WHEN THERE'S LOVE TO BE HAD
CHAPTER FOUR
EARLY NOVEMBER 2003
He knows she got an early call from dispatch, but still, the disappointment sits heavy in his chest when the elevator doors open and she's not there to greet him. Esposito is, though, and his friend claps him on the shoulder.
"Welcome back, bro."
Rick gives him a crooked smile. "Thanks. It's good to be mobile again. Well," he adds, lifting one of his crutches, "out of the apartment, anyway."
"Uh huh." Espo smirks. "Out of Beckett's apartment, you mean?"
Rick's cheeks burn and he turns towards the break room. "I didn't say that." He hears Espo follow, but he ignores him, heads right for the coffee machine. He already had a cup before leaving Kate's apartment, and the coffee at the precinct is terrible, but he needs something to keep his hands busy aside from just holding his crutches.
Since he's just four weeks removed from his injury, he'll be on desk duty, helping out wherever he can. He'd had the option to take a longer leave, but he wants to be in the precinct, noting and absorbing as much information as he can for when he eventually quits to focus on writing.
Espo's called away after a few minutes of small talk, and Rick takes a few sips of coffee before grimacing and pouring the rest down the sink. Compared to Kate's coffee, this crap tastes like a monkey peed in battery acid.
As the day progresses and Kate doesn't appear, Rick finds himself getting discouraged. He knows that reviewing cell phone records and credit card statements are a vital part of any police investigation, especially homicide, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't rather be on the streets or at his computer, writing.
He's spent the last few weeks making a detailed outline for his potential book, and now, his fingers itch to put scenes on paper. So he keeps his notebook nearby and jots down thoughts as they come.
A few minutes before the end of his shift, as he's getting ready to leave, the elevator doors open, and he glances up just in time to see Royce and Kate step onto the floor.
Royce lifts his arm in greeting, and he leans down to say something to Kate before he heads into the break room.
Kate's face lights up with a grin when her eyes meet his, and Rick feels his heart skip a beat.
"Good to see you in uniform," she says, perching on the edge of the desk.
Rick lifts a brow and smirks in amusement. He doesn't comment, though, not when they could be so easily overheard. His mind wanders to the previous evening, when he'd practiced getting dressed without her help - a more difficult task than he'd anticipated, with his injuries - and she'd immediately undressed him, almost ripping his shirt in her hurry.
"It's good to wear something other than sweats," he teases, watching her cheeks turn an amusing shade of pink.
She enjoys removing his sweats, too.
"You almost off shift?" he asks after a long moment.
Kate pushes herself off the desk and she glances towards the break room. Rick follows her gaze, notices Royce through the window, the older officer talking to someone out of eyesight.
"Um," she finally says after clearing her throat, "Royce and I are going to grab a beer. You're welcome to join, of course," she adds.
Rick tries to ignore the sour churn in his gut. Her invitation feels forced, like an obligation, and he doesn't like it. He shakes his head. "Thanks, but I'm pretty tired. I'm going to head home."
It's not a complete lie, he tells himself as he struggles up the stairs to his own apartment. Sweat pools at the small of his back and he pauses on the second floor landing, gasping for breath.
A month of being almost completely immobile, and still needing to keep his weight off his injured ankle, takes its toll a lot faster than he'd anticipated.
Finally he reaches his door, and he lets himself inside, drops his backpack on the floor before going straight to the couch. He's hungry and he needs to ice his ankle, but he needs to sit for a minute first.
He isn't sure why, but something about Royce doesn't sit well with him. He's a good cop, and Kate looks up to him, has learned a lot from him in a short amount of time. According to what his friend - girlfriend, he corrects himself - has told him, Royce has the instincts of a bloodhound. He could be a successful detective, if he wanted that, but he apparently prefers walking the beat.
Kate had even admitted recently that she's thought about having Royce look at her mom's file.
As far as Rick knows, Kate hasn't touched the case since the night they'd fought a couple weeks before, when he'd announced he would help her with it, and had admitted his feelings for her. She hasn't returned the sentiment, but he's sure she feels the same way. She just doesn't vocalize her feelings with as much ease.
Rick feels his eyelids begin to droop, and although he knows he should find something to eat, he can't bring himself to move. So he shifts to lie down, props his ankle on a pillow, and lets himself fall asleep.
He doesn't notice the blinking light on his answering machine until he wakes an hour later.
The machine announces three new messages, and he narrows his eyes in confusion. He uses his cell phone almost exclusively, and Kate has stopped by his apartment a handful of times while he's been staying with her. She'd checked his messages just a few days before, and he had none.
The first message is a telemarketer, and he erases it.
The second makes his stomach drop, and the third has him rushing to the door as fast as his crutches let him.
When he almost slips on the second stair he forces himself to slow down. Getting injured further wouldn't do him any good, so even though every cell in his body is screaming at him to run, he makes sure to take one step at a time until he's outside.
