Chapter XIII

Lower East Side, Manhattan

The first time Lanie woke her up, she nodded and gave her friend a satisfactory answer when she asked how many fingers she was holding up, and then crashed right back into oblivion.

But the second time, her exhaustion no longer outweighed the fact that her entire body was throbbing. She squinted at her friend hovering over her and told her that maybe if she stopped waking her up every three hours, she could actually start healing.

Lanie had scowled at her. "Imma let that one slip." Then she told her to sit up.

"Lanie…" Beckett had whined and protested but then pushed herself up with her right hand.

"I had no idea you were such a baby when you get hurt." She'd handed her a glass of water and a small white pill. "Here, take this."

Beckett had rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "I'm not supposed to take any narcotic pain stuff…"

Lanie had given her a side-eye. "You don't think I have some idea of what you're supposed to be taking?"

So she'd swallowed it without another word and watched as Lanie turned off the light and walked back out of her bedroom.

When she woke up next, it was eight hours later and she felt a little more human and a little less like someone who'd just been run over.

She gingerly made her way out of bed and into the bathroom before following the scent of eggs and bacon coming from her kitchen.

"Lanie?" She questioned. "Shouldn't you be…at work?"

Her best friend wore a fuchsia-coloured robe and looked regal and refreshed. "I took a vacation day to be your nurse. You owe me one."

"You didn't have to do that." Kate poured herself a cup of fresh brewed coffee and slid onto a bar stool.

"I know." Lanie was cooking up a storm in front of her stove. It made Beckett wonder where she'd gotten all the food from, because it certainly hadn't come from her empty fridge. "But I did, so you're stuck with me. At least for breakfast…" She spun around with a grin. "'Cause after that I have plans."

"Oh yeah…" Beckett reached over to the stovetop and stole a strip of bacon right underneath Lanie's disapproving glare. "What kind of plans?"

"I might tell you if you…" Lanie paused, poured some scrambled eggs onto a plate and then reached for a newspaper that was lying at the far end of the kitchen counter and pointed to an article. "Tell me about this."

The paper was opened to a gossip column, full of soundbites and photos of New York City's rich and famous. Kate hadn't exactly expected to see a photo of herself there. It was the one taken in Philadelphia of her and Castle and Becca, the lady who ran the fan site. Underneath it was the caption: - Richard Castle has always had a reputation for enjoying the finer things in life. Does that now include one of New York's finest?

Lanie set a plate with toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange slices in front of her, before taking a seat on a bar stool next to her. "Well?"

Kate stared at the food in front of her, already losing some of her appetite.

Richard Castle was the last thing she wanted to talk about. "Well, what?"

Lanie was digging in, piling a forkful of egg onto a piece of buttered toast. "Is it true? Are you dating Richard-freaking-Castle? And if you are, why am I finding out about it in a newspaper?"

Beckett winced, wanting to crawl back under her bedcovers. "It's not what it looks like, Lane."

"So you're not dating the guy?" Lanie bit off a piece of bacon. "But you were with him in Philly? Don't you love his books? This is cool, isn't it? Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"It's…complicated."

Lanie sighed and set down her fork, and Beckett saw her confusion changing to something darker. "What's goin' on with you, girl? You know you can talk to me, right?"

Beckett nodded. Guilt nagged at her again. She'd been a lousy friend on top of everything else. Lousy partner. Lousy cop. All-around subpar human being. "I know."

"You don't want to tell me?"

She did, Beckett realized. She'd missed confiding in her best friend. The one person who always set her straight, never sugar-coated anything, and loved her anyway. "Richard Castle's been harassed by a stalker for some time now. His last girlfriend ended up in the hospital after she was poisoned."

Lanie's eyes widened. "Oh…"

"So I was assigned to…protect him and help track down this stalker."

"Aren't you a homicide detective?"

"I know…" Beckett reached for her cup of coffee and then she slowly told Lanie everything.

The PTSD she'd struggled with during and after the sniper case. The drinking. The assault at the bar. Gate's ultimatum and getting assigned to look after Richard Castle. Going to the Hamptons. The Breathalyzer tests. The lack of progress she'd made on the case until she got hit by the car.

