily. No crunch of thickets or sound of footsteps could be heard, but Simpson (and it must have been him!) was hardly lurking somewhere nearby, grinning and waiting for the feds. Most likely, having overcome the first fright and blaming himself for his indiscretion, O'J. hurries to the exit, but in the name of God, she won't let him get away. If only she could figure out how...

Crossing herself just in case, Kate switched on the flashlight. The bright beam immediately struck something like a small hole in the dense wall of wormwood and the shrubbery that braided it. I had to pull my head to my shoulders and waddle carefully from foot to foot like a duck. It was time consuming and the overgrown thorns were not the most favorable place for a pursuit. It wasn't without splinters in her hands, abrasions on her face, and loose loops on her blouse, but when the outlines of the bleak walls suddenly appeared against the rosy sky, Beckett sighed with undisguised relief. Concernedly, she glanced at her watch. Not ten minutes had passed since Oscar's death, and it had seemed an eternity to her. I wish I could find the "fifth" exit soon!

Turning the lights to minimum, Beckett listened into the thinned darkness until her ears rang. Tense, attentive eyes slid left, right, and up. By and large, the inn had a coherent appearance; apparently, the collapse had occurred somewhere inside. And Beckett even imagined that up there, echoing in the eerie emptiness, the crunching of broken plaster and the scattering of other people's footsteps. Was Simpson really going to fly away in a balloon?

- Jordan! - Kate was concerned, turning the volume of the radio down to minimum.

- Yes," my partner explained patiently. - The observation deck of the nearest skyscraper allows us to keep the roof of the hotel in view. What about you?

- I think it's up there somewhere, but for what, I don't know yet!

- Be careful out there, there's help coming your way!

- Let them catch up! - Kate grinned lowly and passed out. It was damnably creepy and even scary to wander around here alone, uncovered, risking getting shot at or caught in a sudden cave-in, but how else to make Simpson pay for the orphans' tears? Only by "landing" a restrained man on a chair, and Beckett firmly chose her direction.

The plan of the house was in front of me, and to get inside through the main entrance was a long, long climb to the right. Much easier to go straight through the window, and let that be THEIR plan B. I wonder what Castle would say about that. Would he make a joke, a warning, or just approve?

Sighing sadly, Kate bowed her head involuntarily. How wildly, until her body cramped, her teeth gnashed, her mind blurred, but even two hundred miles away, Rick was still at her side. Her constant partner, best friend, and eternal love. KASL! And Beckett involuntarily looked back at the stubby bush from under the roots of which she had just climbed. Empty, of course, but despite the rift, she believed in THEM and continues to do so. Because they really are close, in everything. Because these encounters just don't happen by chance, this is her destiny.

- You and I really need to talk, Castle! - Kate involuntarily put her wrist to her blurred lashes and pressed her other hand to her heart. She counted to ten, calming her excitement. It was about fifty or sixty yards to her chosen broken window on the first floor, and Beckett moved forward with confidence, but not without caution. Piles of debris and debris, concrete debris with intricately protruding rods that she had cracked her pant leg on, and stumps of an impressive girth came beneath her feet. Realizing that timber is always valuable, the jokers from the Mayor's office shamelessly sawed off the whole park. And though a wild scandal had ensued, with the high-profile firing of one of the deputies, Kate unwittingly praised the officials for their foresight. She should have added Rick's advice to her thinking, too!

- Do you approve of my recklessness, Castle? - Kate sped up her step a little. A black square gap above the masonry of brittle blocks, drawing her gaze involuntarily fueled an already burning, professional impatience. And though the window was a bit high, but from the hillock over there she could jump and catch the frame, and then it was a matter of technique. Let's just get closer. There we go...

Putting the gun in the holster and the flashlight behind the trouser belt, Beckett shifted her weight to her left leg, about to push off, when suddenly... Something disgusting crunched under her heel, her legs went sideways, and Kate collapsed with a frightened scream down somewhere. For a split second, from the wild, indescribable horror of the fall her heart sank into her ribs, but dropping the flashlight, she plunged heartily into the unnoticeable in the darkness pit at the very foundation. With her hands and feet into the eerie, cold and "fragrant" slurry, and her chest on something hard and sharp. A nasty crunch in the ears, stench in the face smelled thick, nauseating to the burping, chest, hands and knees burned blunt pain, and he managed to breathe out not at once.

- Damn it!" Kate groaned, cursing furiously. She leaned helplessly with her back against the earthen heap, but God had put her under a lucky star after all. Nothing in the bruised areas except a burning sensation could be felt anymore, and how the wounds bled, Kate had learned perfectly well. Shaking off, as best she could, the sticky mush from her hands, Beckett gingerly groped herself. Perhaps she would still serve the common cause, but the walkie-talkie had come to a complete and unqualified end. What about her flashlight? Pushing her squeamishness aside, Kate carefully searched the site of her fall and was even relieved to find a neat cylinder in the dirt.

- It's okay to live, Castle. - Wrinkling, Kate straightened up and glared right and left.

