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"Castle, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me for ever doubting you. I hate it when we fight."
Her hands were cold on his face and he wondered where she'd been - outside? At a crime scene, at a shootout? But it was raining. Why wasn't she soaked? He told his mind to shut up - she was here and that was all that mattered. She was safe.
"There's nothing to forgive," he said quietly. "I should have known better. What happened? You're freezing - let me get you a drink."
"No," she said vehemently. "I don't want a drink. I'm fine. I just want you."
Her hands came up to twist in his shirt front, stopping him in mid-turn. He looked down and lost what little resolve he had, and he kissed her.
She leaned eagerly into his mouth, and he took hold of her jacket to shove it off her shoulders, letting it fall unceremoniously on the floor and then gathering her into his arms. Her hands were in his hair, on the nape of his neck, pawing at his collar, one of her legs sliding against his, grinding her crotch against his thigh...
"Wait," he said, suddenly. "Wait."
He held her at arm's length, staring into her face, seeing the twist of her lips as she pouted.
"I don't want to wait." She leaned in again and he let her kiss his face, his neck, nuzzle into his shoulder, all the while still rocking against his leg like she was trying to get herself off. And she was...whining.
"Come on, Castle," she moaned. "I thought you wanted me, I know I was mean to you, I'm sorry, let me make it up to you..."
He didn't smell any liquor on her, and her eyes weren't dilated, but - But. Something...
"Something's wrong," he said abruptly. His hands stopped the motion of her hips as he tried to sort out the impressions he was getting.
She laid her head on his chest and sighed.
"Yes, Castle, something is wrong. We're both wearing too many clothes."
"You know what," he said, thinking fast. "You're right. Come on, let's get comfortable, baby."
She took his hand readily, beaming as he led her into his bedroom, watching her as she moved. When he lifted a hand to twirl her around she laughed and flung herself down on the bed -
And froze at the sight of the gun in his hand, and the open drawer of his dresser from which he'd obviously grabbed it.
"Castle, what the hell!"
"Stay where you are," said Rick. His hand was steady even if his voice wasn't. "Don't move, or I will shoot you."
"Are you nuts? Put down the gun, honey. You don't want to shoot me - you love me, remember?"
He swallowed hard, even as he sidled toward the chair where he'd last seen his set of genuine cop-proof handcuffs.
"You're right about one thing," he said. "I don't want to shoot you. I might be nuts, and I did tell Kate that I love her. But you - are not Kate Beckett."
Her mouth hung open in an excellent imitation of shock, then she said, "You don't want to shoot me. So put the gun down and we'll talk."
"Not gonna happen."
Just as he reached to take hold of the cuffs, hanging so conveniently over the back of his chair, she sprang up and bolted, but he had the tactical advantage of knowing the layout. He barreled down the hall and cut her off just before she reached the front door; she tripped on her jacket and went down, and he caught her in a half-nelson and slammed her hip against the landing at the foot of the stairs.
She was dazed long enough for him to cuff her wrists together, around the metal railing right next to the front door.
"Rick, what are you doing? You're hurting me," she wailed. He ignored her in favor of patting her down one-handed, still holding the gun. Lastly he ran a rough hand through her hair and turned her jeans pockets inside out to be sure she didn't have anything more lethal than a paper clip.
Then he stepped back and called 911 to report an intruder.
*** *** ***
"Mr. Castle, we're done here. We won't need anything more tonight, but if you remember anything you want to add to your statement, you can stop by the precinct any time - "
"Sure," he said automatically, at the same time cringing at the thought of ever entering that building again.
"Castle."
There was Kevin Ryan, coming down the hall, nodding to the departing officer as he passed.
"Why are you here, Ryan," said Rick dully. "This isn't a murder scene."
"I'm here for you," Ryan said. "Dispatch told me there was a 911 call from your address."
"I already gave my statement." Rick closed the door behind Ryan and went to sit at the kitchen counter.
"Are you all right? You're not hurt?"
"Not hurt. Thanks for asking."
Ryan leaned next to him, and Rick knew the detective was trying to fit together the puzzle pieces that had been thrown at him tonight.
"Welcome to my world," said Rick.
"What? What does that mean?"
"It means I'm used to tackling puzzles. Sorting pieces, putting plot twists in order. But I can't make head nor tails of this. You want a drink?"
"Nah, technically I'm still on duty. You go ahead." Ryan sounded cautious, probably wondering whether he'd have to deal with drunk Rick later on. As his host poured himself a stiff shot, he asked, "So... you want to tell me about the pieces?"
