WORTH WORKING FOR
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She can't sleep.
After the last few adrenaline-fueled days, she should be exhausted. Physically she is, and lying in bed feels amazing. But instead, she's wide awake.
Her son isn't helping.
He's been moving almost nonstop since she got home, and if she didn't know any better, she'd think he keeps pushing her bladder on purpose.
She also can't stop thinking about Rick.
He left the precinct before she did, and he said he was fine, but she has her doubts. Sophia's betrayal was a shock to both of them, but he had a history with her, based a character on her. She was someone he thought he knew, and she turned out to be a KGB agent. That had to affect him.
She sighs and shifts to her other side, facing the empty half of her bed. She pulls the unused pillow into her chest and wraps her arm around it, wishes that Rick was here instead.
Her stomach clenches with anxiety, and she presses her fist to the scar on her chest, feels her rapid heartbeat under her skin.
There's no reason for this, she tells herself. Sophia's dead, her partner is in federal custody. They saved a girl's life and may have stopped an international crisis, if not an all-out world war. She and Rick survived multiple near-death experiences, and she's perfectly healthy, their baby fine. They're okay.
Well, they're alive, anyway. They may be far from okay.
By the time she has to pee – again – it's after one in the morning, and she can't take it anymore. Maybe Rick wants to be alone, maybe not. If he does, she'll come back home. But first, she wants to see him.
He doesn't answer her call, and it isn't until she's ringing his doorbell that she realizes that maybe just showing up wasn't the best idea. But she's there already, so she has an apology ready when Rick opens the door, a hand running through his hair.
He freezes when he sees her, and panic flashes in his eyes. "Kate," he rasps, his voice rough with sleep. "What's wrong?"
She shakes her head and steps inside. "Nothing. I…well, I couldn't sleep," she admits.
The corner of his mouth quirks. "So you came to me," he teases. "Can you not sleep without me, Detective?"
She scoffs. "No, I can usually sleep just fine. But I did want to make sure you were okay."
"Okay as in alive, or okay as in mentally?"
"Okay as in…" She trails off, draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she considers. "Well, both. If you want to be alone, I'll leave, but I just needed to see you."
He gives her a tired smile and wraps an arm around her waist, brushes his lips against her forehead when he pulls her into him. "Stay."
Surprisingly, she manages to sleep soundly for the rest of the night. They went straight to bed, and although she stayed awake until she heard Rick's breathing even out, she drifted off soon after.
He's still asleep when she wakes just after eight, and she props her head on her hand, watches him for a few minutes. She's caught him doing the same to her on occasion, and has joked that it's creepy. Now that she can return the favor, though - study his relaxed face, his chest rising and falling with each breath - she can see the appeal.
Now that she's awake, her son seems to take it as a sign to start the day, and she has to leave the warmth of the bed to use the bathroom. Grabbing her phone, she notices the date.
February 14.
Valentine's Day.
Neither of them has mentioned the holiday; not that she expects anything, of course, and she hasn't exactly had a chance to shop or plan, anyway.
Still, she wants to do something.
He's always so selfless, so supportive, and even though she doesn't push back at his generosity nearly as much as she did just a few short months ago, it still feels a little one-sided to her.
She wanders into his kitchen and starts to prepare coffee, tries not to think about how comfortable she feels here, how familiar his place is becoming. She doesn't stay here often, is at her apartment most of the time, but she moves through the space almost on instinct.
He always has her preferred creamer, even though he doesn't use it himself, and she smiles when she opens a cupboard to find boxes of both ginger and peppermint tea from early in her pregnancy, when she'd get nauseous at the drop of a hat.
There's a package of bacon in the freezer, and she sets it in a bowl of cold water to defrost as she gathers ingredients for breakfast.
By the time she sets out what she needs for pancakes and eggs, the coffee's done, so she quickly makes herself a cup, glances towards Rick's closed bedroom door before putting the pot back on the burner.
Getting to work mixing pancake batter, she falls into a familiar routine. It's been a long time since she's made anything more than cereal for breakfast, let alone a whole spread, but after she burns the first pancake and severely undercooks the second, they start coming out right.
"Oh my God, are you making breakfast?"
She looks up to find Rick shuffling towards her, his eyes half-closed and his hair sticking up in all directions. He yawns and runs his hand through his hair, making it even more unruly, and she feels something funny flip in her chest that makes her stop in her tracks.
