WORTH WORKING FOR
CHAPTER NINETEEN

"What the hell was that?"

From her new spot, Kate can only see part of the security mirror, but dread settles in her chest when she doesn't see the robber or cashier. She looks around the shelf, but as far as she can tell, she's alone. "Hang up and call 911, Rick," she whispers. "I need to see-"

Cold steel touches the back of her head, and she sighs and closes her eyes.

"Give me your phone."

She hears Rick repeating her name through the speaker, his voice growing more frantic when she doesn't answer. She can only watch as the robber drops her phone and smashes it with one stomp of his boot. Lifting her gaze to the robber's, she notes the mask covering his nose and mouth, leaving just his brown eyes visible, the panic obvious.

"Get up," he snaps, waving his gun, "and go to the front."

Well…crap.

"You don't have to do this," she says, walking towards the front of the store, her hands raised. "It isn't too late to just leave."

The robber nudges her with the barrel of the gun, and she stumbles forward, catches herself on the counter. Spotting something from the corner of her eye, her breath catches in her throat when she sees the cashier on the floor, a bullet wound right in the middle of her forehead, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.

The robber presses the gun in the small of her back. "Who were you talking to? The cops?"

"My friend," she says, shaking her head and turning around. "He'll have called them, though. They'll be here any minute."

He groans and rubs the back of his neck, starts to pace again. Kate keeps her eyes on the gun, tracking it, noting the tremble in his hand. She needs to be cautious, to think carefully about what to say to him.

About the only thing she remembers from the Academy's brief segment on hostage negotiation is to keep them calm. It isn't about getting him to make a confession. If it was, she'd rile him up, take advantage of his already fragile state until he breaks down and talks.

That's the absolute worst thing she could do now.

With a gun in his shaky hand pointed in her direction, and his mind obviously spiraling, if she pushes too hard, she could end up like the dead cashier.

Heart pounding, she takes a deep, steadying breath and steps forward.

Unfortunately, he notices.

"Don't fucking move!" he snaps, his hand steadying as he points the gun to her face.

Kate tears her gaze from the barrel of the gun to meet his eyes. Keep him calm, get him talking, de-escalate until HRT can take over.

"Hey, we're okay," she says, somehow managing to keep her voice steady. "I'm Kate. What's your name?"

He blinks. "What?"

"What's your name?" she repeats.

"What does it even matter? I killed someone. I'm going to jail."

"Yes, you are." When he looks at her in surprise, she tries to ignore the racing of her heart and holds his eyes. "There's no way around it. But they might show you some leniency if you cooperate. So, why don't you give me the gun?"

He looks down at her outstretched hand, and for a few hopeful moments, she thinks he might hand it over.

And then the phone rings.

Shit.

She keeps her eyes on him, watches as his head whips to the phone.

"That's going to be the police," she explains, trying desperately to stay calm as his hand drops a fraction, his gun now pointed at her stomach.

Her hand automatically goes to press against her belly, a protective gesture that she knows wouldn't do a damn thing if he pulled the trigger.

"How do you know?" he asks, suspicion creeping into his voice as he turns his attention back to her.

Think, think, think.

"I watch a lot of TV," she lies.

The robber narrows his eyes, but he seems to believe her, because he motions towards the phone with his gun. "Answer it. And don't say anything you shouldn't. And stay in front of the counter."

"Okay." Keeping her hands raised, she does as he says, and she reaches for the phone, ignoring the dead body of the cashier just on the other side of the counter. "Hello?"

"This is Captain Peterson with the NYPD," says the authoritative voice on the other end of the phone. "Who am I speaking with?"

"Kate." She glances outside, but the street is empty. They must be set up out of sight.

"How're you guys holding up there, Kate?"

She lifts a brow. "Aside from the gun pointed at me, we're doing just fine."

"Right. Well, let's see what we can do to get you out of there."

"Put it on speaker," the robber snaps, motioning with the gun.

Kate nods. "Okay. Just give me a second. I'm putting you on speaker, Captain."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots movement. She's careful not to draw the robber's attention to it as he speaks to Captain Peterson, but she still manages to watch as a few members of SWAT quietly approach from the back of the store.

They'll try to take him down peacefully, she knows, so she doesn't get caught in any crossfire. Still, as the robber steps closer to the phone - and her - she inches away from him, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter to stop them from trembling.

With the robber's attention on the phone, she risks eye contact with the team leader, gives him a slow nod.

