He must be dreaming. He knows it has to be a dream because he is still in the same condition he was when he went to bed four hours ago. All he had the energy to do was strip off his clothes and drop into his Queen-sized bed.
He hears it from a distance and knows that ringtone. But he deserves his rest after the case he and his partner just closed. Or in this case, a cat nap depending on who you talk to. His boss told him he was out of the rotation for the next two cases. Yet as he haphazardly lifts the phone off the nightstand to see who is calling him, he can clearly see that his boss has reneged on his promise.

He hesitates before hitting the icon on the phone to answer the call.

"Captain, you do realize I just left the precinct a little over four hours ago? And if I also remember correctly, you were pulling me from the rotation so I couldn't get at least six hours' worth of sleep. Tell me, why could you possibly be calling me?" Rick asked in a raspy voice.

"Detective, I do apologize for calling you but there's a reason for the call. It doesn't involve the case you're just closed and I do apologize for calling you only because there's been a new development. We have a possible suspect in the Davis murder. And there is no one I trust more than you with what needs to be done next."

Roy held the line holding his breath hoping that his lead detective would give him the benefit of the doubt.
Rick knew that Roy was appeasing him. He couldn't wait to see what was going to be his reward for answering the phone. He wouldn't call him if there was no one else capable of doing what Roy knew he could do. But come on, a man needs to sleep, doesn't he?

"Against my better judgment Roy, what do you need? Rick said as he rubbed his swollen eyes trying to comprehend.

"I need you and your partner Esposito to go down to the Hudson docks near 1st Street. Hector Flores is a person of interest in the Davis shooting. Watch your back because this guy is reportedly armed and dangerous." Roy stressed.

"I'm going to need about an hour before I'm ready to roll but I'll call Esposito and let him know what's going on."

"Rick I appreciate it. With any luck, this will come to a swift close and you can arrest Flores."


He secures his apartment, a humble residence in Alphabet City, before descending into the street. A familiar figure, Joey, huddles against the side of the building to shield himself from the chill; he presses a twenty-dollar bill into the man's hand.

"Find yourself something warm to eat, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, Rick moves toward his vehicle. The sight of the deflated front left tire sparks a curse he would never repeat in front of his mother. No time for this. He locks the car once more and redirects himself toward the subway entrance as he retrieves his phone to dial Espo. His partner needs to know...

Espo decides to start without his partner, his heart pounding in his chest. He parks his unit as far away as possible, hoping not to draw attention to himself. Stepping out, every creak of the vehicle makes him flinch. He makes his way towards the Hudson docks, his senses on high alert. As he walks up to the docks, he scans the area, his mind racing. Everything seems quiet, but that only makes him more uneasy. He knows he needs to do a little recon before Rick arrives. The sun is just starting to set. There are plenty of places to hide, and he realizes that the high ground would be a perfect vantage point for a potential threat. His gut twists as he thinks about how easily a sniper could set up and take out a target from up there. He spends what feels like an eternity scouting the area, his anxiety growing with each passing moment. Finally, after what feels like an agonizingly long time, he's satisfied that there's no immediate threat to him or Rick. He heads back to his unit, his eyes scanning the surroundings the whole time, knowing that his partner will arrive shortly.
He doesn't need to wait long. Rick is like a bull in the china shop he hears them from three hundred feet away. He turns and watches his approach and knows that he could scare the crap out of him if he really wanted to but he stands there next to his unit looking at his fingernails of all things. Just when Rick walks up to him supposedly in his mind in his stealth mode where he thinks he can't be heard or seen Espo pipes up…

"What took you so long?" He asked.

Rick froze, recognizing too late that Esposito had already detected his approach.

"What tipped you off?" Rick asked, turning to his partner. He'd thought he was moving stealthily.

"It's not about what gave you away, Rick. It's about your situational awareness," Esposito replied calmly. "You need to scan your environment more thoroughly. Look up, not just around you. That crane operator pod above you – it's an ideal sniper perch, even at this hour when the site is mostly deserted."

Rick followed Esposito's gaze upward, belatedly realizing the vulnerability of their position.

"Have you completed your sweep?" Esposito asked. "I did mine before you arrived. All clear for now, but that can change fast. Stay alert."


The pair move away from the vehicle, their footsteps carrying them toward the flickering glow of a bonfire contained within a 55-gallon drum. The flames dance with a controlled intensity, radiating warmth to the huddled group of six or seven individuals.

As they draw closer, the scene comes into focus: four men engrossed in a game of poker. The clatter of footsteps on gravel pierces the air, and the men turn, their faces illuminated by the firelight.

"Gentlemen, good evening," Rick announces, his voice a calm disruption to the scene.

The men's gazes flicker between the approaching pair and comprehension dawns. Three immediately react, hands snapping to the tops of their heads in a gesture of surrender. The fourth, however, chooses a different path. Before Rick can even introduce himself or his partner as detectives with the NYPD, the man they are looking to interview is reaching for a gun in an ankle holster and then bolting straight up from his milk crate perch, grabbing his seatmate next to him and pulling him into a chokehold with the gun pressed against his temple.

It's a procedure that's been drilled into their heads more than they can remember. Rick pulls his weapon after they both tell the man who they are.