By some miracle, he finds a cab almost immediately, and the traffic to the emergency room is minimal. As soon as the cab pulls up he almost throws money towards the driver, rushes inside as fast as his crutches will allow. A nurse at the front desk directs him to the second floor, and when he notices that it's not trauma or ICU, he breathes a sigh of relief.
His eyes flick over the room numbers as he searches for room 28, and when he finds it and hears a familiar laugh through the cracked door, he lets himself start to relax.
Jeez, is this how Kate felt when he was in the ER? No wonder she hadn't left his side.
He raps on the door before pushing it open, and his heart skips a beat when Kate's eyes meet his. Her face lights up, and he returns her smile with one of his own.
"Rodgers!" Kate greets him. "What are you doing here?"
"I called him."
Rick bites back his annoyance at the sound of Royce's voice. The older officer is lounging on the window bench, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. He looks way too relaxed for someone whose trainee needed the hospital under his watch.
Rick does allow a subtle nod. "Royce," he greets the other man. "Thanks for the call."
The corner of Royce's mouth quirks and he stands. "No problem." He claps Kate on the shoulder. "Get better, kid."
Rick watches him leave, and once the door is shut, he perches on the recently vacated seat, props his crutches against the wall before turning to examine his girlfriend. She's just watching him, her eyes bright despite the bruise on her cheek and a split lip.
"What the hell happened?" he asks, leaning forward the best he can without putting weight on his ankle. He'd felt it tug when he'd almost fallen down the stairs, and he doesn't want to risk injuring it further. "You guys were going out for a beer, and now you're in a hospital bed while he's walking out the door without a scratch."
Kate shrugs. "We had a couple beers, like we planned," she explains. "Then as we were leaving, some guys started screaming at each other, and next thing I know, Royce and I are trying to break up a fight. I took an elbow to the face, and I would have been fine, but I hit the floor pretty hard."
Rick swears and moves himself to the chair at her side. "Jesus, Kate. Did you black out?"
"No, but I was out of it enough that Royce brought me in to check for a concussion." She presses her hand to the back of her head and winces. "And now I get to stay here overnight."
Rick leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together. "'kay. I'll stay with you."
"You don't have to," Kate starts to argue, shaking her head. She winces at the movement, and Rick just lifts a brow. Her non-bruised cheek flushes. "Thank you."
"Kate."
Her eyes flutter open at Rick's quiet voice, his hand on her forehead. She meets his tender gaze and smiles, arches her back in a lazy stretch. His eyes are dark when they trail down her body, and she smirks, lifts her palm to his cheek.
"Hi," she rasps, her voice rough from sleep.
His fingers trace her hairline to her cheek, and he touches the bruise just below her eye, furrows his brows in concern when she winces in pain.
"You need ice," he grumbles. He reaches for his crutches, but before he can stand, she grabs his wrist.
"It's fine," she insists, giving his arm a light tug. "Join me."
He hesitates. "Your head-"
"I've been home for two days, Rick," she interrupts, propping herself on her elbow. "And you've slept on the couch. That can't be good for your ankle." She brushes her thumb along his jaw. "Plus, I miss you."
She sees the indecision flick across his face, but after a moment he nods, limps around to the other side of the bed. The mattress shifts behind her, and she smiles when his arm encircles her waist. His lips press against the back of her head, avoiding the bruise from where she hit the floor, and she snuggles back into him, nestles her hips against his.
"I was really worried about you," he murmurs, his breath ruffling her hair.
She turns in his arms, wincing when she accidentally bumps her cheek against his nose, but leans back far enough so she can look in his eyes. There's just enough ambient light from the streetlights outside that she can see the concern lining his face, deep creases in his forehead that she tries to soothe away with her fingers.
She traces the shell of his ear, then slides her fingers into his hair, cups the back of his head as she dusts her lips against his. "I'm okay," she mutters. "Just a headache. Nothing that some Tylenol won't fix."
He sighs and wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her into him. "All because you broke up a bar fight." He chuckles, a low, gravelly noise deep in his chest that reverberates through her. "I should've come with you guys."
Kate recognizes the guilt laced through his voice and pinches his earlobe. "No, Rick, don't do that," she says. "If you would've been there too, you would have felt obligated to jump in, and you could've hurt yourself worse." She slides her knee between his, making sure to avoid his injured ankle, and plays with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.
After several long moments Rick nods, and presses his forehead to hers. "You're right," he agrees, sliding his hand up her arm until he cups her elbow. He leans forward and brushes his lips against hers. "Still, I did not enjoy getting a call that you were in the hospital," he admits.
She quirks the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, well," she teases, "now you know how I felt." Rick huffs a sigh, and she frowns, realizes that he's serious. "No more hospitals," she promises.
He pulls her into his chest and rests his chin on the top of her head. "No more hospitals."