"I just want to get out of here," the robber says, his voice shaky, fear creeping into his words. "I didn't - I just needed some smokes. I didn't mean to shoot her."

"You panicked. It happens," Peterson says calmly through the speaker. "So don't put up a fight, and everything will be okay."

Confusion passes over the robber's face, but before he can react, he's disarmed and pinned against the counter, his empty hands cuffed behind his back.

Kate is immediately escorted outside, her bag and phone - and orange juice - forgotten as she relaxes with every step away from the store. Tears prick at her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall, refuses to give into the emotion that she's now beginning to feel.

Until she sees Rick.

Inside the store, even as she was staring down the barrel of a gun and trying desperately not to say or do the wrong thing, she kept her emotions in check, as she's so used to doing in her job. She was terrified for both her own life and her unborn son, but she managed to push that down in favor of trying not to agitate the robber more than he already was.

Now that she's outside, though, the danger neutralized and the crisis over, her cop facade fades. She's no longer an off-duty member of the NYPD, utilizing her training to stop a bad situation from getting worse.

She's Kate Beckett, civilian, freed hostage.

HRT set up at the end of the block, she notes, and Rick is right at the barricade, two uniforms holding him back. She can't help the rush of adoration for this man. He probably would've barged right into the store if they'd let him.

"Kate!" he yells when he spots her. He tugs his arms from the uniforms and jumps over the barricade.

He's in front of her in seconds, and he gathers her in his arms, buries his face in her neck. "Thank God you're okay," he breathes, his lips brushing against her skin with every word.

She wraps her arms around his waist, desperate fingers gripping his jacket, hugging him as tightly as her baby bump will allow. She feels his mouth trail up her neck, peppering kisses across her skin, until he cups her chin and kisses her lips.

She leans into the kiss, his taste, his hands, the moment. He steps away far too soon, but he doesn't let her go, keeps her face in his hands as he rests his forehead on hers.

"I was so worried," he whispers, his thumbs brushing across her cheeks. "When I heard the gunshot, then the call dropped, I thought…"

"I know," she whispers, tightening her grip on his jacket. "I know."

"Detective Beckett?"

Kate manages to extract herself from Rick's arms, and she turns to see a serious looking man with a uniform and vest with "HRT" on the front. A glance at his name plate confirms her suspicion. "Captain Peterson," she greets him, holding out her hand for him to shake. "Thanks for your help."

Captain Peterson nods. "Glad it worked out. If you don't mind, I'd like to get your statement while it's still fresh."

Rick starts to interject, but she rubs his arm to reassure him. "It's fine, Rick. I'd rather do it now. Lead the way, Captain."

Rick's sulking.

Well, sulking, or pouting, or something. Whatever he's doing, whatever's going on in his mind, he's quiet, almost brooding. Considering how he stayed plastered to her side when she gave her statement at the scene, she'd expected him to hover, to wait on her when they got back to his place.

Instead, he barely acknowledges her when she announces she's going to change, and when she emerges from his bedroom, he simply glances at her, then resumes chopping vegetables.

She spots a mug on the coffee table - fresh, if the steam coming from it is any indication - and grabs it, brings it to the kitchen. Judging by the lift of his brows, he intended for her to relax on the couch, but she slides onto a stool instead.

Even though sinking into his couch sounds glorious, she'll be damned if she's banished to the living room.

She curls her fingers around the mug, lets the warmth seep through the porcelain and start to eliminate the chill that's been in her body ever since she heard the gunshot.

Gaze locked on the tea, she traces her finger along the rim of the mug, takes a deep breath as she lets her mind drift back. Logically, she knows that she did everything right, that she couldn't have saved the cashier. Still, the sound of the shot echoes in her mind, the fear in Rick's voice, the panic in her own.

If she hadn't detoured to the ice cream, if she would've just bought the orange juice like she intended, she could've been long gone by the time the robber arrived.

Or she could've passed him, held the door open for him as he left, maybe even been at the counter when he pulled his gun.

She could've been shot.

Again.

Her fingers press against the scar in the middle of her chest, an attempt to soothe the phantom ache.

What if she had been the target when the robber fired his gun? If she'd startled him, would the cashier still be alive?

Or would she have just traded her life for theirs?

Why the hell didn't she have her gun? She could've saved the cashier's life.

The cashier is dead because she couldn't do her fucking job.

But she could've been shot just as easily. She could have been the one lying in a pool of her own blood, could be in the morgue right now.

At least this shooter would've been caught. At least he'd be in jail.

Probably.

