WORTH WORKING FOR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND
38 WEEKS
"I was thinking."
Kate looks up from the search warrant request she's writing up for Ryan and Espo's case, finds Rick holding out her mug. She reaches for it and automatically takes a sip. "Always dangerous," she teases.
Rick plops into the chair next to her desk and leans on his elbow. "Let's go out to the Hamptons this weekend. Get in a few days of relaxing before Cosmo makes his grand appearance."
Kate chuckles and rolls her eyes at the use of the nickname. Even though they've discussed names ad nauseam, and narrowed it down to anywhere from two to five choices, depending on the day, he's insisted on continuing to use Cosmo. He claims it's because they keep changing their mind on names, but she's convinced that he just wants to keep saying Cosmo.
She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "Sure, sounds good."
Rick grins. "Excellent. The weather's supposed to be nice, so don't forget a swimsuit. Or, you know, feel free to forget it," he jokes in a low voice, his eyes flicking to her chest.
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks warm when she remembers that his pool is completely private.
Maybe she'll "forget" her suit, after all.
"Yo Beckett, we got that warrant request?"
She jumps back when Espo's voice rings across the bullpen, and she turns back to the computer. "Almost," she calls out, sparing a glance at Rick and smirking when he shifts in his seat.
The thought of skinny dipping must be getting to him, too.
Kate sighs as she steps into the pool, descending slowly down the stairs, letting her body get used to the temperature of the water until she pushes herself off and glides through.
She could get used to this, she thinks as she swims the length of the pool, her long, lazy strokes moving her through the water. Coming out here for the weekend, longer during the summer, maybe the holidays. It feels more like a small town in the winter, Rick has told her; even though they came here in January, they spent the whole time in and around the house, learning how to navigate each other in the delicate early days of their relationship.
She can't wait to spend more time here.
She can see it so clearly: their son running around the huge backyard, playing with his dad, maybe even a sibling.
She stops at the thought and rolls to her back, lets herself float as she stares at the translucent covering draped across the top of the pergola. Her eyes drift shut as her imagination wanders.
Does she want more kids with Rick? Does she want more at all? She didn't think she wanted any, or at the very least, didn't see them in her immediate future, until she saw those two lines on the stick. And she certainly didn't think she'd see Rick again when she all but kicked him out after that first night.
Then again, her life now is almost unrecognizable from the life she thought she'd have.
She grew up wanting to be a lawyer, aspired to be the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Even through her rebellious teenage years, she kept her eye on Stanford, made sure to keep her grades and college resume up to par. She excelled in her first three semesters, breezing through her general education classes, struggling - but still excelling - in her pre-law courses.
And then her mom was killed.
The incompetence the detectives showed - incompetence that she now knows was actually a conspiratorial cover up - led her to shift from pre-law to criminal justice, and transfer to NYU to be close to her dad and eventually join the NYPD.
The first few years of her NYPD career went as planned, save for Montgomery bringing her into homicide earlier than she thought she'd get there.
But she worked hard, made detective, solved some high-profile cases, and uncovered most of the conspiracy behind her mom's murder.
And then she got shot.
Any progress she made on the case stalled as she healed from the bullet. And upon her return, when she assumed she'd hit the ground running and add her own case to her obsession, well, that plan went haywire as soon as a handsome stranger asked to play pool in the back of a dimly lit bar.
"There you are."
Rick's voice cuts through the silence and her thoughts, and she tilts her head towards him, opens her eyes to see him setting towels on one of the lounge chairs. He strips off his t-shirt and drops it to the chair, and she can't help but stare when he turns to face her, heat beginning to unfurl through her body.
Her desire must show in her face, because he smirks and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his swim shorts. "See something you like?" he teases.
His own gaze grows dark when it travels over her, lingering on the swell of her belly, the bikini that barely covers anything. "You know," he says, his voice deepening, "nobody can see us. So if you don't want to bother with the suit…"
She lifts a brow and straightens up in the pool, sets her feet on the bottom as he descends the steps and wades towards her. "I didn't have time to shop," she husks, looping her arms around his neck when he's close. "So I just grabbed a few I already-"
His mouth covers on hers, cutting her off, and then there's no more talking for quite some time.