This seemed to be the trench Sal wanted to warn her about, but chastising herself for her indiscretion, Beckett believed she was still on the subject.

Her instincts led her to the left of where she'd fallen. Even though her body was still aching, her wet trousers cramped, and she reeked like an unwashed ragamuffin, her presence of mind was unbroken. Simpson will sit, whatever it takes! And here, by the way, was the end of the cursed gutter, and another empty eyeball of a window, staring dumbly at her. Approaching the wall almost closely, Beckett jumped up and hung from the bottom rung of the frame, but sinking her fingers into the rotten wood snapped back. What was the matter with her? It's just bad luck. It's like she's missing something. Or someone...

Sighing sorrowfully, Kate didn't fail to curse intricately, about to jump up again, when suddenly she heard a soft and strange buzzing sound. Was that Jordan releasing a drone? But why? Kate moved ten paces away from the wall and tilted her head back. What she saw was as shocking as Castle's blatant suggestion - against the busy morning, at about eighth-ninth floor level and just above her head, stretched a silhouette of someone. And, having no wings or parachute at all, it had no intention of falling, but instead was moving briskly enough in a given direction.

"Oops," Beckett fluttered her eyelashes dazedly, "is this mystical or what?" And she looked more closely. No, it was as it was, and the distinctive sound of a motor was clearly not a hallucination.

- Oh, you! You devil! Damn Batman! He even used a climbing trolley! - I'm sure I'll have to get a good look at that," she said, and she was surprised at Simpson's ingenuity, but no one else was so brazenly "hovering.

I wondered where her boyfriend was going. Having guessed sensibly his possible route, Beckett even whistled at the illumination. In that direction, beyond the high stone wall, was the church, surrounded by a dense, perennial garden, and no one was going to post posts there.

- Oh, you..." Kate mechanically reached for her walkie-talkie, but there was only one other tool in her arsenal besides her fists. Clenching her teeth in frustration, Kate took aim at the inexorably retreating figure and shouted as hard as she could:

- O'J! Freeze! Don't move! It's the FBI!

Shots rang out in response. Because of his awkward aiming and limited visibility, the outlaw fired at random. The bullets whirred with fire tracers, ricocheted off the walls, and when it rumbled upstairs, Beckett barely had time to recoil. She was pelted with dust, and the bricks that had been knocked out of the wall crumbled with a crunch and a clang right beside her.

"That bastard! - Suppressing a genuine fear in herself, Kate strained her vision as hard as she could. - I think I know how to get you down!"

And in an effort not to hit Simpson, she dropped almost all of her ammunition into the sky.

Her seeming recklessness did not go in vain. There was a loud, dry click, and most of the cable shot out with a menacing whistle into the hotel fence, and a shrieking Simpson, swinging on a short scrap, flew precisely into the fourth-floor window. Immediately, there was a thudding sound of falling somewhere up there, which only spurred Kate on even more. She jumped up as fast as she could, clinging her hands away, to the wall, pulled herself up, deftly carried her body, and jumped inside. There were no doors in the room at all, and Beckett rushed through the doorway. The exit to the main staircase seemed to be to the left.

Here was the hallway, dark and creepy and empty, but the stain of the lantern was a little ahead of Kate. Lashings of torn-out wiring protruded in all directions, the wallpaper swollen and slipped to the floor with damp tongues, the mossy carpeting hid her steps, but there was the occasional creak of broken glass under her feet. The corridor itself led Beckett directly into the first-floor lobby. The once spacious and fashionable hall, with its palm trees, fountains, and soft furnishings, was now a veritable graveyard of wood and brick debris, mangled roofing iron, chipped plastic, and broken glass, and above, in the gaps in the roof, the sky was reluctantly awakening. Compounding the overall picture of destruction, some of the supporting columns had collapsed crosswise, like in a Lara Croft movie. The main staircase, or rather what is left of it, goes up spirally along the inside forming of improvised well inside the building and from it the numbered corridors diverge in unimaginable zigzags through horizontal encircling galleries. As a matter of fact, there is no normal way up, and to get to the damned Simpson on the miserable shards of concrete, once called "stairs", you have to have at least the abilities of Tarzan. Or at least the healthy recklessness of Castle.

- I swear I'll get him, Rick! - With the obsession of a maniac claiming the whole world, Kate muttered, tirelessly pulling and leaping and crawling. Her palms were blood-curdling, her heart thudded right into her ears, and she was woefully short of breath, but as she licked her parched lips, Beckett thought nothing of herself at all. Only justice, only the inevitability of punishment and retribution, were her driving forces.

