Disclaimer: The wording is mine but the characters aren't
Collaboration
NB: Thanks for the reviews so far.
I'm nowhere near as good as Richard Castle, so bear with his chapter included here.
OOOO
"Shut the front door! That's not fair."
"You snooze you loose, Castle."
"That was uncalled for," he protested and she felt herself breathing easier at his light tone.
"Okay, well I better go and start prepping."
"I'll be in tomorrow for sure," he assured her. "I want to hear all the details."
"I think that could be arranged."
OOOO
"So have you found the snake?"
She rolled her eyes at his transparent attempt at nonchalance. "Actually, we did."
"We found the little guy buried under one of the pot plants on the balcony." Ryan supplied.
"That was its lair?" They like to burrow, he recalled.
"No. It was stolen remember?"
"Oh, right," he paused. "You didn't bring it in as evidence did you?"
He meant it as a joke but when her small smile didn't falter he shot uncertain looks at the boys. They had evil grins on their faces.
"You're kidding," he looked between the detectives and the boys both just shook their heads.
"Really? Beckett, that thing killed someone."
"Which is why we have it in evidence."
"But you know, it's locked away securely, right? In a nice thick tank somewhere."
"It's in a plastic bag," Ryan assured him with a pat on his shoulder.
"A plastic bag? So you're trying to suffocate it?"
They all just shook their heads at his reaction.
"What?" his eyes bounced around their semi-circle.
"Castle, it's dead." Beckett told him firmly.
"Dead," he repeated.
"I think you can work that part out for yourself."
"But how?" he looked to Ryan and Esposito for information
"When our perp was done with it, he bashed it over the head and buried it under his mother's pansies." Esposito supplied.
Castle let out a whistling breath. "And you couldn't have led with that?"
"We're sorry, bro," he shrugged. "We didn't think a little snake would bother you."
"It doesn't!"
Beckett raised both eyebrows and he looked down at the desk.
"Much," he amended.
Ryan and Esposito gave each other a high five and drifted back towards their desks, still chuckling. He looked over at his partner, expecting her to have a similar look on her face, but she was looking at the bag he had deposited in his chair.
From the anxious look on her face, she knew what it was.
He had given her space for a week, thinking perhaps she just needed some time. Sometimes when he wrote about something too close, he needed some time to re-distance himself. He waited for a week for her to bring it up by herself, but she never did.
He had considered not bringing up their new partnership again, but his selfishness had won over. He liked writing with her. She pushed him further every time and he could honestly say that he hadn't enjoyed writing this much since his first attempts at creative writing back at school. Even his first novels when everything was still fresh, he was too concerned about getting published to let go and enjoy the writing the way he had the last three weeks until Kate had stopped.
That and he had to tell her how proud he was of the last scene she had written.
He had never seen anything like it- he knew because he had tried.
She had the courage to write what he didn't.
"My laptop," he offered unnecessarily.
She gave him a weak smile and sat down. He could see her preparing herself to avoid the moment with work, so he headed her off.
"Actually, yesterday I was doing some writing with that program and was hoping you'd be able to have a look for me and offer your opinion."
"I'm sure it's fine, Castle."
"I don't want it to just be fine."
She looked up, desperate and clearly hoping he wouldn't push it. "I don't think I can help you Castle."
"Just read it for me. That's all I ask."
He set it up in the conference room, closing the doors and letting the blinds down, but not shutting them. He knew this was hardly an encouraging sight but he wanted her to have some privacy.
When he had finished his preparations, he woke his computer up and quickly re-read the chapter he had written for her.
He didn't look up at the sound of her heels or even when he heard the door click behind her. When he felt her heat settle just off his shoulder, he stood up leaving the seat free for her and moved to look through the spaces in the blinds at the bullpen. The last thing she needed was the pressure of his observation.
Would she see the seeds of her own work in it? As much as he had wanted to use her chapter and leave it pristine, it was too personal to be public, and it wasn't Rook's story to tell.
It had taken him a long time to find ways to incorporate it though. Kate and Rook may have been shot, but it figured that he wasn't alone in his pain either. There was no way Nikki would be perfectly fine with her partner in the line of fire again. He sure as hell wasn't.
Maybe if Kate read this, she would understand, that she wasn't the only one whose adrenaline levels spiked at a reflected flash of light. The sound of gunshots which should be everyday, had her sweating and breathing around a weight on her chest.
Because he did too.
No one was superhuman. She wasn't weak.
That she even had the courage to write what she had was amazing. He felt he owed it to her to write the scene and be as truthful as she had. He had watched her get shot and he sure as hell wasn't okay with it. It made sense Nikki would be in the same boat, especially when Rook had taken that bullet in her place.
He wanted to acknowledge their shared experience but he also wanted to keep her safe, especially from herself when she was so demanding.