"Kate. Hey."
She stirs, Rick's familiar voice drifting into her subconscious, and she slowly opens her eyes, finds him kneeling in front of her. Her lips lift in a small smile. "Hey," she whispers, clearing the sleep from her throat. "Done writing?"
The corner of his mouth quirks and he brushes loose tendrils of hair from her forehead. "For now. It's pretty late, are you hungry?"
She pushes herself up, lets him help her to maneuver her into a sitting position on the couch. "Yeah." Scraping a hand down her face, she looks out the window and realizes the sun is starting to set. "What time is it?"
"A little after eight."
Wow. She doesn't know when she fell asleep, but she curled up with a book when they got back from their post-lunch walk along the beach several hours ago. "That walk took a lot out of me," she jokes, standing and tugging down the hem of her shirt.
Rick's brow lifts as he follows the movement with his eyes. "Don't do that on my account," he says in a low voice.
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, finding his hand with hers, tangling their fingers together as she leads him to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator to pull out the weekend's leftovers.
"When we get home," Rick says a few minutes later, setting two plates on the table and dropping to the chair next to her, "do you want me to help you pack?"
She pauses, her fork halfway to her mouth. "Pack?" she echoes. "Pack for what?"
"Well, things to bring over while you stay with me."
"I already have clothes, what do you mean?" She furrows her brows, confused as hell. For all intents and purposes, she's been living with him, only going to her place a couple times a week to check her mail and grab more clothes. By now, though, most of her clothes are at his place, so she can't think of anything else she may need. Rick even has all of the baby supplies.
A small smile tugs at his lips. "Sure, but other stuff. Books, your favorite mug."
Suddenly uncomfortable under his tender gaze, she squirms in her seat. Yes, she's thought about living with him, when she goes into her cold, empty apartment and finds herself missing the light and life in his. Even with Martha moving out last week, his place is always so welcome, so warm, so…
Well, it feels like home.
So, yes, she's imagined it, fantasized about integrating herself into his space for good, about parenting together instead of splitting time.
Sometimes, she catches herself thinking about forever.
But it's his space. She's just visiting, always has been, even though he's always welcomed her with open arms. Even though she's leaps and bounds from where she was a few short months ago - not "cured," never will be, but on solid ground - there's still a stubborn part of her brain that can't fully shake the worry, the anxiety, that this is all temporary.
What the hell will it take to convince her that it's not?
Rick's hand covers hers, pulling her from her thoughts, and she looks up and meets his concerned gaze.
"It's your place, I don't want to take over too much," she admits.
Even as the words leave her mouth, she realizes how silly, so unreasonable they sound.
Never, not once in their time together, their evolving relationship, has he ever accused her of having, or being, too much. If anything, he's always wanted more.
"Kate."
"I know." Her cheeks warm at the soft look in his eye.
"No matter how long you stay, I want you to feel at home."
"I just don't want to be in the way," she whispers.
Letting go of her hand, he reaches up, tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, brushes her cheek with his fingers. "You're never in the way, Kate," he assures her, his voice thick with emotion. "In fact-"
He pauses, then clears his throat. "In fact, we can consider making it permanent. I'm not saying starting now," he continues before she can respond, "but we can think about it. I've been thinking about it, anyway."
"You have?"
"Yeah." He cups her jaw and leans forward, brushes his lips against hers. "Just keep an open mind, okay?"
"Okay," she breathes, her mind racing, trying to take in what feels like a bombshell as he starts eating.
He's also thought about living together, about her moving in?
She looks down at her plate, then glances at his, notices the difference in the food. Yesterday she'd mentioned her craving for Chinese food, so they'd ordered delivery, and she'd devoured most of it, barely left any for Rick. He would've been well within his right to take what little leftovers they had and eaten them himself, but instead, gave it all to her.