Finally, the fourth floor. On the intermediate platform, at the exit to the gallery, we can have a look around and take a little break. What can I say, the view is depressing. Many of the rooms have been destroyed by the fall of the roofs, and there are remnants of furniture visible in some places in the gaps in the walls. The narrower-than-main staircase Doubleday has crumbled to dust and now rests in the damp heap. The exposed ends of the concrete slabs had been splintered by the blind force of gravity, and the slabs themselves hung helplessly from the mesh reinforcement like withered petals. Of course, the gallery itself had suffered a lot. There are terrible holes in its ceiling, visible in the dawn haze, and only narrow, uneven ledges remain for access to the enemy's likely point of impact. If you fell off them, you wouldn't be able to pick a bone, but Kate forbade herself to even think about it. That filthy excuse for a visit from O'Jane was lurking out there somewhere, anxious to get away. He doesn't have wings or a parachute, so the only way Simpson can get to the emergency stairs is through her. Not over her corpse, because he'll never make it. She swears by all the precious things she still has, she'll nail the bastard by the scruff of the neck right to the wall when she seals off his "fifth" exit. Just don't give Simpson's skilled karate chopper an extra head start in the melee, since O'J probably knows that she's alone. So there's that.

Staggering with fatigue, Kate crossed the passage and crouched by the cracked wall, where a hand could easily fit through the cracks. She removed her holster and straps, set it aside, and tucked the flashlight behind her belt. She needed to get her eyes adjusted to the half-light and her hands trained on the grip. She ought to be able to count on Simpson hitting every shot, or dropping the gun on impact. And she's not one of those.

Wiping herself of the damp whitewash, Beckett crept along the wall to the west wing and after a dozen yards crouched behind a piece of concrete, an ugly slice hanging from the ceiling. She listened tens tensely, expecting a sudden shot or sound of footsteps, but there is a slight breeze blowing through the cracks and sirens wailing in the distance. And Simpson, for some reason, is sullenly silent. He must be silently swearing, rubbing at his bruised skin, waiting for her to move on. Maybe O'J. really is unarmed. Whatever the case, he'd better turn himself in, and then he'd have a chance to get back to his family.

"Many, many years from now!" - Beckett chuckled to herself, advancing. Another dozen or three yards, on the tips of her fingers and toes of her shoes over the silent abyss, and she was already in the west wing. The same gloom, decay, and persistent smell of damp. The receptionist's desk stood lonely on its trembling legs. The table, like the interior walls, was covered in thick cobwebs and a thick, brown layer of mildew. The parquet floor has swollen, and its rotten strips have come loose from the base. Now you have to be extra careful.

In short runs, alert to her hearing, Beckett moved from room to room, checking and rechecking. Most of the doors could no longer be opened: they were swollen in the jambs or seized in the hinges, and even the handles had been removed in some places. Probably by hunters of "priceless" relics, or simply by looters. But they're not the target of her outrage. Her target was a pair of open doors at the end of the corridor. Kate cautiously peered through the first one, but it turned out to be a single room, adapted as a storeroom. There was no way a big Simpson would have fit between the stacked, gray-brown stained mattresses, so Kate tiptoed her way down the hall. Here was the surprise: footprints with traces of lime on the "lush" mold, and a string of dark, matted stains going nowhere.

Shifting the gun to her left hand, Kate crouched down, ran her fingertips over the damp wood, brought her hand to her nose. Her experienced eye was right: it was the blood of the man she'd come here for, which meant the first round was hers after all. And she peeked cautiously behind the jamb, holding the trunk out in front of her.

A standard room with a tiny vestibule and a rather large bedroom. Which was significantly "expanded" at the expense of the fallen down toilet, bathroom and the room adjacent to them, bending the floor slabs with a clear slope to the failure. There is also a hole in the ceiling on the fifth floor, and it is just above it - about a third of the size of the room - and the cracked reinforcing bars of the floor are bent down and stick out like corks. The inner wall adjoining the window was a thick patch of whitewash, and the same whitewashed traces covered the floor in an indiscriminate pattern. It was as if Simpson had covered his tracks, but where was he?

Chapter 4. The Fifth Exit: The Scramble

He came at her from somewhere above, shoving her away from the entrance with all his weight. He swung his weapon with a practiced swing and almost took her neck in a painful hold, but Beckett managed to punch him in the liver and bounce back. A strangled wheeze erupted from O'Jay's chest; pressing his palm against his bruised side, Simpson squinted his eyes angrily, gritting his teeth in pain. Taking several deep breaths and exhales, he slowly straightened. Clenching his fists at the ready, he brought his left shoulder forward, bowing his head slightly. A cocky grin came over his swarthy, fleshy lips, but the blow on the wall had left O'Jai reeling, his tattered robes puffed with white dust, his hair sticking to one side and blood pooling on his temple. He was painfully slumped over his right shoulder, looking as if he really had no weapon. She was in the middle of the night, and she could no longer reach her own, which had flown straight into the gap.

- Give it up, Simpson! This is Agent Kate Beckett! - she demanded unhesitatingly, keeping a watchful eye on him. - You have no other choice now, but there's always a chance to get back to normal life!

- No cop bitch has ever managed to cuff me yet," O'Jay breathed heavily, smearing blood carelessly across his cheek, then mockingly showing Beckett a soiled middle finger, "and neither will you.

- You'll certainly get your change," Kate grinned coldly, assessing the room to maneuver, "but I'll let that slide. As long as you're a social weed, I can weed you out.