"Drop the gun NYPD." Rick and Espo shout At the same time.

But this man...he's cornered, desperate. With a snarl, he sends his hostage tumbling away, gun rising toward them. A shot fires out, the bullet whizzing perilously close between the two detectives. Before they can even process the danger, he's off, sprinting with a speed borne of pure adrenaline.

A shared glance, a silent decision. Esposito nods, and Rick is off running, pounding after their suspect with a desperate intensity that screams one thing: they cannot let him escape.

The chase is on, but before Rick even realizes it, the man has vanished into his surroundings. He's more familiar with this terrain than Rick will ever be. It takes Rick five panicked heartbeats to close the one-hundred-and-fifty-foot gap, his eyes locked on the fleeing figure.

The suspect sprints into the open, making the rookie mistake of charging toward a yard tractor moving a shipping container. He rolls underneath it taking it in stride as if it happened daily, escaping Rick's grasp. Rick waits, his chest heaving, as the truck and trailer rumble past. When they clear, his suspect is already racing toward towering stacks of sea containers directly in front of them.

They plunge into a narrow alley carved between rows of containers, the only sound the thunder of their footsteps echoing off metal. The alley stretches out for about one hundred and twenty agonizing feet, and Rick can see his suspect already nearing the far end. If he doesn't move faster, he'll lose him in the open dockyard.

With a surge of adrenaline, Rick picks up speed. His lungs burn, and his legs pump furiously. He bursts out of the alley just in time to see the suspect dashing toward the ocean. The desperate thought flashes into Rick's mind - if he can just reach the water, he'll dive in and try to swim to freedom, then his world goes black.

Esposito's heart races as he watches his partner, Rick, sprint down the narrow alley of shipping containers. Rick is closing in on their suspect, mere feet away from capture. But disaster strikes. Rick is so focused on the chase that he doesn't see the SUV careening around the corner until it's too late. The suspect narrowly avoids being hit, but Rick isn't so lucky. He slams into the side of the SUV just as it brakes, his head and body bouncing off the metal with a sickening thud. He crumples to the dock, motionless. By the time Esposito reaches him, Rick is unconscious, a chilling stillness washing over him.

The suspect is gone and fled the scene, but that's the least of the detective's worries. His partner, Rick, is down, motionless on the asphalt. A chill runs through him as he drops to his knees beside Rick, carefully rolling him onto his back. His heart lurches - blood trickles from Rick's left ear, staining his collar. Esposito's training kicks in, distancing him from the fear clawing at his throat. He rips his phone from the holder on his belt, fingers flying across the keypad as he calls for an ambulance. He forces his voice level, professional, betraying none of the dread building in his chest.

"I need a bus at my location, officer down. Possible head trauma..."


Everything is a blur when he comes to. The fogginess is terrifyingly familiar, reminding him of the time he was shot two years ago. His heart pounds as he realizes he's in a hospital – the stench of antiseptic hangs heavy in the air, and the coarse sheets beneath him are unmistakable. He hasn't opened his eyes yet, but a throbbing headache pierces his skull. Steeling himself, he cracks open his right eye, instantly regretting the decision as the room spins wildly out of control. He slams his eye shut, waiting for the vertigo to pass.

When it finally subsides, he tentatively reaches up to feel a bandage wrapped tightly around his head. Panic surges through him – this is bad, really bad. Summoning his courage, he tries opening his eyes again. The light is dimmer now, someone must have adjusted it. As he looks around, he hears the curtain being pulled to divide the room, making him feel claustrophobic and trapped.

"Okay, I've dimmed the lights for you. Is that better?" The nurse's voice came from beside his bed, a hint of gentle reassurance in her tone.

His voice was hoarse, laced with anxiety. "What...what happened? Where's my partner? How soon can I get out of here?" He hated hospitals, the antiseptic smell and beeping machines made his skin crawl. The sooner he escaped, the better.

The nurse's expression turned somber. "You were in an accident. You...hit a car. More like the car hit you, but you rebounded off it and struck your head at a high speed against the pavement. That's why the light bothers you. It should get better with time, but let me get the doctor to explain everything."

Panic spiked through him as she hurried from the room, leaving him alone with his racing thoughts. What did she mean, an accident? What about Esposito? And his head...something was seriously wrong with his head.

The nurse returned with the doctor, who introduced himself as Dr. Hildebrandt, an audiologist. He explained,

"Mr. Castle, I'm here to discuss the results of your hearing assessment."

Seated on a stool beside Rick's bed, the doctor continued,

"Your head trauma has resulted in a temporal bone fracture, specifically involving the ossicles of your left inner ear. Unfortunately, this, combined with your concomitant skull fracture, will likely lead to a progressive conductive hearing loss in your left ear and potentially affect the acuity of your right ear as well."

Rick looked at him incredulously. "But I can hear you just fine. Are you sure?"

Dr. Hildebrandt's expression turned somber.

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Castle. We performed a comprehensive audiological evaluation while you were unconscious, including otoscopy, tympanometry, and a bedside hearing assessment. Regrettably, the damage is beyond the scope of surgical repair."

Rick sat there, in shock. What was he going to do? How would he learn to navigate the outside world now? His job as a detective - it was impossible. He thought of his partner, was he already aware of Rick's diagnosis?