Even flawed, especially flawed she was…every writer's dream.
OOOOOOO
This was not the most dangerous situation she had been in. Not even the most dangerous this week if you were simply to compare the statistics. Two, well one and a half if she allowed for Rook in the equation, against a single opponent.
But despite these sunny seeming odds, the panic- the terror running through her now had no parallel. Not even in rookie standoffs had she been this terrified.
She was experienced; she could keep herself alive long enough for help to arrive with any luck. But Rook was in the room somewhere, undefended and incapacitated with stress and panic.
She couldn't lose him. The thought made her stomach twist and her heart rate kicked up further. She couldn't watch him die on her again.
Another statistic to add to the growing panic in her own mind: there was a trained killer in the room. She didn't know where. If that wasn't bad enough she couldn't even bluster or force him into revealing his position and give her a target. Their camera-shy suspect knew better than that.
She wished now that she hadn't picked up Rook's ridiculous nick-name for their man for hire- not that they had manage to glean his true identity. What kind of name was Camera-shy for a professional hitman? A smart one at that. He never got caught by surveillance and he didn't expend any unnecessary energy. There was no long winded monologue. No back and forth. Nothing. She couldn't hear a single sound in the room, not even her own breathing.
She didn't know where Mr. C.S was and she didn't know where Rook was.
She knew it was the latter of the two that had her jumping half out of her skin because there was a very real chance that she would shoot at the next person she saw move and it might be him. He had been breathing when she last saw him, right before she opened the door on this new threat. But now, crouched behind the sofa where she had left him, she was alone.
Camera-shy would be on the move, hunting them like the proverbial sitting duck. She couldn't stay here: the worn fabric covering of her couch would offer no resistance to the bullets she knew were coming. Taking a quick survey of her living room and kitchen she tried to map the ways Rook could have moved without too much danger. The most secure, though not the closest was the island in the kitchen, allowing both escape and shelter. She hoped that's where Rook had maneuvered himself to.
Strategically, that would give her a breather but she knew their assailant would be counting on it. He would be waiting for her to expose herself and break for the dubious safety of the kitchen.
But predictable or not, there was little shelter anywhere else and she wasn't sure how much longer their silent stalker was going to be content playing cat and mouse.
She made another mental survey of the room, cursing her decision not to get carpet laid when she had moved in. Not only was it cold in winter and hard under her back when she and Rook loved, it made any footfall echo in the brick apartment. Sliding was slow and would have her jeans scraping noisily. She could only find comfort in knowing it went both ways. Camera-shy had been in heavy boots when he slipped a foot between the door she tried to slam on him and the frame. Maybe he had taken them off.
If only she knew where the hell they were.
She couldn't believe Rook was still moving. It was too quiet. God, he was a sitting duck. She almost gagged on the image of Camera-shy finding Rook. He would not hesitate to kill him.
Rook would be faced with another gun.
A flash reflected off her wine chiller; the glass refracting the light above as the door opened and closed.
That had to be Rook surely. The other man in the apartment would never give away his position.
Which meant that somehow Rook was still holding it together. Probably more than half insane with panic, but he was still moving to defend himself. She had to hope that was the case and their man wasn't trying to lure her out.
She decided it was worth the risk. He was worth the risk.
Because despite the loathing and shame Rook felt when he fell to pieces, he had guts. And she wasn't going to let anything happen to him again.
She tensed herself for the dash between her tenuous shelter and the kitchen island. She had to do it now while none of the other occupants thought she would make her move. Her instincts told her to plan first, wait for evidence. The aim was to get there safely.
Predictable. Too predictable.
When her opponent knew her playbook, predictable was a polite way of saying dead.
Without further thought she squeezed off two rounds into the dividing partition she suspected was covering Camera-shy and ran for the kitchen island. It would be a dead give-away, but at least when he went to shoot, she would learn his location.
She didn't bother keeping her body low as training had drilled into her head, an act which proved wise as a bullet nicked the front of her thigh- exactly where her head would have been had she followed protocol. She didn't give him a chance to correct his aim before she slid across the hard-wood floors to collide with Rook.
He was pale and his forehead was beaded with sweat, his eyes wide and stunned but he held her large carving knife in one hand and a bottle of champagne that he had bought in the other.
She didn't even have time to express her relief that he was unharmed and functioning before the apartment exploded under open fire. Her earlier shots had alerted the neighbors and now both parties knew each other's locations.
It made sense that Camera-shy no longer felt any need for caution, and unlike her, she doubted he had any need to conserve ammunition.
The crash and tinkle of glass over their heads never failed to make her flinch. She hadn't been steady around gunfire since Rook's accident. He was plastered against her side, hunched in on himself and she felt herself rocked as his gasping breaths pushed and pulled against her.
"Behind the wall," she whispered.