Something that feels a lot like love.
Oh.
"It's been a hell of a few days," she says, ignoring this revelation and holding out a mug of coffee, "and I thought I'd do something nice for you for a change."
Rick brushes his lips to her forehead. "You don't have to, you know," he murmurs. "We went through the same things."
She shrugs and flips a pancake. "Technically, yeah, but I'm not the one who had a history with a KGB spy."
As soon as the words are out, she wishes she could take them back, or at least not make it sound so flippant. Rick may not have seen Sophia for over a decade, but they did have a past, and he had used her as inspiration for a character. Finding out someone you once knew is someone you never really knew at all must be rough, especially for Rick, who always tries to see the good in people.
Rick slides onto a stool and leans his elbows on the counter. "Yeah," he sighs, his gaze unfocused.
Kate takes the last pancake off the griddle and quickly checks the bacon, decides it still needs a few minutes, and moves around to stand next to him. "Hey." She runs her fingers through his hair, and he looks up, leans into her touch. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
He offers a small smile and wraps his arm around her waist, kisses the underside of her jaw. "I know," he murmurs. He guides her towards the other stool. "Here, you sit. I'll finish."
"No, don't." She ducks out of his embrace and puts the counter between them again, puts the bacon on a plate before refilling her coffee. "You're always taking care of me, Rick. I want to do this for you," she explains, busying herself with getting clean plates and utensils so he doesn't see the vulnerability that she's sure is written all over her face.
When she finally stops and looks at him, his eyes are so soft and tender, it almost brings her to tears.
Damn hormones.
Pulled into his gravitational pull, she steps into his outstretched arm and cups his face with her hands, leans down to press her mouth to his. He deepens the kiss right away, his tongue sweeping against hers, and she moans and steps closer into him.
She manages to take a step back after a minute, and she brushes his hair off his forehead, rubs her thumb across the creases there. "You worry too much," she murmurs.
His hands rest on her hips, and his fingers clench into her sleep shorts. "We almost died," he whispers, his blue eyes serious, his gaze intense. "You almost died. In the car, I thought…and then when she was gonna shoot us, I kept wanting to rush her to grab the gun, or something, but she probably would have gotten a shot off anyway, and I couldn't…"
He lifts one hand to cup her cheek. "I couldn't risk you getting caught in the crossfire."
"Rick," she whispers. She covers his hand with hers, slotting her fingers between his. "I thought the same thing. But I couldn't let anything happen to you. Our baby needs you." She hesitates, then leans forward, presses her mouth to his so she doesn't say the words that are on the tip of her tongue.
I need you.
And I think I'm falling for you.
Over her years as a detective, she's learned that silence can be more effective, and informative, than noise. She often will sit across from a suspect, won't say anything until they get uncomfortable and start talking. Sometimes they provide information or evidence, other times they end up confessing simply because they can't sit in a quiet room.
She and Rick aren't sitting in her interrogation room, of course; they're strolling through a park, coffee cups in hand, taking the long way back to his place after going out for lunch. But he's been unusually quiet today, so much so that she's tempted to start talking about anything and nothing just to fill the space between them.
It's a cold day, which she uses as an excuse to stay close to him, to hook her arm through his. Shared body warmth, she tells herself.
Rick's steps falter when she takes his arm, and hers almost do as well. She doesn't show much public affection, never has, not even just holding hands or walking arm-in-arm. But she finds herself constantly drawn to Rick, wanting to be close to him whenever they're together, maybe even stake her claim on him.
Hands off, ladies. He's mine.
She almost stops in her tracks as that thought goes through her mind.
That isn't a thought she should be having. Sure, she and Rick are dating - or whatever one would call dating without going on dates. They haven't labeled their status, but they're in some kind of romantic, exclusive relationship. But she has no claim to him, no thought about the long-term aside from co-parenting their son.
Does she want more?
Maybe.
Can she give more?
She's working on it.
There's still a part of her that sees the scope of a sniper rifle when the sun glints off a window at just the right angle. Even though she's not pursuing her and her mom's cases, and as hard as she's working to be okay putting them aside, they've never been far from her mind.
And she has a nagging feeling that some day, the cases will come up again. There will be a link with some other case, or she'll encounter Vulcan Simmons again - he's involved, she just knows it - or some other factor that will cause the cases, and the threat to her life, to float back to the surface.
