Authors Note: So, I just started this last night and I'm already three chapters in. I'll be honest and tell you that I don't know how many this will take, just that its going to encompass the length of the episode and the idea I have in my head. A warning that this chapter includes an injury and mention of blood, but its nothing graphic.

Obviously, spoilers for 6X09 'Disciple' included - including the return of a recurring character. No idea if the character will physically be on the show, but (s)he is in the story.

In hindsight, delivery had probably been the better option.

He had left the loft with a certain amount of guilt, an anxious ball of worry and anxiety clawing in his stomach at the idea of leaving Kate alone.

But Castle hadn't wanted to wake her, well aware that sleep had been increasingly hard to come by in the aftermath of the crime scene and the body that hadn't, miraculously, belonged to Lanie.

If he'd been the guessing sort, it was likely that the only reason she'd even slept was that her body couldn't run any longer without it.

Kate hadn't been the only one with nightmares, though. He'd lost count of the times that his mind had conjured visions of her, or Alexis, or his mother or both Ryan and Esposito in the same position as Lanie.

And, sometimes, he hadn't even been asleep. On cases like this one, his overactive imagination was truly a curse and his worst fears displayed almost constantly on a loop.

He'd only left the loft because the walls had felt as if they were closing in, his mind needed a dose of fresh (as it ever got in Manhattan) air and the short three block walk providing a chance to clear his head.

So Castle had left a note, mentally promising a quick return. In fact, it was likely that Kate would never even know he'd stepped out.

But that'd been 40 minutes ago, as the late dinner crowd had invaded the Chinese restaurant they so often ordered from. The owner, Mr. Chung, had apologized profusely for the uncharacteristically long wait, waiving the cost of the meal though he had still tucked the money, plus a generous tip, into the jar in front of the register on his exit.

There were two more stops on the way home, pausing at a newsstand for a magazine - bridal, because he wanted something for Kate to smile about - and latest edition of The New Yorker, and into the bodega that sat opposite for a few basic supplies.

It would bother him later, how he was standing in the aisle trying to choose a cereal while Kate crept through his loft with her gun drawn. That he'd been so involved in something so mundane while his fiancé had been terrified for his own safety.

But life has a way of sneaking up on you, the danger remaining hidden in the shadows until it is ready to pounce - until it takes all of your careful plans and tosses them aside.

Because while he, Richard Castle, was buying milk, Kate Beckett was fighting for her life.

He had jumped before she could think of an attack plan, crossing the room in four quick strides with the glint of a knife catching from the flicker of lights outside the window.

She moved instinctively, placing the desk between herself and the attacker, skidding around the far edge to pick up the magnifying glass and its metal stand from the edge of the desk for something to defend herself with.

"What do you want, Tyson," Kate asked, wielding the piece in front of her body as he advanced and she backtracked towards the open door. She was studiously ignoring the fact that he was supposed to be dead, that Castle's belief of his continued existence on Earth had been correct. Not because she didn't believe it - he was standing right in front of her, and it was impossible to deny - but because her mind couldn't process it.

He had a knife. He had threatened to kill her before. He had likely killed the woman whom had her face altered into Lanie's.

"Nothing in particular," was the slow answer, the same smug smile on his face as he twisted the knife back and forth in his hand, "Just sending your boyfriend a message. He and I have some unfinished business."

And then he lunged, Kate kicking out her leg to jab him in the ribs as she hurled the metal stand against Tyson's shoulder. It was enough to send him to his knees, a groan of pain coming out of his mouth as she backed away, intent on getting through the front door before calling for help.

It was the broad chest of another body that stopped her, her back connecting against muscle and bone before her feet left the ground, and Kate had the brief sensation of her body floating on air.

It lasted seconds, her breath escaping her body in a whoosh - every millimeter of air expelled from her lungs as her back smacked against the polished wood.

"Probably should have warned you, I didn't come alone," Tyson's voice called as she fought to simultaneously suck air into her lungs and focus her vision on the face looming over her.

The prick of the needle against her neck was quick, so light of a touch that she almost could have imagined it, but the effect was immediate. Her body began to still, drowsiness began to set in, and her vision began to cloud, aided by the drug rather than the shock of her body against the floor.

She could feel a body, the same body, next to her, sense the satisfaction of a job well done and she wanted to scream - to kick and bite and slap and fight. Like hell she was going down like this, she'd survived a sniper, a bomb, drowning, almost freezing to death.

Kate wasn't going to die at the hands of Jerry Tyson and whoever he'd recruited as his accomplice.

But she was aware that her body was no longer under her control, the drug seeping into her bloodstream rendering her useless even as her mind raged.

She choked on a name - the syllables of 'Castle' no use at the soft whisper she'd managed, though the chuckle told her that at least one of her attackers had heard.

"Move aside," Tyson barked, taking up rank beside her as she continued to struggle against the effects of the needle. Drugged as she was, Kate didn't feel the strike of the knife handle against her head, or the stickiness of the blood as it dug into her arm. The stain spreading against the edge of the white rug also went unnoticed, though she could guess its intention.

They wanted Castle to know.

Was she crying? It was hard to tell as her body continued its slow drag into the drug induced fog. It felt like she should be, her throat clogged up as Tyson waved her phone over her body with another grin.

The click of several photos being taken accompanied her into unconsciousness.