If she poked her nose around to shoot he would blow it off her face.
Rook nodded, and handed her the knife. She felt her face contort in confusion.
"Parascope." He breathed unsteadily. His eyes communicated what he couldn't: trust me.
They were running out of time and he was so determined she held it in front of her, angling it until she could see herself; maneuvering it until she had a fair chance of a visual before it was shot out of her hand.
Beside her, Rook was fiddling loudly with the bottle, his hands shaking so badly she had to assume he was attempting to peel back the foil and open it. She considered warning him against the noise, something she didn't think she would have to tell someone who had used stealth to save his life so many times.
But she figured their positions were already blown. If he needed a drink to cope? Let the man drink.
Though she wasn't sure how he was going to find the breath to drink when he was minutes away from hyperventilating.
Ten seconds had passed since the last bullet had passed and she knew C.S was moving. Before he had a chance to hide she extended the blade around the side of the bench like a side-mirror on her car and caught a sliver of clothing before it ducked in behind the couch.
He couldn't afford to wait much longer and was advancing.
"The couch," she tried to sound calm for him despite her following statement. "I don't have a shot."
However, he just nodded and scooted away from her, looking sick. She looked at him in worried askance but he just started to shake the bottle.
"Be ready."
"Rook," what the hell was he thinking? Not knowing sent her heart rate up another level. Please God, she couldn't lose any one else.
"No, you've got this. I shoot, he'll shoot. He'll be exposed."
How he even got one word out at a time was beyond her because she couldn't even comprehend letting him walk into the path of another bullet. Couldn't even force out a simple 'no' when she was thinking more along the lines of 'don't you dare!'.
But damn him, he just gave her hand a squeeze and was already inching just back from the opposite edge of the island.
She watched his muscles tense, gearing to spring. His still bare feet gripped at the flooring and she brought her gun up.
He didn't look back as he threw himself around and into view and she lurched around the other side just as she heard the cork's pop exploding across the room.
He stood, covered in champagne and she watched him stare straight at the man who had snaked out to return fire at his easy target.
She had never seen anyone so stupid or so damn impressive as Rook in that second before her bullet tore through the trigger hand of Mr. C.S.
With disturbing speed C.S went to retrieve his weapon with his uninjured hand but Rook was already closing in on him. Rook's first swipe of the bottle was easily deflected, but Rook used the momentum of the block to add force to his leg and kick his one-handed opponent in the stomach before he could recover his guard. With an audible wheeze, C.S doubled at the waist and Rook brought the bottle firmly down on his head, ensuring he collapsed the rest of the way to the floor.
Heat kept her weapon trained on him for safety and Rook shakily grabbed at the small handgun he had dropped. She waited to cuff C.S until Rook took over her vigil, aiming the appropriated piece back at its owner.
"Nice shooting," he said between rapid, hitching breaths.
She just shook her head and reached for her phone, not sure what would come out of her mouth if she opened it now.
She permitted herself a long exhale while she hit speed dial.
"Hey, Och. Yeah, I'm going to need a bus and a unit back at my place. We found Camera-shy. Well actually, I'd say he found us."
"Nik. You should make that two buses," Rook looked pointedly at her leg.
She didn't even bother to debate that one. "Make that two unless you can pick up Lauren on your way."
"You okay, boss?"
"I'm fine. I just need a patch up job. And put in an APB on Boxwell, you should find him in the cemetery with a shovel."
"Do I want to know?"
"Let's just say Rook decided to let Boxwell do some of the digging for a change."
She didn't bother to hide her exasperated pride as she looked over to Rook who was still minding the sprawled out form on her living room floor.
He was okay, the very simple truth was almost enough to make her laugh in sheer relief. It wasn't blood dampening his shirt. It was champagne. His chest wasn't heaving in an effort to breathe, it was in relief. He was catching his breath and the blood on her hands was her own.
"You got it. ETA fifteen."
"Thanks," she kept her eyes on Rook, still shaking a little both with how close she had come to losing him, but more with admiration.
"That was the best, worst feint I have ever seen," she told him when she replaced her phone in her pocket.
He returned with her favorite cheeky grin.
Yeah. They were good.
OOOO
He heard the laptop close and turned to face her, keeping his sweaty palms tight against his thighs in his pocket.
He hoped they were good.
Her expression was unreadable and she seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact, keeping her focus on a spot just above the laptop as she processed.
After a minute she scooted the chair back and walked past him for the door. The still guarded look on her face caused his throat to constrict slightly and had him silent as she brushed close by him.
"I found two typos, Castle."
"What?" he startled, automatically moving for the laptop. "Where?"
He lifted his head but she was already gone. On reflex he carefully rechecked the scene and then he checked it again.
He didn't see any typos.
Would really appreciate reviews on this one.
Last chapter coming soon.