"Oh girl…" She hadn't finished yet when Lanie got up and pulled her into a hug. Kate hadn't even noticed that her cheeks were wet. "Come 'ere."

"I'm so sorry, Lane. Sorry I didn't tell you any of it, but I was…angry and ashamed. I couldn't tell anyone. Not Ryan or Espo. Not my Dad."

"Shh…" Lanie held on to her and it felt good. To be honest about everything for a change. "It's okay. Sometimes we gotta focus on putting one foot in front of the other."

"It's not okay," Kate told her, wiping her face with the back of her hand, after Lanie finally let go. "I'm sorry. I've shut out everyone from my life."

"Stop apologizing," Lanie chided her. "Tell me something. What about the drinking? Is it still a problem?"

"Huh?" The question took her by surprise. "I, uh…I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't think so. I haven't been drunk since…" She cringed at the memory. "That night at the cop bar."

"You haven't had any alcohol?"

"I have…a beer or a glass of wine with dinner. But it's not the same, Lane. After that sniper case, it got to me. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't turn it off. I needed something to take the edge off and the liquor, it helped. But the problem's always been my tolerance. The amount I needed…it was too much."

Lanie's intelligent face studied her friend. "You should never have worked that sniper case. I don't know what the hell Gates was thinking."

"No…" Beckett shook her head vehemently and winced when it reminded her of the concussion. "I'm glad I worked that case. If I hadn't been able to put myself in that guy's shoes, we might not have caught him when we did. He might have killed God knows how many more people."

"For what it's worth, I think you used alcohol as a crutch during a crisis. I think you're still dealing with the aftermath of your own shooting and the sniper case brought it all back. If you had drugs lying around your apartment you might've taken those too. If you kept it up, it might've led to a dependency, but you're a long way from being an alcoholic." Lanie sighed. "If it happens again, promise me you won't deal with it alone?"

Beckett took a deep breath. Her friend was starting to sound like Burke. "I won't," she promised, and she meant it.

"So what happens next?"

"There's something else," Beckett told her. This was something she could confide only to her best friend. "I had sex with him."

"Woah, woah…you what?" Lanie set down her food and for a second Beckett thought about holding out her hands in case one of her friend's eyeballs might fall out.

"I know…" she mumbled. "Stupid."

"You slept with Richard Castle?"

Slept wasn't exactly the word that came to mind. There was neither a bed nor any sleep involved. But she didn't tell Lanie that. Instead she told her friend how she'd panicked afterwards, when the lights came back on and the prospect of him seeing her body in all its scarred glory had made her want to crawl into a hole.

Lanie looked like she wanted to hug her again. "Oh girl, I know you'll probably pounce at me for this, but have you considered seeing someone? A therapist?"

"I have been," she confessed. Except she hadn't broached this particular issue with the unflappable Dr. Burke yet. Wasn't sure she ever would.

"That's good," Lanie nodded and started eating again. Told Kate to do the same before it all got cold. So they paused their conversation and ate, and after that Lanie wanted to know more. "So, how'd he react, after you panicked?"

Beckett thought back to the genuine ease with which he'd pulled her back from the ledge.

"He was good about it…really good."

Lanie's lips curved into a smile. "Nice. So, you and him, could it be something more? Something real?"

Beckett raised her brows. "What? No, no."

"Why not?"

"I can't date the guy I was assigned to protect!"

Lanie sighed. "I mean, when it's over. Is there a chance?"

Beckett exhaled and ran an index finger over the rim of her coffee cup. Not after yesterday.

When Lanie got up to pour them both some more coffee, Beckett told her the rest. That part of her plan to nail to stalker was a pretend courtship with Richard Castle.

"It's why you saw that photo in the paper," Beckett explained. "It wasn't an actual date."

"Well, it convinced me," Lanie admitted. "Your plan worked well."

"We definitely drew out the nutter," Beckett mused. The pain still emanating from her shoulder blade was plenty proof of that. "But, no…it didn't work. If it had worked, we'd have someone under arrest by now."

