For the Dead Travel Fast
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In the end, there was a compromise they could agree on: Castle took every pamphlet he could find, she took copies of the longest-lived vampires' records, especially if there was anything about the order of the phase. They packed those into a canvas tote with the clinic's name on it, and Kate worked on getting into some scrubs Castle had found.
Meanwhile, Castle drew out one of the pamphlets and raided the desk drawer for a black permanent marker. He sat down at the fishbowl and thought about it a moment, then started writing.
"Nothing too informative," she called from the lab.
"Put your clothes on," he yelled back.
He could hear her huffing at him. They'd fought about it. It was a compromise in which he still felt she was losing. And if he lost her all because Dr Harris the vampire was too creepy for her—
He didn't want to go out there alone, just the two of them, with her half-injured and him trailing deranged vampires. He didn't want to escape qualified medical care for her. He didn't want to distance himself from knowledge.
He was pissed. And scared. And he was probably right about the doc's intentions, but he couldn't be sure that Harris would let them go.
The computer had said it was one o'clock in the morning. That had been the final shock somehow. It hadn't felt like a whole day had gone by.
"Don't give her our cell phone numbers," she hissed, seeing him writing. She had come to the doorway of the lab, wearing the scrub pants, but no top. Nothing at all, bare breasted, as if she was trying to prove something. "Don't give her anything she can track us with."
"I'm not doing that, Beckett." He took a long look at her breasts, but really he was studying the bandage.
She withstood it, pushed her hair off her face with a hand, though the movement was arrested. He knew she was likely still tender on that side, that the wound wasn't one hundred percent yet, but she wouldn't admit to it.
"How's your side?"
She sucked in a breath, her face twisting, but he saw her searching for words. A way to communicate her truth with him. He waited for it. Wondered if she could do it, admit that she wasn't up to par.
"It hurt getting dressed," she ground out. "And I'd really like to sit down but I'm afraid I won't get back up again."
"Tired, pain, weakness, what?"
Her jaw worked, she looked away. "Tired. Pain. I don't think weakness. But. I'm not always able to discern where my limits are."
He arched an eyebrow.
She caught his look of impressed surprise and she growled something and spun away, limped back into the lab for the shirt.
Honestly, he wasn't sure if she was upset with him or anxious to get out of here before Harris came back.
But this was the compromise. He left the vampire doctor with some way to contact them, which he was certain she would, since they were her latest medical mystery, thus staying connected to the Horde and its resources, and Kate promised to tell him when she needed help.
Yeah, she might already be reneging on that deal. "Beckett?" he called, leaving the pamphlet and his message where it was. "You need help getting a shirt on?" He was still in the exercise shorts from earlier, no need to cut off his clothes, though his shirt was trashed. But there hadn't been anything in his size down here. "Beckett?"
"Yes," she sighed as he entered the lab.
She had her arms through the top but hadn't tried to pull it on over her head. He could see that was going to be a problem, and he began hunting through the lab for some scissors.
"What are you doing?" she said.
He came at her with the scissors and she didn't even blink. He wasn't sure whether that was an indication of her trust in him or just how damn worn out she really was. She'd been wiped out by this; she looked defeated.
"Wear it like a button up," he said. "Hold it out wide so I can cut it down the back."
"The back?"
"I'll make some holes and we can lace it up the back."
"With what lace?"
"She had some fishing line in a drawer."
"Huh."
He finished cutting the scrub top and it deflated in the middle where her arms had been holding it taut. But with that big rend down the back, now it was easy for her to shrug it on, one arm at a time, open at her spine.
He found the fishing line in its neat bundle in the drawer, began unraveling it as he stepped around her. "A couple holes, top, middle, bottom, to lace it up. You okay with that?"
She nodded, drew her hair to one side and over her shoulder.
He pinched the top at one side, made a cut, then did the other side. His fingers dusted her spine on the way down, surprised at how cool her skin was compared to the heat of his fingers. "I'll drive," he said quietly. She shivered, her skin rippling as he pinched the material of the scrub top. "You sit beside me, where I can keep an eye on you, with the seat lowered so we don't compress that wound."
"It's healed."
"It's healing," he corrected. "And I don't want to do anything to mess that up."
She fell silent as he made the last cuts at the bottom of the scrub top, and she remained quiet as he unwound the fishing line and began threading it through those slits. He did it just like a tennis shoe, nothing fancy, and tied it at the bottom.
"How's that?" he asked, dumping the scissors and line on the tabletop. He billowed her shirt at the back and watched to be sure it held.
"A bit airy," she said, turning to look at him with her hair in one hand. She smiled. "But it's better than trying to pull it on over my head. Not enough give in the material. Or in my side."
He nodded. "There's a plaid shirt in the bag; you can put that on when we get to the car."
She beamed, turned and put her chin on top of his shoulder with a breath. "Thank you. Thank you. I just—"
"Just a shirt," he murmured, slow to embrace her.
"It's not. I meant, not the shirt, the leaving. I know you don't want to leave medical professionals and all of it. I know you're upset about it. But you're doing it anyway."