"What's wrong?"

Rick's voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts, and she looks up at him, immediately sees the concern in his eyes.

He whispers a curse and steps around the counter, swipes his thumb across her cheeks, wiping away tears she didn't even know had fallen. "Kate," he rasps, his fingers tangling in her hair as he cups her jaw. "What is it?"

All she can do is shake her head, and Rick exhales and wraps his arms around her, pulls her into his embrace.

She sinks into him, closes her eyes as she feels him palm the back of her head, holding her to him. His chest shudders under her cheek as he takes a deep breath, and she realizes that he's not unaffected, either.

"I know that wasn't your first brush with death this month," Rick starts, his voice thick with emotion.

Kate huffs out a chuckle.

"But I won't ever get used to it," he continues. "That was terrifying. I couldn't even see the store, I didn't know what was going on, if you were even…" His voice trails off and his lips press against the top of her head.

"I know," she whispers before stepping back so she can look up in his eyes.

He needs this, she realizes when he cups her jaw with his hands and roams his gaze over her face, as if examining her, making sure she has no injury. He needs to touch her, see for himself that she's unharmed.

Her heart swells as he pulls her close and presses his lips to hers in a soft, tender kiss.

A quiet moan escapes from her throat, and he slides one hand to the back of her head, buries his fingers in her hair as their kiss deepens. She leans into him, shivers going down her spine as his tongue slicks against hers.

A loud beep cuts through the desire fogging her brain, and she breaks the kiss, sighs with regret when Rick takes a step back.

"Oven," he husks, trailing his thumb along her bottom lip before dropping his hand and moving back around the counter.

"You know what really sucks about this?" Kate asks, lifting her mug to her lips and taking a small sip of her now-lukewarm tea. She waits until Rick turns to look at her, his brows raised. "I didn't even get the orange juice."

Rick stares at her for several long seconds, his face blank, until she smirks. He rolls his eyes as he shakes his head, then steps close to quickly kiss the top of her head. "I'll go get some."

"No," she insists, grabbing his hand before he's out of her reach. "Don't. I don't even want it anymore."

He studies her for a few seconds before nodding and moving back in front of the stove.

She leans forward on her elbows and watches as he finishes making dinner, refusing her multiple offers to help. There's still tension in his shoulders, and he glances her way a lot more often than usual as if to check on her, but as they seem to fall back into routine, she starts to believe that they're on the other side of the evening's events.

Something's wrong.

It's hard to make out details in the warped reflection of the security mirror, but the two people at the front - the cashier, and the bundled up person in front of her - are gesturing, obviously agitated. She catches the glint of something metal in the customer's hand, and her blood runs cold.

"Pulp or no pulp?"

Rick's voice makes her jump. She didn't remember him coming in with her. He's holding two cartons of orange juice, oblivious to the goings on at the register, to the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

She blinks, and suddenly she's standing in front of the counter, the masked, hooded figure in front of her and Rick at her side.

"It's okay," he's saying in his calm, deep voice. "We can still walk out of here. My girlfriend's a cop, she can speak on your behalf, if you just let us-"

"She's a cop?!" The robber turns the gun to Kate, and she can see the tremble in their hand, the panic in their hazel eyes.

Wait…

Kate sees movement out of the corner of her eye, and before she can stop him, Rick is lunging towards the robber, his hands outstretched, going for the gun. The robber points the gun at Rick, and Kate watches with horror as their finger tightens on the trigger.

"No!" Kate yells, rushing forward and tackling the robber to the ground. It's too late, she already knows, saw the bullet go into Rick's head, saw his body fall. But she can't bring herself to look, to see him on the ground, lifeless.

The robber's hood and mask shift in the fall, and Kate's blood runs cold as she looks into her own eyes.

She jerks awake with a cry, her heart pounding, breaths fast and frantic. It takes her several seconds to come out of the nightmare, and as her eyes focus, she sees Rick in front of her, concern written all over his face as he kneels next to the bed.

His fingers sift through the hair at her temple, the gentle caress relaxing her, grounding her to the here and now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he rasps, his voice still rough with sleep.

She shakes her head. "Later," she says in little more than a whisper, reaching her own hand out to trail along his jaw.

He nods and stands, and she feels him slide back into bed behind her, smiles to herself when his arm encircles her waist and tugs her close. His breaths even out before long, and his hand relaxes against her belly as he falls back asleep.