"So you gonna keep up the charade?" Lanie asked. "'Cause it's not like the thought of getting killed on a case ever stopped you."

"You know me so well."

"Damn straight I do. So? Are you gonna keep it up?"

"I want to," Beckett mumbled. "I still think it's our best chance. I just need to be better prepared. Lesson learned."

"Is Gates on board?"

"Think so. She really wants this one. Having a detective from the 12th catch some celebrity stalker has gotta win her some brownie points at One PP. Especially when the person being stalked is buds with the mayor."

"What about Castle?"

"He, uh…" She didn't want to talk about this part. Wanted to slink back into bed and lick her wounds there alone. "He got spooked. He watched me get hit by the car and after he brought me to the hospital, he said he won't do this anymore, because he wasn't comfortable risking my life."

"So he's not heartless, is that so horrible?"

"He's a civilian who's never done this before. I should have made him more aware of the risks…I tried to explain to him that I'm a cop who can handle the risk, that there's a chance of getting hurt on the job but…"

Lanie leaned in closer. "But what…?"

"He started saying this stuff. That I'm some amazing person…" She bit her lip, wishing she could turn back time and somehow change everything that took place in that hospital room, even if she wasn't sure how.

But she'd make it right this time.

"Hey," She must have drifted off because Lanie was trying to catch her attention. "Sounds like he cares about you."

"Maybe he cared about the person he thought I was, the person he was crafting in his head with his writer's imagination."

"What are you talking about?"

"He didn't know, Lanie! He didn't know why I was assigned to him in the first place. I didn't tell him that I left his place every night to go for a Breathalyzer test!" She'd slid off her bar stool now and was about to start pacing, even though movement of any sort was painful. "So, yesterday, at the hospital…I told him."

Lanie's pupils tracked her pacing. "Told him what?"

Beckett told Lanie exactly what she said and now her friend stood up too.

"So lemme get this straight, you told him you're not worth giving a damn about and even if you were, he probably wouldn't because he's too shallow? Are you kidding me? Based on what evidence exactly? 'Cause everything you told me about the guy so far says he isn't. And you've never been a cop that doesn't go by the evidence."

Beckett winced. It sounded even worse when she spelled it out like that.

"You know," Lanie put her hands on her hips. "If you weren't banged up like a post-party pinata right now, I'd shake you."

"Look…" She was still pacing. "I panicked, okay? It's my default reaction lately. When he said he was done with this case, I panicked 'cause it's the only way I can get back in Gates's good graces. I can't have him back off because he suddenly thinks I'm some precious thing that needs protecting. You get that, don't you?"

"Right now?" Lanie's disdain was painted all over her beautiful face. "I get that you're an idiot who owes the guy a massive apology."

"Probably."

"Probably?" Lanie looked like she was reconsidering not harming her physically.

"Okay, not probably. Definitely. Absolutely."

"Where's your phone?" Lanie demanded.

"What?"

"Your phone. Call him." Then her friend had a second thought and fished for her cell phone. "Better yet…call him from mine. That way he won't see your number and he might actually pick up."

Beckett raised a hand in defense and then sank down onto her sofa, wiped out from her two minutes of pacing. She'd forgotten about this part – the tiredness that came after a concussion. It's what had wiped her out the last time she had one a few years ago, after a street fight with a perp. "Stop it."

"You're gonna call him, right?"

"I will," she sighed. She would. She needed, and wanted, to talk to him. It didn't matter if he no longer cared for her, but she needed to set things right and convince him to get back to their charade. The sooner, the better. "But not right now, not with you hovering over me and judging every word."

Lanie pointed a dramatic finger towards her chest. "Me? Judge?"

"The day you stop, I'll be concerned."

Her friend was hovering over her now, with a giant bottle of Tylenol in her hands. "You're lucky you're hurt, or else I'd hurt you."

Beckett closed her eyes shut and groaned. "Didn't you say you have plans?"

"Rude and ungrateful."