It's such a small gesture, she tells herself, but so telling, too. His generosity, his willingness to put her first, his damn selflessness, all in the form of moo shu pork and a fucking egg roll.
It's her turn to lean forward - the best she can, anyway - and she curls her fingers into the sleeve of his flannel, pulls him forward so she can kiss him. He moans when she deepens the kiss, her hand sliding up to rest against the side of his neck, his curling around her waist.
"I love you," she breathes when she finally pulls away. "I'm sorry for being so stupid."
Rick squeezes her waist. "You're not stupid, Kate. Cautious isn't stupid. Anxious isn't stupid. Wanting to take things one day at a time isn't stupid. You're smarter than all my previous girlfriends combined."
She pushes his chest at that, and he laughs and grabs her hand, presses a kiss to her palm. "I love you for wanting things to be right before making any move."
"Yeah, well, last time I did something impulsive, I got knocked up," she jokes.
He laughs again and squeezes her hand in affection. "Sure, but that turned out okay, right?" he asks, his eyes bright, teasing.
She shrugs, but can't stop the corner of her mouth from lifting, and she pulls him in for another kiss. "Yeah, I think it turned out okay. Maybe we can use the next few weeks as a trial? See if we end up tearing each other's throats out?" she teases.
"More likely to tear each other's clothes off, but I know what you mean." He pauses, his eyes searching hers, and after a moment, he smiles and nods. "Sounds like a plan."
She needs to answer her phone.
Well, she actually needs to call it a night and go home. She's been pushing herself all week, trying to do as much as she possibly can to take some pressure off her fellow detectives, help make their lives a little easier when she leaves on Friday. Obviously there will be cases while she's out, but she can at least clean out the file pile and help close current cases.
She's staring at one now, sitting on the edge of Esposito's desk, eyes roaming over the board, trying to figure out what the hell they're missing.
Both Ryan and Espo left a couple hours ago, both under protest, but she insisted that they need to look at it after getting some rest, that she was right behind them.
She wasn't right behind them.
She finished combing the victims' financials, looking for any commonalities, some thread she could tug, but there's nothing. Nothing about their lives seem to connect them, explain why they were killed and dressed like fairy tale characters. The only thing they have in common is a withdrawal for the same random amount.
There's a sharp pain in her ribs, and she straightens up quickly, presses her palm to the spot.
"Chill, Cosmo," she murmurs to her son, shakes her head in amusement when she realizes that she used Rick's nickname.
She hears a pair of muffled buzzes, but they don't take her attention away from the case.
What the hell is the connection between the victims? And why the hell are they in fairy tale costumes?
There's more buzzing, but this time it doesn't stop, so she groans and hops down from the desk. She pushes aside the financial printouts, muttering a curse when several papers fall to the floor. The buzzing gets louder, and she finally unearths her phone, notices the several unread texts from Rick before she answers his call.
"Hey."
"Hi. Are you still at the precinct?"
She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. We can't get any headway on this case," she admits with a frustrated groan. "Did you finish your draft so you can come in tomorrow?"
Rick chuckles. "I did, actually. Sent it off to Gina just a few minutes ago." He pauses, and there's a quiet curse, as if he moved the phone away from his ear. "It's almost nine, Kate. You ate dinner, right?"
She winces and glances towards the conference room, where there are two empty pizza boxes in the trash. She had a couple slices, but that was several hours ago, and she's hungry again.
"Kate. Do I need to come pick you up?"
"No," she huffs. "I'll wrap it up. But I don't want to leave without finding something."
The others are great detectives, she knows that. But it's her case too, and she can't leave it unsolved, can't fail the families of the victims…
She can't fail them like she's failed herself.
Goddammit.
Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and she scrubs her free hand down her face and sighs.
"Come home, Kate. Look at it with fresh eyes tomorrow."
Rick's soft, soothing voice calls her attention back, and she sighs, turns to shut off her computer.
It will keep until tomorrow.