"I'm guessing you already have some of them." Rick returned to sit on a stool at the counter.
"Actually, all I got is that you called the precinct to ask if Beckett was all right, and you wouldn't tell me why you wanted to know. Next thing I know a call comes in from dispatch to let me know there's been an 'incident' at your address."
There was a long minute of silence. Rick knocked back his drink and looked expectantly at Ryan, who stared back.
"Seriously? That's it?" Rick snorted. "Did you see the person they arrested in connection with the 'incident'?"
"No. How is that relevant?"
"She's a dead ringer for Beckett." Rick went over and brought the whisky bottle back to his seat.
"Wait a minute," said Ryan, frowning. "You called the precinct to find out whether Beckett was all right."
"And you told me she'd been suspended, along with Esposito, and that she'd left the building hours ago." He stared at the bottom of his empty glass, remembering the conversation. Ryan had been agitated - obviously about whatever had gotten Beckett and Espo suspended - but he'd pinpointed the flaw in Rick's inquiry right off the bat. He'd asked whether Rick had tried Beckett's cell.
And Rick had answered, somewhat honestly, that he couldn't reach her on her cell, then had cut the connection and gone back to pacing the floor, watching his captive and waiting for the police to show up.
Now he couldn't look Ryan in the eye as he said, "The truth is - Beckett and I had a fight, last night. A big one. I don't think she'd answer her cell if she knew it was me."
"Ah," said Ryan. "That explains one thing, anyway. When she showed up this morning she was in a rotten mood. Said you were off the team."
You don't know the half of it, my friend, Rick thought. Out loud he said, "So you can understand how confused I was when this woman showed up on my doorstep."
"I can't wait to see her mug shot," Ryan muttered. "How'd you know it wasn't herself?"
Rick refilled his glass and immediately drank down half of its contents.
"There was something off about her. She said things in a way that Beckett never would. She acted like - well, her behavior didn't ring true. I know it sounds lame."
"Not coming from you," Ryan said. "You've been following us around for four years now, isn't it?" There was a pause, then he added, "Following her around, that is."
Rick grimaced, and Ryan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Didn't think you were actually fooling anyone, did you?"
Beckett was fooled, thought Rick. Or at least willing to pretend she was. Before he could sink into more substantial wallowing, he asked, "So, did the real Beckett turn up anywhere? Don't give me that look. I know you're a mother hen - you're worried about her, too."
Ryan shrugged. "Well, yeah - but on the other hand, Castle, even without a gun she's a badass. I'm worried, but not that worried. She'll turn up when she's ready."
He got up off the stool. "You gonna be okay here, Castle? Not gonna go out looking for her, are you?"
"Nope." Rick stood to escort Ryan to the door. "Probably just drink and fall asleep on my laptop. The usual way of the melancholy writer."
"Well, stay safe. If I hear from Beckett I'll call or text you or something." Ryan took a last look around the entry area. "I gotta tell you, though, I wish I could have seen you defending your territory."
Rick waved him off down the hallway with a smile, then locked the door and leaned on it. Looking around, he saw very little evidence of his struggle with the imposter; he righted a metal umbrella stand and retrieved his gun from the landing where he'd set it down, once the cops had taken charge. He checked the safety and went to put it back, hoping he'd never have to use it.
Then there was a knock on the door.
*** *** ***
He couldn't believe how starkly the difference stood out, between this woman and the one who'd tried to impersonate her. It wasn't just his writer's ear or eye, not just his heart that rang with the truth in her voice. It was the hesitation in her hands and face, her struggle to hold back and let him decide, the few words with which she spelled out the most important thing in her world.
"He got away, and I didn't care. I almost died - and all I could think about was you. I just want you."
*** *** ***
Two nights later, there was a power outage in Lower Manhattan, the Tombs went on emergency generators, and when main power was restored there was a body found on the floor in one of the solitary cells. A woman, hands folded across her chest, her hair spread in a halo around her head, rope marks on her throat. At least one of the guards mentioned how she looked like Detective Beckett from the 12th.
Her fingerprints had told them otherwise, as would the cosmetic surgery scars found in the post mortem. They were faint, as though done months ago and by a skilled hand, but there was no record or evidence to show who had done it or when.
No one connected the victim to a familiar M.O.; no one saw past the uncanny resemblance and the fact that she'd been arrested at the home of someone Detective Beckett knew, the notorious Richard Castle. A nut case, that was all, and her body was disposed of discreetly, as she'd had no next of kin.
*** *** ***
The next time Jerry Tyson went after Castle - no accomplices, this time! he told himself - no one would see it coming until it was too late.