Rick is on break a few days later, reading a report for a robbery-turned-homicide, when something catches his eye. It's small, could easily be an innocent mistake that someone tried to rectify. But when he glances at the bottom of the report and sees Royce's messy signature, he narrows his eyes and takes a closer look.
"Hey, Rodgers."
Rick slams the case folder shut at the familiar voice, and his cheeks burn when he meets Royce's gaze. "Hey," he greets the older officer. "How's it going?"
Royce lifts a brow and glances at the file, but he doesn't say anything, just turns to the coffee pot. "It's good, man." He takes a long drink of coffee as he leans back against the counter, staring at Rick. After a long moment he shrugs and pushes himself off the counter. "How's the ankle? The streets miss you."
Rick glances at his ankle. "I miss the streets," he admits.
And he does; he spends every free moment looking through old case files, noting processes and procedures, getting ideas for plot devices. But he misses pounding the pavement, talking to bodega owners and taxi drivers, being surrounded by the sounds of the city. That experience is invaluable.
He glances through the break room door and spots Kate emerging from the ladies room. He smiles when she meets his eyes, but before she reaches the room, Royce notices her and dumps the rest of his coffee in the sink.
"Gotta knock on some more doors," he explains with a shrug. "See you around."
Kate says a few words to Royce, then looks back at Rick and shrugs. He lifts his hand in a wave, then turns his attention back to the file, to the number in the field marked "value of recovered property." It looks suspiciously like it had been altered.
"Still staying with Beckett, huh?" Esposito teases the next day as he walks into the apartment.
Rick glares at his friend's back and shuts the door. "I live in a third-floor walk-up, smartass," he says, following Espo inside. "You try navigating three flights of stairs twice a day in crutches."
Espo shrugs. "Plenty of people do it," he points out, turning towards the kitchen. "Can I have a beer?"
"Sure. Grab me one too?"
Espo opens both bottles and follows Rick to the couch. "Hey, whatever, man. Like I told Beckett, it's no skin off my back if you two are together. Unless you sacrifice me to save each other," he adds with a smirk, dropping to the couch. "I'm glad for you."
Rick can't help but grin. As much shit as they give each other, Espo's a good friend to both him and Kate. He'd guessed weeks ago that they were a couple, and has kept his promise to keep it to himself.
"So," Espo continues, "what's up? You were so cryptic earlier." He waves his hand over the open file on the coffee table. "You looking into old cases?"
Rick takes a swig from his beer and grabs the report he'd been studying. "I've been doing research for my book; so, looking through old cases and stuff in my free time," he explains. "I was looking at this robbery-homicide from the late nineties, before either of us were on the force, and I noticed this." He points, and Espo leans forward to get a closer look.
"That's the value of the recovered property," he continues. "According to the report, the victim lost cash and valuables, both recovered when they apprehended the suspect."
Espo glances over the report. "Seems pretty cut-and-dry," he comments. "I don't see what-oh," he interrupts himself, looking closer at the report. He sets it down and glances up at Rick. "It was changed."
Rick nods, his excitement growing now that his friend has seen the same thing. "Exactly. The amount of cash stolen was one hundred thousand dollars." He reaches for the written report, points at the stated amount recovered. "It says the full amount was recovered, but that last zero looks like it was added after."
"You're right," Espo agrees. "Like they had to fit it into the space."
"Like they originally wrote ten thousand." Rick rests his elbows on his knees. "That's a potential ninety thousand dollar discrepancy," he points out. "It could've been an honest mistake, but…" His voice trails off, and he studies Espo's face, can almost see the wheels turning.
"Who signed it?"
"Royce."
Espo turns a knowing look towards his friend. "The same Royce who's spending all his time with your girlfriend?"
Annoyance prickles at the back of Rick's neck at Espo's tone.
"It's not like that," he insists.
"Isn't it?" Espo lifts a brow. "You're stuck behind a desk. Beckett's partnered up with her former TO. They go out for a beer after shift, hell, they even broke up a bar fight together." He shrugs. "She wants to be a Homicide detective. He's taken her under his wing, teaching her everything he can about the job."
"I'm not fucking jealous."
Espo holds his arms out. "I'm not saying you are. But you're working in the same precinct, sometimes the same shift, and you hardly see each other because she's out with him. She's out there learning the job, and you're behind a desk."
Rick opens his mouth to respond, but a scathing retort dies on his tongue. While Espo's not completely right, he's also not wrong. He is a bit jealous that Kate gets to be on the streets. But that's not why he's suspicious of the discrepancy he found; no, if Royce really did commit a crime, he needs to be punished for it.
"Ask him about it," Espo suggests, setting the report back down on the table. "Before you start throwing stones, give him a chance to explain."
Rick sighs and leans back against the couch cushions. Logically, he knows that's the right move. But he can't shake the growing suspicion that Royce would come up with some believable excuse.
A paperwork discrepancy isn't enough to escalate, though. So Rick just tucks it in the back of his mind and ignores the nagging feeling that he might be onto something.
