So it's that time of year. Yesterday marked the starting point of the week from hell, commonly known as finals week. From now until Monday, I'll pretty much be in panic mode, but writing this was a good way to take my mind off exams for a time. Posted a little late tonight, but better late than never? Thank you for reading and responding so kindly. And thanks to Suzanne for putting up with me. On with the story.
Beckett shuts the door behind Montgomery's retreating form and breathes a heavy sigh. She's still not welcome back at the precinct, and a protective detail? That's even worse, now that she has...him to worry about.
Speaking of, she checks through the peephole to make sure the coast is really clear before walking to her hall closet and opening the door. Inside, Richard Castle sits knees-to-chest, hands bound to his feet with rope - cuffs would have jingled every time he so much as flinched - and a strip of duct tape across his mouth. She bends over and rips it off.
"Yeow! Jesus, Beckett. Warn a guy." The skin around his mouth is red and raw, and it would be comical if they didn't have to hurry.
"Okay, listen, we gotta go." She pulls out her Swiss Army knife and begins sawing through the rope. "I know you want to ask a lot of questions right now, but I just don't have time for that. As we speak, my captain is calling together a protective detail for me, and you know what'll happen then?"
"They'll find me," the vigilante rasps, tongue protruding to moisten his dry lips. "You got any chapstick?"
"More importantly, they'll find me harboring you. Just let me think for a second. We could...I can take you…" If she kicks him out, who knows where he'll show up next. At the precinct? She can only imagine. Her father's cabin is too personal. A hotel, too risky. And they can't very well take her Crown Vic. It would be too easy to track. God, this is impossible.
"We can go to my place."
She raises an eyebrow. "Your place?"
"Okay, I'm borrowing it. Doesn't change the fact that it's safe and currently unoccupied. No one will be the wiser."
"Are you forgetting that my team found your last little hideout?"
He crosses his arms, now released from their bindings. "Beckett, no one finds me unless I want to be found, understand?"
It takes her back to that night months ago, when she caught him sneaking out of the safe at that old, abandoned office building. Did he want to be found then? "Fine. Let's get going."
"Wait," Castle requests, standing. "Wait just a minute." He runs back over to the dining table to grab his bag and then falters. "Can I, uh, use your facilities?"
She points down the hall, and he moves past her quickly, entering the bathroom and shutting the door. Unbelievable. It's like she's living in the strangest nightmare ever.
When he comes back out, she accidentally starts to laugh, but it's just so ridiculous. He's wearing a fake moustache, beanie, and glasses. Not to mention the chunky headphones hanging around his neck, really bringing the whole middle-aged hipster look together.
"You look-" She coughs, trying to cover up the laughter. "You might as well just wear a ski mask. Would probably draw less attention."
"Hey, it works. Have you seen the people in this city? I blend in."
"Well, I was thinking you could just wear this." Kate reaches into the closet to pull out her spare helmet. "Can't take my car, and unless your place is within a few blocks, it's too dangerous to walk together."
"You have a motorcycle?" he asks, jaw slack.
She reconsiders. "On second thought, you could just tell me where it is, and we could meet there."
"No, no way." He smiles, and it's the least menacing she's ever seen him. "I want to ride your bike. Let's get out of here."
Beckett checks quickly to make sure he's not carrying any weapons, and they leave her apartment, no protective detail in sight. Soon, they're racing through the streets to Castle's safe house, wind whipping her hair into his face. All the while, she tries to ignore the warmth of his palms pressed against her waist.
She takes precautions and parks the bike in a garage four blocks from their destination, and they walk the rest of the way.
My place turns out to be another foreclosed apartment, this time in Chelsea. She takes out her gun and clears the place. It's small, probably belonged to a struggling artist judging from the paint splatters on the walls. Some of the former tenant's furniture remains, couches draped with white sheets. His desk is situated in the corner of the living area, papers strewn haphazardly across its surface.
"I could probably use a bigger space to work, but I take what I can find," he acknowledges, as if reading her thoughts.
"How resourceful," she drawls. But it's reminiscent of her desk at the precinct when she takes on a particularly difficult case. Purposeful clutter, collected chaos.
He ignores the barb. "Can I get you anything? Water? Granola bar?"
"I think I'll pass."
"Suit yourself." Castle reaches into his bag and pulls out his laptop. He considers the desk before dragging the sheet off the couch with a flourish, then sits and pats the space beside him. "This way, we can both look."
She sits as far away on the couch from him as she can while still being able to see the computer screen. She rattles off the address of her mother's murder, knows it by heart, and he types it quickly into Google.
"It's no use, Castle. Without those police reports, we won't know the full story. I'll make a call and have my boys snoop around later."
"I've done a lot more with less."
"When your mother died," she affirms. "She must have...meant a lot to you."
He looks down and sighs.
"She was flighty. You know, actresses. She partied hard. At a young age, I was trained to make her Bloody Mary's at breakfast for the hangover. She took me to theater rehearsals sometimes, and the cast and crew were...let's just say colorful people. It certainly wasn't the most stable upbringing, but she was young. She did the best she could." He looks at her as if to challenge her to disagree. "She was the one good thing I had."
"I understand," Kate says. Her own mother was her rock, the most important person in her life. If she'd found the bastard who took her away back then? She doesn't want to think about it.
"No, you don't," he growls. "You had a loving father and friends, I'm sure. I had no one. I had nothing. Because of Hunt's job, we were constantly moving back and forth between DC and New York. I changed schools so many times, and if it wasn't for that man's threats, I probably would've been kicked out of them all. I didn't have the luxury of friendship."
"You had words," she whispers, and he flinches.
"What did you say?"
"You had your words. I talked to Damien Westlake."
"Why the hell would you-"
"I was building a profile. You worked for the school magazine with him. He told me you had real potential."
"Damian Westlake is a liar," he spits, and she's taken aback. "A liar who deserves nothing."
"Castle, what are you talking about?"
"He hired someone to kill his father. Couldn't even do it himself, the cowardly bastard. And for what? Because he was going to be cut off. His father wouldn't give him more money. Never got caught while I-"
"While you were doing the same thing."
"Hardly," he snaps. "My father was a murderer. He got what was coming to him. My intents were pure."
"Well, you know how the saying goes," she tells him softly. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."
He doesn't have an answer for that.
"I interviewed your friend Kyra too. She said you were working on a novel."
"Kyra Blaine," he murmurs wistfully. "How is she?" Kate sees something in his eyes. Something like affection. A tentative, boyhood crush reemerging.
"It's Kyra Blaine-Murphy now. Married with a baby on the way. She seemed happy."
He nods, letting that information sink in. "Good, good. I'm glad nothing ever...I would have ruined her. I'm glad I didn't."
This is the strangest conversation she's ever had. Sometimes she almost forgets that the man sitting in front of her is a cold-blooded murderer, and that terrifies her. She can't start to sympathize with him. She can't build any sort of friendship with him. It goes against everything she believes in.
"When this is over, Castle, I'm taking you down," she says, looking him straight in the eye. "Don't forget it."
"You'll have to catch me first." He smirks. "For now, I think I'll go take a shower. Keep searching, and get your boys on the files. My burner phone is on the desk."
He picks himself up from the ground and walks into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
Kate leans back against the dusty couch. This is a mess. Not only could she lose her badge over something so stupid, but she could go to jail for a very, very long time as an accessory to murder. Shit.
But she could sit here worrying and wasting time or do what she came here for, find the man behind her mother's murder once and for all.
Thank you again for reading. Leave your questions and comments below!