She lays there for some time, her hand covering his, willing herself to follow him into slumber. She tries closing her eyes, counting sheep, every trick she knows, but nothing works. Eventually, she grabs her phone and, seeing that it's well past two in the morning, she sighs and gets out of bed, taking care not to disturb Rick.

She ducks into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, takes a few moments to focus on her breathing, tries to push back down the panic still lingering from her nightmare. Once the racing of her heart slows a little, she slips on her robe and steps out, shutting the light off. Rick hasn't moved an inch, she notices, but she's far from tired, so she wanders out to the kitchen, makes herself some tea.

She knows, logically, that she's not in any danger. Rick's building is secure, the pregnancy is progressing well, she got out of the robbery unscathed.

Still, each breath trembles, the sound of the gunshot echoing in her mind, the image of the cashier's lifeless body seared into her memory.

It would've been so easy to be in the cashier's place. One wrong move, a too-loud noise, even being in the wrong spot in the store could've changed her fate.

Her fate…

Without realizing it, one hand goes to her chest, and she presses her palm to the scar between her breasts.

What if her fate, all this time, is to catch a bullet? Is she simply delaying the inevitable by leaving her mom's case alone?

She sips her tea as she wanders into Rick's office, and she leans against the window, gazes out across the quiet city.

How many people fell asleep blissfully unaware that it's the last night of their lives? How many will get hit by a car tomorrow, or fall down the stairs, or take their own life?

How many will run into a bullet?

Will she be one of them?

The loud honk of a car horn outside startles her from her thoughts, and she instinctively plasters herself against the wall and reaches for the weapon that's usually at her hip. She doesn't realize that she drops her tea until there's a crash at her feet.

"Shit!" she cries out, jumping back and looking around for a towel. The light turns on and she whips around to find Rick coming towards her, worry in his eyes. "I'm okay," she assures him, answering his question before he can ask. "Dropped my tea."

Rick nods and turns around, returns a few moments later with towels in his arms. "Sit," he says as he motions towards the armchair in the corner. "I got this."

Under normal circumstances she'd argue, insist on doing it herself, but she sits down instead. "Thank you," she says quietly.

He pauses and leans back on his haunches, his eyes on her, studying her. "Did you have another nightmare?" he finally asks.

She shakes her head. "Couldn't fall back asleep." When Rick turns his attention back to the mess, she sighs and lowers her gaze to her lap, tugs at the edges of her robe. "You were there," she blurts, pausing long enough to meet his eyes for a moment. "In my dream. You were with me, and you rushed the shooter, tried to get the gun."

Rick shifts so he's sitting, broken mug forgotten as he focuses his attention on her.

"The gun went off, and you were shot. And the shooter's hood came off, and-" She swallows around the lump of emotion in her throat. "It was me, Rick. I shot you. I killed you."

A sigh falls from his lips and he moves towards her, curls his fingers behind her calves. "It was a dream," he whispers. "It was just a dream."

"I know, but I can't shake the feeling that it's more." She meets his concerned gaze with hers. "My job is dangerous, and you're with me almost every day, shadowing me, going into crime scenes and interrogations and everything."

"We've talked about this," he interrupts. "I thought you were okay with it."

"I am, but-"

"Kate." He runs a hand down his face and shakes his head. "This isn't about me shadowing you. What is it really about?"

She sighs and looks out the window. "Mine and my mom's cases are unsolved. Cold," she clarifies. "I might never know who's responsible. And I'm at a place, finally, where I can live with that. I don't like it, but I don't let it hover over me anymore. But I was shot, and the guy's still out there, just waiting. Waiting for me to ask the wrong question, arrest the wrong suspect, catch the wrong case."

"I'm not safe, Rick," she continues, meeting his gaze again, recognizing the concern etched in his forehead. "My job is dangerous enough, even just walking down the street with this damn target on my back. I can't even go to the corner store and get fucking orange juice without having a gun shoved in my face. How am I supposed to keep another human safe, when I can't even do it myself?"

"Okay." Rick takes her hands and stands, tugging her up with him. "That robbery had nothing to do with work, or your shooting, or anything. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead. "You're safe here, Kate," he murmurs against her skin. "You're okay, our son is okay. We're all okay."

She nods, her eyes fluttering shut as she relaxes into his touch. "Yeah," she whispers, curling her arms around his waist and gripping the back of his t-shirt. "Sorry I broke your mug."

He chuckles and steps back, brushes his lips against hers before taking her hand and guiding her back to the bedroom. "Don't worry about it."

When she goes to bed this time, she's asleep before her head hits the pillow.