- Risk your health, you beast! - He ducked, and O'Jai charged at her from the spot. He kicked her squarely in the chest, and it made a noise in Kate's ears that wasn't good enough, as orange stars popped and swirled in front of her eyes. And without waiting for the agent to recover, Simpson unleashed all his explosive power on her. His wiry, stringy limbs thrashed with a vengeance, but Beckett's trained body automatically and coherently worked itself out: dives, ducks, half-assaults, rebounds, arm and leg blocks, and precision glancing punches. It wasn't the first time Kate had fought one-on-one, though it seemed as if she had no living room on her, but when O'J. unceremoniously opened up, she aimed a glancing kick as hard as she could. The blow came at a painful point, Simpson groaned in a muffled groan and immediately broke the distance. Barely catching his breath, he hissed hatefully, angrily:

- Fucking bitch! Where would I be if it wasn't for you!

Even more crooked and ugly than before, the criminal's smile clearly gave away his intentions, and he would do anything to wipe Kate down.

Struggling with the pain in his bruised shoulder, Simpson diverted Beckett's attention with a light side to the head and immediately spun on his supporting leg with a hopping motion, but still missed his target. Having moved away from the line of attack, Kate made a deft but cautious somersault over her shoulder so as not to inadvertently roll into the corner. Her consciousness had already brightened; gingerly touching her cleft cheek from the inside, Beckett took a confident stance. She spat the blood clot carelessly and grinned, which only enraged O'Jai more than she'd ever done before. He kicked his feet with ingenuity, quick on his toes, thrusting sharply with his good arm as if to take the fidgety woman down. With a fighting arsenal as rich as his: jumps, underhands, attacks at different levels and with changes in the center of gravity, turns, punches from the side and straight - you can easily bring down anyone, let alone this sticky, as tar, the fed - and certainly for sure. No matter how great a karate star she may think she is, she's bound to make a mistake. It's only a matter of time before she gets there.

Jumping up high, Simpson kicked through a series of punches, aiming straight for Kate's head. She dodged it, putting up a double block with her hands, then another, a third, but the rough sole of her boot still shuffled sensitively over her ear. Kate mouthed an uncomplicated curse, and suddenly, before she knew it, she was on her back with all her might: The distracting blows to the body and a deft sweeping undercut on the pursuit had achieved their purpose. She braced against the rest of him, and with a heel strike, he aimed for her chest, hitting her wrists crossed in front of her face. Her hands went numb for a moment and her eyes blurred from the horrible dull pain, but grabbing Simpson's ankle, Beckett spun on her back and hooked his supporting leg with her two, jerking it sharply.

There was a loud, offhanded mate, and, spitting spittle, Simpson collapsed beside him, his eyes bulging in amazement. Beckett rolled on top of him, aiming her fingers at his large, protruding Adam's apple. There was a labored wheeze. Simpson's face turned red with tension, but O'J., using his forearm as leverage, deftly released himself.

Briefly, without a sweep, he straddled Beckett's ribs, pulling her toward him by her dangling strand with an effort to topple her onto her side. Her moan was shrill and loud, but seeing her face distorted with hatred, hearing her labored breathing, and her angry, cursing, Beckett knew she was doing the right thing. And there was no way she was backing down.

With a sharp movement of her head, Kate extracted her freedom, leaving O'Jai with a wisp of hair in her hand, and immediately worked the ugly face with frequent pokes, furiously helping herself with her feet. Simpson kicked back, too, and punched with one hand, covering his forearm with the other. Both were blindfolded, their faces covered with bruises and abrasions, their lips swollen like purple flapjacks, but when O'J's massive wrist slipped between the floor and her cheek, Beckett unhesitatingly set her teeth in motion. Simpson roared wildly and jerked his hand away sharply. He retaliated by smearing it across Kate's face, but his fist slid over her wrist and barely grazed her ear. And it was a battle not for life, but to the death. Their strength was waning, but she had the truth on her side. They were floundering on the slimy floor now, trying to keep their adversary under them, oblivious to the shallow but sharp slivers of stone that ravaged their bodies. What pain before the savage thirst for victory.

Once again they rolled from side to side, panting and swearing furiously, and the resourcefully nimble O'Jai suddenly found himself on top. He grinned wickedly, triumphantly, leaning his whole body against hers in an attempt to block her arms, but Kate poked him in the face with her spread fingers and hit him in the eye.

There was a piercing, wild howl, and squinting lopsidedly, Simpson jumped up like a stung man. Almost blindly he struck a straight right, but he couldn't do it with his left. Fearing for his sleeve at the elbow, Kate easily ducked under the flying fist and pushed O'Jai with her shoulder to the chest with all her might. Simpson recoiled, waving his arms, stepped back briefly, and suddenly yelled desperately:

- Aah! Shit!