But she can't control that. What she can control is herself, and her present. Some days are harder than others, but she puts one foot in front of the other and does her best to get through each day unscathed.
And today…
She tightens her hold on Rick's arm.
Today's a good day.
Well, for her, anyway.
"Are you okay?" she asks Rick when they're stopped at a crosswalk.
Her question seems to take him by surprise, because he startles, almost dropping her arm. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Why?"
She raises her brows. She doesn't believe him for a damn second. "You're quieter than usual," she tells him. When they cross the street, she pulls him aside and moves in front of him. "You have been since I mentioned Sophia this morning. So, what's up? What's going on?"
He tucks his hands in his pockets and leans against the building. "I think I'm just trying to process what happened."
"The case, or…"
"All of it." He shrugs his shoulders. "I know I hadn't seen her for over a decade. But back then, we…well, we got close, or so I thought. Not that she would tell me she was a double agent, of course. Kinda defeats the purpose of being a spy."
The corner of his mouth quirks, and she offers him an encouraging smile.
"But she worked for the CIA. I don't think it's crazy to assume that there'd be some loyalty there."
Kate mirrors his pose. "You write mysteries and thrillers, Rick," she points out. "Espionage isn't exactly foreign territory, no pun intended," she adds when he chuckles. "It happens, and probably more often than we could imagine."
"I know." He sighs and looks at the ground between them. "But writing about it and experiencing it first-hand are different. And to be used and manipulated like that, so we could help her launch a damn war, that stings."
"It feels like a betrayal."
He nods. "Kinda, yeah. I mean, is that the whole reason she let me shadow her in the first place? Was I just part of a long con?"
A gust of cold wind whistles past them, and Kate shivers. They should probably be having this conversation indoors, but she doesn't want to interrupt.
He doesn't seem to have anything else to say at the moment, though, so she mirrors his position and leans against the building.
"I think that Sophia couldn't have real relationships," she says quietly. "I think the nature of her job meant she kept a lot of secrets and told a lot of lies, would do or say anything for her own benefit. And I think none of it was personal, because she was incapable of having emotional connections with anyone."
She recognizes the look in Rick's eyes when he lifts his head and meets her gaze. It's a look that reflects her feelings when Will left for Boston all those years ago, when he did it again last spring: doubt.
Rick and Sophia's fling a decade ago may have been short and casual, but the sting of being someone's second choice is still sharp. It leaves doubt in its wake, makes one wonder if they even mattered, if the other person even cared.
"It probably sounds dumb," Rick says with a shake of his head. "I'm not some naive kid. I know shit like this happens, and you're right, considering my books, I shouldn't be surprised. But it's one thing to know on an, I don't know, abstract level. But seeing it first-hand, being directly involved…"
"It's different," she finishes when he trails off. "I know."
"I hadn't even thought about her in years. She shows up for a few days, and I'm all twisted." He scoffs. "God, I'm stupid."
"Hey." She rests her hand on his forearm and steps closer so she can look in his eyes. "You are not stupid. And whether her reappearance was part of some long con or a coincidence, don't give her any more thought, okay? You deserve so much better than her."
The corners of his mouth lift and he takes her hand off his arm, pulls her into his embrace. "I'll do my best," he promises, bending down to brush his lips across hers. "Thanks."
"Beckett!"
Kate startles and looks up at the sharp snap of her name, finds her partners regarding her with worry etched on their foreheads. "What?"
Ryan motions towards the stack of files on her desk. "Need a hand?"
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. If only they could help; she's the highest-ranked detective in homicide, and with Gates out for the week, administrative tasks that their captain usually takes care of have fallen to her. And she still had to testify in court this morning, which ended up going well into the afternoon, so she's fallen behind. She technically caught a case, too, but Ryan and Esposito took it, so she doesn't have to add that to her plate as well.
"Unfortunately," she sighs, "this is all mine to deal with. You guys close your case?"
The folder that Espo places on top of the pile explains the apologetic look on his face. "Sorry."
She opens the folder and scans it quickly, nods when she sees that they did, in fact, close it. "Never apologize for getting a family some closure," she says, holding his gaze with her own, knowing by his nod that he hears what she doesn't say out loud: that she knows from personal experience what it's like not to get closure. She'll take paperwork over disappointing a family any day. "Nice work, guys. Heading out?"