Beckett smirked with her eyes closed. Truth was she'd missed her no-nonsense best friend. A lot.

Lanie plunked down a glass of water next to the bottle of pills. "I saw the Advil on your bedside table. You should know better than to take ibuprofen after a concussion. Typical cop. Take these instead when the headaches spike. And stay on the couch while I do the dishes."

Beckett forced open her eyes and eyed the bottle with disdain. "Okay."

"Get lots of rest. No running around. No staring at bright screens. Got it?"

"Jesus, Lane…"

"Good girl," Lanie snickered when she did as she was told and lay down.

"You really don't have to do my dishes…"

"I said, I'm gonna do your dishes, then I'm gonna get out of your hair, and later tonight, Imma come back and check on you and make sure you called the guy. Got it?"

Beckett cringed. "Do I have any say in this?"

"Nope."

"Didn't think so."

"Have a nap. I'll try not to make too much noise when I leave."

She did. Have a nap.

And when she woke up again, two hours had passed and aside from the traffic noise outside, her apartment was eerily quiet.

She pushed herself off the sofa and saw a handwritten note from her friend.

"Get some fresh air. Take the Tylenol when you need it. And FFS call Castle. See you later tonight. – Doctor Parish."

Amusement made her smile. She owed Lanie one. Or two. At least one nice dinner at one of those Manhattan hot-spots that Lanie liked to gush about. The ones where you had to book a table two months in advance.

She got up gingerly and filed it away in her mental to-do list.

One glance towards the kitchen told her that Lanie had done the dishes and cleaned up after their breakfast.

Maybe a nice dinner and a certificate for that chic spa she liked. The one on Madison Ave with the French name.

Slowly rolling her shoulders, Beckett did a quick self-assessment and was mostly pleased with the way she felt. She was definitely still sore, her wrist still pulsated and she had a lingering headache, but already the pain was so much less intense than it had been 24 hours ago.

At this rate, she'd be back to normal in a few days.

Part of her, the pissed-off, angry part, was itching for the stalker to try coming at her again. Just try it. But the rational detective had learned her lesson and had every intention of getting them through solid policing. Preferably without any further injuries to anyone.

She padded into her bedroom barefoot and searched for her phone, frowning when she saw that the battery was down to 6 percent.

She'd planned to call Castle and then the boys, since they hadn't left her any messages updating her about whether or not they'd tracked the car.

She started typing.

Hey…can we talk?

But then she deleted the text before sending it and pressed his number instead. She'd taken the coward's way out too many times recently. No more.

Of course she got his voice mail.

"Hey…it's me, Kate. Look, I'm sorry about what happened at the hospital. Can we talk? Call me. Please."

Then she plugged her phone into the charger and slid out of her clothes, opting for a shower before calling the boys.

Later

"What do you mean, you have nothing?" she asked Ryan incredulously. "There are what, two dozen streetcams within a ten-block radius of Castle's loft!"

"More like one dozen," he corrected her, "And I didn't say we had nothin', I said we had nothin' yet. Did you know that the Honda Civic is the second most popular make of car in the US? And that silver is the most popular colour?"

"So? You're the king of surveillance scrubbing."

"Aren't you on bed rest, or somethin'?"

She made a face that he couldn't see. "I got hit by a car. I'm not pregnant."

"We'll call you as soon as we have something. Espo's on it too, but you know that combing footage takes time. Chill, will ya?"

"Call me, okay?"

"Yes, Mom." And with that he hung up.

The still-wet ends of her hair tickled her back when Beckett checked her phone for the third time for a message or a missed call from Castle.

Still nothing.

She pressed his number once more, but this time she didn't leave a message when she got his voicemail.

"Fine," she growled. She set down her phone and went to get the bottle of Advil that Lanie had tossed into the drawer of her bedside table. At least she didn't throw them out. She poured out two pills and downed them with the rest of the cold coffee from her breakfast mug.

If Castle didn't want to call her back, she'd track him down in person. She was a detective, after all.