His feet slid across the broken, dryly crunching glass, the pebbles rustling merrily as they rolled down the makeshift chute, and O'J. hung on Kate's blouse to keep from falling. Their eyes met for a moment, but by cupping his elbows with her forearms, Kate pushed her adversary as hard as she could with her palms to his chest. Simpson groaned, a pitiful rattle of torn clothing. His supporting foot slid sharply over the moldy plastic bag, a powerful jerk of the falling body followed, and a hooked Simpson literally yanked Kate off her seat.

She dove in like a fish. They bumped their foreheads firmly against each other and plunged down onto the slab, which was cracked at an angle. The long section of the slab sagged toward them, the long end of it sliding downward, gaunt as if oiled. It was scarcely a dozen feet to the breaking point, but there was absolutely nothing to cling to. He was no longer grinning with horror now, idly scratching the rough panel with his knotty fingers but gaping at it with a mute grin. There was madness in his black, rolled-up eyes, but Kate could not leave this world without deciding for herself what was most important.

To slow the slide a little, she strained her legs, spreading them like an anchor, the toes of her shoes scraping gingerly against the concrete. Kate didn't even pay attention to the nauseating stench from Simpson's throat; she searched frantically for a way out. And she found it. Feeling her grip on her injured hand weakening, Beckett kicked the other away and twisted the still tenacious hand to the crunch in her bones. Simpson howled wildly, tried to poke Kate in the eye with a finger, but Beckett withdrew her head and her hand lay blindly but confidently on his face. Her fingers squeezed mercilessly, pushing the whites in with an effort, and then a sharp jolt with the base of her palm away from him followed.

Simpson shrieked dully from the intense pain in his compressed nose, and he rolled his legs even more vigorously, uttering obscene curses. He must have been nearer to insanity than ever, his fingers clawing at the concrete with such feverish abandon. Already his boots were over the edge, then his knees, and to the resounding slap of his palms against the slab the grunting Simpson disappeared from view. A moment later there was a juicy slap from somewhere below, and all was quiet. Now it was time to take care of myself.

Inhaling deeply, Kate tried to calm herself. And if she didn't cling to something, there would be no conversation between them, and that wasn't an option. There was no way she could keep silent about her feelings for a year or two and not finally express them to someone who had long and badly needed it.

Beckett searched carefully with her eyes, and noticed ahead, to her right, some lonely curl, bent in a semicircle. It was probably a rebar, torn from its place by the collapse, and by an involuntary coincidence, just the saving straw. Just as long as I didn't miss it.

And Kate drew closer to the point of potential salvation, squinting her eyes at the gaping void. With a monstrous, indescribable strain on every muscle and to the ringing in her ears, she tried to keep herself under control, and where her fingernail-trimmed fingertips touched the gray concrete, oily scarlet streaks remained.

- A picture of blood! - Kate smiled wryly, spitting salty sweat into her mouth. - I'm my own painter and brush!

She managed to turn on her feet as she went, and when the blood-slick fist held this unreliable support, Kate allowed herself a blissful smile. There was just enough room for a second fist, and when she lay her chest on her arms, she could at least rest a little. Especially since she wasn't going to call for help, because there was nothing more humiliating than her own helplessness. It wasn't Castle who was going to lend her a hand, after all, and the very thought of EVERY rescue, severely depressed and stressed her out. It would be much better to use every resource available. Because there was something to fall back on. Because there are no hopeless situations. Things were a lot worse that time. Only the hands didn't get hurt as badly.

Bloody fingers ached eerily, but Kate was already glancing around herself. Even if visibility wasn't enough yet, she should look for support for her feet, too. What if she got lucky?

Feeling a rough bar rubbing against the bare skin of her stomach, Beckett carefully bent her foot, exploring the slab with the toe of her shoe. Left, right, up, down, and there it was - a little hole! She felt at once better in her heart, and hope flared up with renewed vigor. Like that, tentatively, with a foot, with a hand, with a hand, with a foot straight to the crack in the side to go out along it, like down the stairs. And she doesn't need any help. Because she could do it all by herself. And Kate firmly believed that she would make it. Too bad Castle couldn't see her tired smile. Even earlier, before that spat, he would surely have taken her face in his hands, showered her with tender, touching kisses and, with a perfumed handkerchief wrapped around his finger, would have removed the clinging dirt. Leaving the best for later. Later? Closing her eyes, Kate even groaned at the sudden sorrowful memory. Would there even be a "later"? And would Rick be able to accept her explanation? I mean, he had to finally understand her, didn't he?

- You have to listen to me, Castle," she muttered silently, ready to move, when suddenly... Somewhere beneath her body there was a dry, soft crunch, and Kate suddenly realized with horror that in her hands remained a worthless piece of iron.

"Jesus, Castle! Not again!" - She sprawled across the slab with her whole body, spreading her arms and legs, but she felt herself slipping anyway. Kate unclenched her hand, and the worthless bar slid down the slab to the edge of the panel with a cheerful clink. When that sound disappeared, and the clinking of metal against metal below, an eerie, nervous chill ran through Beckett's body. Her heart froze like a dead chunk of ice, but immediately, like a frantic rush. Her whole body trembled with insane exertion, and her mind refused to believe in the inevitable, but she was dying again. Without him, without his support, and alone to herself, Beckett pleaded frantically and madly:

- Save me, oh, my God! Save me, please, Castle! I don't want to do this! It's so primitive and despicable! No! No! Come on, please! No!