"Unless you need us to stay?" Ryan asks with a glance at his partner.
Kate leans back in her chair and rests her hands on her belly, laces her fingers together as she regards them. They're family - the whole precinct is, really, but these two are like brothers to her - so some overprotectiveness is to be expected. They aren't suffocating her, but…
"Go home," she tells them, her firm tone leaving no room for argument. "See you tomorrow."
"Night, Beckett."
"Don't stay too late."
She rolls her eyes at Espo's directive, but a smile still tugs on her lips when they grab their jackets and head towards the elevator.
She glances at the clock, noticing that it's later than she thought, and she grabs her phone to fire off a quick text. Rick's expecting her for dinner, but she can't justify leaving quite yet.
Running late, she types. Be at least an hour, probably more. Still okay to come over?
His reply is immediate, and makes her grin.
Of course. Take your time.
An hour later, with her eyes crossing and hand cramping, she decides to pack it up. She sends a short text to Rick letting him know she's on her way, but when she opens the bottom drawer of her desk to find it empty, she realizes that she left her overnight bag at home.
It doesn't really matter - she can borrow sleepwear from Rick, or not wear any - but she doesn't want to risk not having time to run home before her shift tomorrow. With a sigh, she decides to stop at her place. It isn't too far out of the way.
She spots a cab coming down the street as she steps out of her apartment building a short time later, and she flags it down, calls Rick after giving the driver his address. "I'm on my way," she tells him when he answers. "I had to run home to grab my bag."
"You know you didn't have to," he points out, echoing her earlier thought and making her smile.
"I know, but this way I can go straight to work in the morning," she explains. "Do you have orange juice?"
There's a long pause. "What?"
"Orange juice," she repeats. "I've been craving it all day."
She hears the refrigerator door open, and Rick hums. "No, but I can go get some."
"I'm almost at your block, I'll just run into the corner store." The cab comes to a stop then, and she quickly pays, grabs her bag, and steps out. "You need anything else?"
"Don't think so."
"'Kay. I'll see you in a few." She tucks her phone in her pocket and goes straight to the back of the store, grabs a half gallon of orange juice. Spotting ice cream a few feet down, she saunters over, considers her options. Rick usually keeps his freezer well-stocked, but just in case…
She pulls her phone back out and calls him, glances up as she waits for him to answer. She hears the bell over the door jingle as someone comes in, and she narrows her eyes at the security mirror in the corner, watches the person's movements.
As far as she can tell, they're bundled up, with their hands shoved in their pockets and hood covering their head. It is a cold, late February evening, but the store is warm, even back by the freezers, so it's a little odd that the person doesn't take their hands out or push their hood back.
She's probably stereotyping, she thinks to herself, and she turns her attention back to her phone when she hears Rick answer.
"You get lost?" he teases.
She chuckles, but her attention is drawn back to the mirror, the hair on the back of her neck tingling as she watches the person pace in front of the register.
The reflection is distorted, but it looks like the cashier has the drawer open, and there's an open bag on the counter. The person turns slightly, and light reflects off something in their hand, something shiny.
Something that looks very much like a weapon.
She sets her bag down and reaches for her hip, but when she finds it empty, she remembers that she put her gun and badge away when she was at home.
She sighs and closes her eyes, cursing herself for not realizing sooner that she was moving on auto pilot.
"I need you to do something," she says quietly, ducking behind the closest shelf.
"What's wrong?" Rick asks, instantly serious.
She keeps an eye on the robber through the security mirror, mentally cataloging their movements, noting whether they touch anything. They take the bag with the money, and they wave the weapon - a gun, she assumes - at the cashier, who backs up, her hands raised.
"Kate?"
"I need you to hang up," she whispers, "and then I need you to call 911. The store is being robbed."
"What?!"
She shifts her gaze from the mirror, looking around for something she can use as a potential weapon. "There's one, and they're armed. I don't have my gun, but I'll try to stall, keep them here until the co-"
She's interrupted by a shout and sounds of a scuffle from the front of the store, and she looks back in the mirror, watches the distorted reflection of the cashier and robber struggling. She takes the opportunity to crawl to a different aisle, where she can try and get closer to the front without being seen.
And then she hears the gunshot.