He spread his fingers over her back, inside the gap in the scrub top. She was cool to the touch but he knew her heart was so warm. "I trust you," he murmured. "I trust us, together."
She nodded, her hair catching at the day-old scruff on his face. She was leaning into him, but it wasn't that he was holding her up. He could be okay with that.
"Come on," he rasped. "You got everything?"
"Grab some of the water bottles," Kate said. "She owes us."
He smiled at that, but he did grab the rest of the pack from the mini-fridge, plus the Snickers bar, because yeah, why hadn't Harris bothered to raid a vending machine for them?
He carried the tote bag with everything they'd pilfered, while Kate kept her weapon in hand, a grip that looked solid as she waited on him. He went back through the fishbowl with the vampire gospel tract in hand and he laid it open on the hospital bed where he had laid her, where he had lathed her wound with his tongue and felt such wild pleasure, where she had drunk at his wrist and he'd nearly lost his footing with just how intense it was.
Castle took a deep breath, preparing himself to jump into this with her again, just as before, as every time, as always.
When he turned around, she was waiting with her eyes on the door out of this place, a hunger on her face that made him hurry to join her.
A brief brush of their knuckles, and she was taking point down the hall.
"Its's going to be locked," he warned. "She had a key on her neck."
"If I have to shoot out the lock, I will do that," she growled.
He winced.
She gave him a tight smile over her shoulder and pointed to the bag he carried. "Screwdriver in there. I was inspecting the lock earlier, and it's the same mechanism as a deadbolt. I can get it pried off."
"Well okay then," he chuckled.
"Or you can," she added. "Since you're the strong one apparently. And I wouldn't want to tear a new hole in my side."
"You're being patronizing but I don't care," he answered. "I'll take it."
Sure enough, when he passed up the screwdriver at the big metal door, it didn't take her long to have the face of the deadbolt pried off and the point of the screwdriver dug around in the mechanism of the lock. It took some work to get the deadbolt pulled back, but not too long, considering.
She led them out into the hall. It smelled like bleach and lotion, and he remembered that from before, how sharp that scent had been in his nose, the scent of hospitals and care, the scent of hope. Since he'd been the one conscious during this part, he called out soft directions as they went, through the same route Harris had led him on to get here.
Down the hall and through the double doors, like a cafeteria entrance, and then into what had looked like a large storage area, equipment and supply boxes.
"Is this a cafeteria?" she said, cautious around a stack of boxes labeled PPE. "There are those buffet stations, and the register."
"I thought so too," he murmured in return. He pointed towards the doors he remembered and they wound their way through stored equipment to reach them. She paused there, and he waited, let her listen, before she started forward once more and cleared a path for him. "Go right."
This was the sloped hallway, though now it went back up again. He watched her critically, but she showed no falter, no hitch in her stride as she climbed the incline.
"Ambulance bay is up through there on the right. I don't know where she comes in from the clinic but that's the way out."
She urged him to keep close, and they came up through the concrete hallway and towards the ambulance bay. She scanned the area with that preternatural calm that meant she was deeply aware, and worried.
He didn't speak. This all felt too easy. Either because Harris had nothing sinister in mind, or because she very much did.
Kate nodded and gestured them towards one side, both crouched low as if that would make a difference in the wide open docking bay. There was a man-door to the left of the ambulance bay door, and she inspected it quietly. "Alarmed," she murmured. "How far away do you think our car is?"
"She said someone would park it." He shrugged. "Can you run?"
Her lips flattened.
"Hurt more if I hauled you over my shoulder?"
"I can run."
"Then that's what we do," he whispered. "We run."
She nodded, released a breath he didn't realize she was holding, and then she turned for the door. Once more, the screwdriver came in handy to pry the facing off the door knob and work within it to retract the lock.
She twisted the knob and shoved the door open.
No alarm went off. She glanced at him; he shrugged.
They went out fast anyway, down the concrete stairs, the bag thumping against his side as he followed her out into the darkness.
When they got to the parking lot of employee cars, he pushed the button on the key fob and sure enough, their lights flashed and the horn gave a little beep. Kate changed angle smoothly and kept running, but he outpaced her in moments and dodged parked cars until he was at the driver's side.
She was climbing into the passenger side in the next breath; he hauled himself in and started the engine without trouble; she was holding her ribs and yanking the seat belt on as he dumped the bag of files into the floor.
Kate bent forward, grabbed one of the cartoon pamphlets that had spilled out, plus a water bottle. Castle put the car in gear and gripped the wheel, backed out of the spot fast.
"Careful," she breathed, but he was.
He angled out of the parking lot, put the SUV in drive, and gave it a lot of gas to get through the tunnel of trees back to the highway.
She tapped the brochure. It happened to be a copy of the same one he had left on the hospital bed for Dr Harris.
Over the cartoon of the kid vampire eating his liverwurst and onions like a good Horde-boy, he had written the phone number to the PI office. Give them your name, tell them you'd love to consult on my next book but that treating me and my wife was your pleasure, no reward necessary. Leave a phone number where I can call you back. When we make it home, I promise we'll get in touch. We'll need you.
More than anything, he just wanted to get them home.
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