Now there was virtually nothing left of her faith, and with every hair on her skin Beckett felt the chilling, merciless cold of the abyss.

- God, no! - Kate was moaning against her lips. - No! No! Castle, no!

Sometimes, with incredible effort, she managed to stop the slide, but it had a temporary effect. Her own body was like someone else's, but Kate wasn't used to giving up without a fight. Because she had no moral right to do so. After all, her whole life was an uphill battle against circumstances and herself. And she had practically coped with all of this, albeit not entirely to the end, but now she had Him. After all, it is so clear and simple: not she for herself, but they for each other. And even if Castle was justly offended at her, even if he drove her out of his life, but still, he remained and will remain her lover, her only and dear. Her KASL. And even if she survives, she will surely ask for his forgiveness. Not over the phone, not through Lainie, but in person, face to face. For the pain she had caused, for her own stubbornness and unwillingness to see the next thing. For another of God's punishments that had befallen her.

- I'm sorry, Castle! For the love of God, for you and me, for our future, I'm sorry!

But pleading was no use, and there was no strength left at all, neither to shout, nor to resist. The despair of the doomed, the fear of inevitability, and the impossibility of changing anything pressed and pressed a dead weight on her shoulders. And Beckett knew that the fall would be swift, and she was not even destined to die or go mad in flight. Tears of helplessness flowed down her cheeks, her hands ceased to obey at all, and as her shoes hovered over the silent abyss, Kate closed her eyes doomfully. Somewhere above, a helicopter circled above the roof, shining a spotlight through the gaps, but there were only a couple of minutes left of her misguided life. This was the real physical end, and as Kate's withered lips quietly whispered the words of farewell, a powerful beam of light fell on her head and shoulders.

- Officer, hold on," someone's bass male voice brought hope back, but it wasn't enough yet. Especially now.

- That's it, I'm done, Castle," Kate wheezed impotently, still not believing in her salvation, "and I'm exhausted.

Her tears caused her thin, long lashes to stick together treacherously, and while the ammunition jingled and the winch buzzed overhead, Kate blinked and blinked and blinked. When at last she opened her eyes, a commando in black overalls was sprawled out beside her on a rope.

- Just a second, ma'am!" Strong fingers gripped her elbow, pulling her to them, and Beckett's battered, lifeless hands were glued to the wide uniform belt, never to be released again.

- Thank you, Castle," mechanically and irresponsibly thanked Kate, lowering her head to her rescuer's chest. When you're so stubbornly delirious, you always carry, you don't know what, but the officer, wrapping his arm around her waist, only smiled understandingly:

- Lieutenant Cedric! Always at your service, ma'am! Be patient! Let's get you hooked up to a lifeline and that's it!

Chapter 5. You got my house back!

To Simpson's corpse Beckett descended when he, already in a waterproof bag, was dragged away from the building - too long she and Cedric and a couple of other commandos had been searching for the safest way out. They parted respectfully, threw a uniform jacket over her half-naked, exhausted body, and shone a powerful flashlight into the slit of the sack. She did not utter a word, just an indifferent look in the face distorted by pain and horror, and headed for the exit. No need to test her already difficult fate unnecessarily when there are much more pleasant things to do. Or there could be, which, as luck would have it, would take time again. That is if you know who we are talking about.

After passing the chain of commandos lined up to the gate, Kate slowly, with complete indifference to everyone and everything, wandered down the street. She was immediately noticed, and a big man, who smelled of medicine, gently took the woman under his elbow. Gently dragging her along, he offered to lie down on a gurney, but Kate only shook her head stubbornly. As long as she had strength left, she'd do well on her own.

- Okay, okay," the paramedic apologized politely, but still persisted: "I need to apply bandages and give an injection. Let me just help you, because everyone has a duty.

- Go ahead," Beckett responded indifferently, climbing mechanically into the ambulance. Sitting down on the edge of the recliner, she held out her mangled hands for examination, and while they were laboriously flailing over her, Kate stared fixedly before her, still not believing that she was still alive, but that Simpson was no more. And Beckett somehow didn't care about the man who, crouching beside her and gently touching her shoulder, sent a certain object into her jacket pocket. After all, it wasn't Castle...

- Beckett, are you okay? - Shaw sighed softly, looking sympathetically at Kate's drained, unhealthy profile. - Can you work?

- I can," she answered faintly, absently staring at the bandaged wrist that was now showing blood in places. - I can do it," she answered absently, glancing absently at her bandaged hands.

- What do you think you're going to do? - I'm sure you've had a lot of luck today, but a repeat is not just an event, it's a kind of diabolical warning..." "I don't know," he said, and then he said, "I don't know what I'm going to do.