"Tell me about the case," Rick says almost as soon as she walks in the door, holding out his arm for her to hold onto as she kicks off her shoes.
Kate groans and hangs up her jacket. "It's just weird. You'd like it."
"Yeah, you know I like the weird ones," he jokes. He motions for her to sit at the counter and sets a plate in front of her.
"I'm not-"
"Hungry? I heard your stomach growl."
She sighs and takes a bite, fills him in on the case as she eats. "There's just nothing connecting them except for that damn withdrawal," she complains as she finishes, pushing her empty plate aside.
Rick grabs a pen and piece of paper. "What was the amount, again?" he asks. He writes it and tilts his head, his brows furrowing as he studies it. "And it's not a phone number, or GPS coordinates, or lat/longitude, right?"
"Right."
He makes a few marks on the paper and turns it around so she can read. "A date?"
Oh my God.
With dashes placed between every other number, it does look like a date. Assuming the last two numbers - the cents in the withdrawal's amount - are the year, it was several years ago, much farther back than they'd typically look. But if it is…
Well, it's something to pursue, anyway.
Tomorrow.
She makes a note for herself and puts her phone away. She has just a few precious days before her son is due to arrive, and she wants to take advantage of every child-free moment she has.
And Rick certainly doesn't mind if that means taking advantage of him.
"Well?" Rick asks when he arrives at the precinct the next morning, holding out a takeout coffee cup. "Was it a date?"
Kate lets her fingers brush against his as she takes the cup. "Thank you. I think you were onto something. I'm trying to figure it out now." Taking a long sip, she keeps an eye on her computer, waiting for her search to come up with a result.
She feels Rick's eyes on hers, tries to keep her expression neutral. The last thing she wants to do is go on maternity leave with an unsolved case, but while Rick's theory has promise, they still could be far from a suspect, let alone arrest.
She wants to solve this, to at least find answers for the family members of the victims, so they don't need to go days - weeks - months - years - without any. And she's running out of time.
Rick's hand covers hers, and she turns to face him. "What's wrong?" he asks, removing his hand when he has her attention.
She sighs and traces her fingers around the lid of her cup. "It's just frustrating. I'm better than this. I've only had a couple cases go cold in my career, not including my own. And I can't…" She trails off.
"Can't what, Kate?"
"I can't go on leave without solving this. I solve cases, Rick. It's what I do, what everyone expects of me. Everyone expects me to be extraordinary. But if I can't solve this, then what am I?"
"Hey." Rick leans his elbow on her desk, pauses until she meets his eyes. "Do you know why I started writing Nikki Heat, why I based her on you?"
She shakes her head, blinking back unshed tears.
"Because you're tall."
When she just stares at him, he shifts to face her. "You are an exceptional detective. There's a reason why your name is on all those plaques at the Academy - yes, I looked-"
She rolls her eyes. Rick had visited the Academy a few weeks ago for research for Nikki's backstory, and obviously found out how good of a student she was.
But of course she was. She had everything to work for.
"But it's not just about accolades, or reputation, or even your closure rate. Those are all impressive, yes. But Kate…" He covers her hand with his. "You're not perfect."
Her brows lift. "Wow, thanks."
"You didn't let me finish," he quips. "You're still human. You're flawed, just like I am, like Ryan and Espo and Lanie-"
"Don't let her hear you say that."
"And every single person here," he continues. "Even whomever you beat for youngest female detective-"
"Which was Gates."
"She's - wait, really?" Rick glances at the captain's office. "You beat Gates? Nice."
Kate rolls her eyes again.
"My point is, you are extraordinary." Rick squeezes her hand, his eyes softening when she flips her hand and curls her fingers around his palm. "But you're not superhuman. You've never had to be. You're just good at your job. So just do your job."
A beep from the computer draws their attention, and she almost cheers when she sees the search result.
That dollar amount signifies a date, all right. And it's definitely significant, to both victims.
"Hey Ryan," she calls out, spotting him as he emerges from the break room. "We might have something."