She grabbed a t-shirt and jeans and slipped into a pair of ballet flats, choosing comfort over style. But she stopped herself before stepping outside, going back to the bathroom instead and making an effort to put on some makeup. She did it partly to mask a growing bruise on her left temple and partly for other reasons she wasn't ready to admit to herself.

She decided to walk to his loft and felt a chill on her bare arms, in spite of the summer heat, when she reached the entrance.

Before going inside, she turned to face the street where she'd been hit just over 24 hours ago. Stared at it for several long moments, hoping it might bring a revelation that had escaped her at the time. Hoping it might make her brain conjure up the entire license plate number, not just the last letter.

Dozens of cars and pedestrians whizzed by as she stared out into the street, but there was no sudden revelation. Only a whirlwind of noise and activity that increased her headache in the glare of the late afternoon sun.

Giving up, she stepped into the lobby, showed the doorman her badge, and told him she was going up to Castle's loft.

Although she had a key, when she got to the door she knocked, wiping a thin layer of perspiration from her neck.

Martha Rodgers's booming voice echoed from behind the door.

"Coming!"

Castle's mother opened the door in the same fashion she did everything. Dramatically.

"Katherine," Martha smiled and appeared genuinely pleased to see her. "How lovely to see you."

"Mrs. Rodgers."

"Oh please, it's Martha." She gestured to the living room space. "Come on in."

Beckett stepped inside. "Thanks."

"You look lovely, Katherine." Martha lied. She floated across the room, commanding it with a flawless, elegant confidence, as though it were a Broadway stage.

"Thank you." Truth was she felt achingly plain next to Martha's purple pencil skirt and orange silk blouse, expertly accessorized with a pair of oriental earrings and matching necklace. Not a strand of wavy red hair was out of place.

It wasn't normal to look this flawless when receiving an unexpected visitor at home, was it? Surely Castle's mother was heading out soon.

"Do sit down," Martha told her. "Can I get you cold drink now that you've escaped the heat?"

"Yes, please. Water's fine."

"I have some lovely mint and lime lemonade that I made this morning."

"That's perfect. Thank you."

Martha handed Kate a tall glass of her homemade lemonade when she returned.

"How are you, darling?" Martha asked, crossing her slender legs after sitting down next to her. "Richard told me what happened."

"I'm okay. A bit banged up and sore, but it could've been worse." The lemonade was wonderful. Cool and refreshing, with just the right hints of mint and lime. She might've downed the entire glass in one greedy gulp if Martha weren't watching her.

"I'm so glad you're all right."

"Thanks," she set down her glass. "I actually came to see Cas-…Rick. Is he here?"

"He's not."

"Do you know where he is?"

"I don't," Martha told her, and if Beckett hadn't spent nearly a decade interrogating professional liars, she'd have believed her, because her acting skills were superb.

"You sure?" Beckett pressed. "He's not answering my calls or my texts and it's…important." She pushed the one button that any parent would have a hard time resisting. "I'm concerned for his safety."

"Oh…" Martha's red lips made a perfect oval. "I'll…I'll be sure to tell him that he needs to contact you as soon as possible."

Beckett wanted to push a little harder, but Martha had already stood back up and flitted back into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry you came down here for nothing. Especially in your condition, in this heat. Can I get you another glass?"

Beckett got back up. "No, it's okay, Martha. Thank you. This was lovely. Will you please make sure you pass on the message?"

She saw the slightest hint of relief on Martha's face. "Of course, Katherine."

She walked her to the door and once again her smile was warm. "I do hope you won't be a stranger. I think that my son quite enjoys your company."

Enjoyed, Beckett thought, sadly, when she made her way back to the elevator. Past tense.

Even so, she was more determined than ever to track him down now. To at least try and make amends and get them back on track. If only for the sake of closing the case.

After all, she had a few more Gates-ordered sick days before she had to return to the 12th.

A/N: Big shout out to WRTRD, who patiently proof-reads every one of these chapters and without whom (or is it who? - as you can see, she's needed) this story would be full of misplaced and missing commas and typos and all sorts of other grammatical errors. Aside from that, she's also a most wonderful human who brings a lot of joy to my life.