- Regularity..." Beckett added, wiggling quietly from the intense pain in her flesh-colored fingers. No, it wasn't like her to lament any hardship or lack of patience, but if it weren't the paramedic or Shaw, with her sincere sympathy, but Castle, HER KASL, with his big, gentle hands, a mighty rush of strength wouldn't have been long in coming. And so would faith in herself. And whatever people would tell her later, no one could give her the kind of support Rick could. And she knew it. Possessing the most valuable gift of foreseeing all her secret needs, Castle never pressed her or showed her pity. And that was why, unobtrusively, subtly, he became an irreplaceable and essential part of her life, but almost over the fatal brink, Catherine Beckett again faced a difficult choice: either to remember forever, or to forget everything completely. And there was no telling what would happen next. When by some miracle you avoid death for the second time in a row, reality is perceived more soberly. And it's not about lack of faith in your own abilities. The essence lies in those who love it. And they will. Always.

"They love her! Father and... Castle!"

The dry sobs made her throat tighten, and Kate braced herself as best she could. Her lips were practically devoid of life, and her memory kept twisting and twisting and twisting, a terrible picture of the recent past. Here was the uneven concrete edge, just inches away. Here was her body, sprawled across the slab, but soon, very soon to fall on the sharp steel corners. And when blood splashes in all directions, fractured bones crackle, eternal darkness envelops her. That's exactly how Simpson ended up. Quite primitive, but no less terrifying. And that horror was passed on to her.

Letting all this unimaginable cocktail of events pass through her, Beckett vividly saw a succession of faces before her eyes. There was Simpson's feral face with bulging eyes. There was her mother's frozen features. Here was the unspeakable grief in her father's eyes, and here was Castle's savage despair at her body. Just a few visions, and already Kate was gripped by a deathly, horrible longing. You can't treat your family like that, make them suffer. Not categorically, because they weren't to blame for her personal choices. But who is she talking about in the first place? Her daddy who's resigned to her risky job, or her forever devoted Cassle? God, of course she's talking about him - her aspirations. And then why the cruel punishment of her death? For unselfish love, for bright feelings and an open heart? Why would he suppress his emotions and hopes when this is HER and only HER chance to climb? Alas, the answer is simple. This is Castle, an open and vulnerable soul, and he can't survive on his own.

"Geez!" - Beckett groaned to herself. Bowing her head, she covered it with her hands and clenched her eyes tightly shut. It was her and her alone fault that they had parted so badly and then nearly killed her. And how long could she test Castle's patience by shamelessly hiding in work and other, meaningful only from her point of view excuses? My God, but even after living with him for a year, she still remained blind and deaf to his feelings. But what to do with her heart, her wounded heart? It's impossible, unrealistic to cheat. Only beside Castle does it beat so vividly and joyfully. Only with him does it feel sensual and feminine and REAL. So why persist in deceiving herself? Because she wants to be with him, she does. AND ONLY WITH HIM. To look at him sleeping, to hold his hand; to communicate in person, not over the phone or internet. That's the only way, heart to heart, hand to hand, body to body. It was the only way for her to survive in this complicated and dangerous world she had chosen for herself. And would anyone dare to say that all is hopelessly lost, and nothing can be fixed? No, they don't know her and her abilities! No to them, no, no, no, no!

Beckett shook her head so suddenly and sharply that Jordan pulled away in amazement:

- Hey, what are you doing? If you're being punished, you shouldn't be. Your actions are justified. It's not the kind of place anyone would go, but you did. There's got to be some significance and logic to it. Probably, some guardian angel has spread his wide wings over you and is guarding your peace.

- He must have a name, like all saints! - With a forceful exhale, Kate leaned against the rigid side of the van. And she didn't have to feverishly think of this angel's name, since it hardly ever came off her pale lips.

"Castle... Castle... Castle! - like a mantra, Beckett repeated to herself. - Tell me! Tell me, please, oh, my God! Because I'm a hundred percent right, and my guardian angel... is... is it Castle?!"

She felt like she was about to lose it. Treacherous, abundant, burning tears came inexorably to her throat, mercilessly destroying all her inner attitudes. No, no, she didn't want to and couldn't just give up on her cherished goal, but why, why was it so bad, so dreary and so painful?

Elbowing Jordan off, Kate suddenly sprinted out of the car. She ran down the street, out of sight, and stopped in front of a convenience store just as she rounded the corner. Bandaged hand stuck in a narrow slot in his pocket, and the phone reached only with both hands. Sobbing incessantly, Kate pursed her lips, gnawing at the pain as her trembling finger searched for a familiar number.

- Kate? - Kate, what's wrong? Kate, what's wrong? Did they shove you back into the fridge or did you almost drown again? Kate, can you answer me, please?! Kate, can you hear me? Kate! Kate! Kate! Kate!

- Lanie, Lanie, I can't tell you everything, but please, I'm begging you," her resilience was barely enough for a split second, but then Beckett burst into tears. With loud sobs, anger at herself, and pleading, Kate sat down exhausted on the dirt pavement with her legs tucked under her, and turned to the indifferent sky, screaming loud and tearful:

- Lainie, please! I'm begging you! One phone call! To him! Right here, right now! And don't listen to him at all! Just tell him what I feel! What he already knows! I believe you can do it. I know you'll find something to say to him. Because he knows how to listen! Because he will listen to you! Promise me that, Lainie! I beg and I beseech you! Please, please, please, please! Come on, please!

