a/n: been a while. here ya go...

The phone rang five hours after he was shot. She was supposed to go back to the warehouse. The voice said just her and no one was supposed to know. It was about his safety. That was enough to convince her.

Right when she pulled up in her cruiser, turned off the motor, and unlocked her car to get out, the door was blocked by a body. When she moved her head to inspect the oppressive person, the barrel of a gun met her vision. Her gut sank.

"Stay in the car." Beckett folded herself back in the seat as the man moved around the front and entered the passenger side. The ball cap over the man's face cause the lights to cast a convenient shadow over his eyes. 'God, the clichés were endless tonight.'

"Hello, Detective Beckett. Been watching you for a bit. Sorry about your boy tonight. It's a shame when those things happen." The voice had a gruff tone to it. Menacing with a smirk hidden in the shadows.

"Who are you?" Beckett tries in vain to see in the dark cab of her car who this could possibly be, if she's even heard that voice before. "What do you want?"

"If you want your writer to live, you will go where I tell you to," the dark voice commanded, shifting the gun a little higher trying for a more increasingly threatening gesture.

"How do I know that's not some empty threat?" She questions.

"You really want to take the chance to find out?" The silence afterwards is filled with, what she would guess, is a staring contest. Hardened detective eyes staring into a black hole. The hand not holding the gun slips into the jacket after a moment. His finger flicks the lock of the smart phone and turns the screen to face her. It's a picture of Castle in a hospital room shot through a window. It's a bit tacky and if the picture hadn't put her on edge she would have mentally rolled her eyes. This was turning out to be a pretty horrible and uncreative series of events.

She restarts the car and heads in the direction he gives her. She has all the incentive she needs.

The location isn't far from the warehouse and voice that sounds like Castle is happy that she didn't use much gas. Its right against the water and the man leads her past the line where the concrete meets the grass. Two other men wait for her there. As she steps out of the cruiser, she suspects to meet the senator because only he would have goons like these.

She didn't expect this.

"Glad we could meet again, Detective."

Now

She just wanted to go home. For the first time in a months, she didn't want to be working. She just wanted to be at her apartment, locked away and oblivious to the world. Just dreaming about the loft feels great. What? No the apartment. It's not a loft, Beckett. It's an apartment.

The sight of him made her cringe, made her giddy, made her scared all in one shot. Right where there were already scars. He hadn't seen her yet. He was in his dazed state, a slight cut on his head and a now dingy suit. She should turn around, find other detectives to inform her on what happened. She's got to get away and she's got to figure out how she can relieve her high rank onto someone else to take this. If he is involved, she can't be.

The feet that she can usually trust, the ones that are supposed to do what her mind wants, have taken over. They're caring her to the place that she wants the least, wants the most, where she shouldn't be.

If she had just decided to push the paperwork to tomorrow, decided that everyone should've been out of the precinct at a more reasonable time maybe she wouldn't have been called in. Maybe someone else would've taken over what was certainly about to be long night and a longer week. With the mess she can see, this isn't going to simply be open and closed.

Esposito called her. Of all the times she should've let it go, she answered. She knew what he and Ryan were doing, who they were with, and she still answered the phone.

The bravado that she always carries with her to scenes, that is usually her fall back in unknown territory, seems to be slowly depleting step by cautious step. Her frustration is mounting with each loss of miniscule confidence. The blue eyes haven't found hers yet and coming up on him with this kind of surprise can only be detrimental in this mental state that she has had a year to rebuild.

With the closing proximity of the man she still irrevocably wants, her senses heighten. The leather of her jacket feels stiff with the nighttime chill creeping through the crevices. The heels of her shoes seem unsteady on the unfluctuating pavement though she's not even sure if she can actually feel the ground despite the wobbly approach she seems to be making. Her throat is a sickening tight ball of threatening emotions. Her body feels too small for what is about to happen. The most traitorous of all her senses seems to be what draws most of her psychological attention, her chest. The empty hole that used to be filled in with cases 6 years ago, then stupidly filled with him, makes itself known. She feels like her shoulders are being crushed inward and the need to draw her arms around her chest to keep herself together is terrifying.

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot. Turn around, turn around, please turn around. She needs to leave. Go away, hide, heal, leave. She needs to not be here. She needs to not be near him. They warned her. They told her to not do what she's about to do.

But she can't help herself. It isn't her fault.

"Hey Castle."

a/n: reviews would help. . . so very much