Disclaimer: This story is very silly.

IV.

Murderers, to Castle's private annoyance, did not schedule around severe weather. Granted, the thunderstorm had popped up quickly—seemingly out of nowhere, in fact—so he didn't really expect anyone to have planned for it. He certainly hadn't—neither had Beckett, and as a result, they were both soaked to the skin. But trying to chase down a murderer on foot when rain was bucketing down from the sky was a miserable job, and it was easier to blame the murderer than Mother Nature.

Easier for him, anyway. Beckett was plastered to the brick work beside him in the dubious cover of a doorway, and from what he could hear over the cracks of thunder and hiss of rain, she was railing at the storm in a manner that would have made King Lear blush.

"—is is bullshi—" he heard her say before a crash of thunder drowned her out. "—in my city! Go back to Oklahoma or Kans—" a gust of wind tore down the street, snatching her words away, "—murderers to catch, you goddamn—" an empty trashcan bounced noisily past their alcove, "—in New York; we have street walkers who blow harder than—" another crack of thunder split the sky.

"Are you trying to scare it off, or make it worse?" Castle asked, exasperated and more than a little bit taken aback.

"Shut up, Castle!" He heard that one loud and clear.

The rain intensified, hitting the pavement with enough force to create a six-inch haze over the ground. Castle began to wonder just how long they were going to be stuck in the doorway. They'd cornered their quarry, but he was armed, and with their visibility limited by the storm, there wasn't much they could do but stay put and make sure the guy didn't sneak past them. It wasn't Castle's favorite plan ever, but it sat even worse with Beckett. He could practically hear her teeth grinding over the storm.

"That's it," she snapped, stepping out of the doorway with her gun at the ready and turning towards the far end of the alley, where the murderer was crouched behind some dustbins. Lightning flashed overhead, followed almost immediately by a deafening crack of thunder. Beckett didn't even flinch. "Come out, you sonofa—" she started to shout, but something made her pause. Castle poked his head out of the doorway and followed her gaze.

Oh, god. "Beckett…"

Jaw set, Beckett raised her weapon, aiming it at the swirling vortex that was bearing down on them.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

"Beckett, that's a tornado," Castle shouted as a building a block away was stripped of some roofing material. "You can't just shoot it!" Giving no indication that she'd heard him, Beckett continued to fire at the sky.

Castle waffled, torn between wanting to grab her and pull her back to the relative safety of the alcove and not wanting to touch her while she was actively—and repeatedly—discharging her weapon. Concern for her safety won out over concern for his own, and he reached out, grabbed her arm, and hauled her back into the doorway.

"Hey!" she protested, glaring at him. "Don't grab me when I'm shooting at something!"

"Don't stand out in the open when there's a tornado approaching!" Castle shot back, pushing her against the door and planting his body between her and the alleyway behind them.

"I would have been fine," she said insistently. Moments later, a sizeable tree branch hit the pavement where she had been standing. Castle raised his eyebrows at her, and Beckett shook her head. "Don't even start, Castle."

The wind picked up, and further talk became impossible. It was all Castle could do to stand his ground as the wind tore at him. He braced himself against the walls of the alcove as his ears popped. Then, to his great surprise, Beckett closed the short distance between them and wrapped an arm around him, her head tucked over his shoulder. He didn't have time to do more than blink in astonishment before her motive became clear.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Castle winced as Beckett fired away from beneath his arm.

A minute later, it was over. Beckett had emptied her clip, and the storm had died down considerably. It was still raining, but compared to the earlier deluge, it was a gentle shower.

Beckett stepped back, all but peeling herself off of him—they were both so thoroughly soaked that their clothing stuck together. "Okay, Castle?" she asked as she reloaded her weapon.

"Yeah," he said, shaking out his arms. "You?"

"Fine." She glanced up at him. "Thanks."

"Anytime," he replied dryly as she ducked back out into the alleyway. After a moment, she gave the all-clear, and Castle emerged from the doorway to see that the storm had conveniently put their killer out of commission for them. He was out cold, sprawled on the pavement next to a tell-tale branch.

"Look at that," Beckett said, sounding impressed in spite of herself. "Storms can be helpful."

"Yeah," Castle agreed, wiping his dripping hair out of his eyes. "You should really be nicer to them."

Author's Note: The tornado in this fic was on the weak end of the scale, something like a strong F0 or a weak F1, and I imagine it passed a block or so away from them and not directly overhead. In the event of a REAL tornado, a doorway would not cut it. Get indoors. This has been a public service announcement from The Noble Platypus.