A sensitive jolt brought Kate out of her thoughtful stupor. The airplane slowed down, crouched down, landed on the auxiliary runway, and soon the windows flashed bright white lane markings, colorful silhouettes of airfield equipment and cubes of auxiliary buildings. The engines bellowed harshly, reversing, the plane reluctantly turned to park and froze.

There was an approving whistle, and the passengers sat peacefully in their seats, getting ready to disembark, but not her. All the way warming the bandages of her phone, Kate finally turned it on, and in the list of messages, burning with impatience, ran her eyes over the very first one. Just two words, so simple, but so important to her!

"He's coming!"

"God, thank you! Thank you so much, Laney!" - Covering her eyes, Kate barely waited for permission to get up. Since all her luggage consisted of her purse and cell phone, Beckett was one of the first to rush out of her seat. Hurrying toward the gangway, unceremoniously pushing passengers, not really seeing or hearing anything, followed by loud shouts of discontent and indignation. Even the friendly remark of the stewardess Kate missed her ears and let the air build up in her chest only when she climbed onto the bus. A third of the job was done, but it certainly didn't make her feel any better. She'd looked at everyone who entered the room with an angry, hateful expression as if their fellow passengers were the root of all evil. How can she scarcely move her legs when the one beside you is slowly but surely dying and is silent only because she had and never will be the equal in the skill of hiding in herself.

At last the bus started, and Beckett gaped at the majestic building of the airport terminal with pain in her eyes. There were the windows of the arrivals hall, and somewhere there, in the crowd of greeters, his face flashed. Was it? Begging for what she wanted in reality, Beckett was clearly deluding herself, but believing desperately in her friend, she knew that she had done everything she could to make their meeting happen. Only a few dozen steps separated Katharine Beckett's habitually lonely self from the desperately needed and endured "We".

And then, at last, the arrivals hall. The rumbling steps of the escalator, and the loud voice announcing her arrival. The large number of people who were greeting her, and she was practically thrashing about, looking for that one familiar silhouette. The exit from the hall was getting closer and slower her steps, she could no longer walk with her head held high, and even her determination suddenly evaporated somewhere. Beckett hurried to see Castle until her heart ached, and when she finally did, she froze in indecision.

There he is. Standing by the exit, with his hands in his pockets. He pressed his lips together mirthlessly, slumped his shoulders low, and peered up from under his eyebrows with a wry, distrustful look. He no longer trusted her, did he? Lord, please, give us a chance! Covering her eyes for a moment, Beckett mentally crossed herself and also mentally intertwined her fingers in front of her. No words, good or bad. Just gestures and looks, just like it had once been. Just like it had always been. Just the strength of his arms on her shoulders, just the kindness and joy and forgiveness in his eyes.

"Forgive me, I beg you! Please forgive me, Castle!" - Kate bowed her head, hiding her face under her disheveled bangs, and quickened her stride until she crashed into his chest.

He expected a collision, but still he swayed slightly, balancing his arms and held them in the air, spreading them apart, and she, hugging him around the waist, pressed tightly, hard with her whole body and squeezed tightly shut.

- Hey, Castle," Kate said, her voice hoarse with excitement, her face pressed against his chest. She had been in the wrong place for twenty-four hours, but, God, she had missed him so madly and passionately! And his own, so unique smell!

- Hi, Kate. - I was a little taken aback by her pressure, and Rick echoed. - What's going on?

He leaned over her, wanting to read on her tired, battered face something hidden from the others, and she, trembling to her knees, was afraid to meet his gaze. Afraid to see rejection and bitterness. Probably if he had silently rejected her, she would have accepted his choice without any objection. She would have turned and walked away, killed and unhappy and unwilling to go on without him, but Castle, with a regretful sigh, only gently lowered his arms around her shoulders.

- Is there something I still don't know? - he still couldn't believe his eyes or his feelings.

- Nothing, it's okay, I just decided to go back," Kate began familiarly, and then she cut herself off in frustration. This false sense of her independence and infallibility, the desire only once to assert herself had almost played a cruel joke on her, but she'd be damned if, returning Castle's trust, she didn't remove the stone from her soul. After all, her lonely life had no meaning at all, and to understand it, to feel to the very liver, again had to look death in the eye.

- Why did you come back, Kate? - Castle gently smoothed her disheveled strands, softer than silk, and smiled sadly, wistfully. His big, warm hand warmed her shoulder so gently that for the first time in the last twenty-four hours Beckett allowed herself to relax a little. And even though some might think they looked a little strange, she didn't really care anymore, by and large. Here, in New York, and only beside him, was her real place, and she would never leave it again.

Taking in the air with her chest, Kate replied sincerely and without regret, putting her whole wounded soul into such simple and mundane words:

- Because you gave me back the HOUSE!