98. 98: Saturday

98

She's having a good day.

Dr Burke told her that this morning when she went in for her appointment; he cleared her for active duty within the first five minutes of their conversation and then smiled and said, You're going to have a good day.

Maybe it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, maybe it's psychosomatic, but she is. She is having a pretty damn fine day.

She squeezes off another round and hits center of mass on the paper target. Then a cluster of rapid fire shots all aimed perfectly. Not a single stray, not a moment's hesitation. She's got this.

She told Castle that if they wanted a war, she was ready for one. And then she met Maddox. So she ran away, and he look what happened - he came after her again. Now, she doesn't want war - she wants to shut this down. She wants to crush this reign of capricious violence in the city she loves. For the people she loves.

Guerrilla warfare doesn't work; she can't hope to sneak around behind the backs of the NYPD, her boss, the people orchestrating this conspiracy. It's already too late; she's learned her lesson. They don't fight fair. So she's going back to end it.

Beckett passes her requalification easily, and then she spends an hour practicing, loving the warming metal of her weapon, remembering the pressure it takes against the trigger, and then cleaning it and returning it to the range master. She'll be allowed to have it back when she goes in.

Monday. When Beckett goes in on Monday.

When Castle woke up, the sun was shining brightly outside his window, and the square of sky he's privy too was a pale but comforting blue. Now it's turned grey, the clouds gathering, coming together like a flock of sheep, but still - it's not going to alter Rick's good mood.

He feels better.

Not going to run a marathon better, but for what seems like the first time all week, he feels the effects of a good night's sleep. Yup. Pretty heavenly.

So he waits not-so-patiently for his favorite nurse, the only one who doesn't look at him like he's crazy when he asks how soon he'll be able to get out. Molly - he knows her name now.

He wishes he had his phone. He's dying to play Draw Something, or Angry Birds, anything. Kate brought him his laptop, in case he wants to write, but he's not really in a writing mood right now. He feels restless, too much energy trapped in a body confined to a hospital bed, when all he wants to do is move.

Bad idea, Rick.

He sighs.

Where is his daughter, anyway? He needs some distraction over here. His mother said she had things to take care off at her acting school; classes are going to be starting soon, and he completely understands. And he knows Kate's gone to the shooting range. But Alexis?

Alexis should be here, comforting her old Dad. Honestly, what's the use of having children if they don't-

"Everything okay in here, Mr Castle?"

Oh, hey. Here's Molly, at least.

"Yeah," he says, smiling at her as she comes close, takes a look at his chart. "Much better today, actually. Feels like it's time to go home."

Nudge nudge, wink wink. He's so subtle.

The nurse looks at him, arches a too-knowing eyebrow. "You think so, huh?"

He gives her a wide-eyed look, his mouth turns into a pout, pours all his heart into it. Please.

She laughs. Darn.

"They're not going to let you go today, Mr Castle," she tells him with a shake of her head, a soft smile. "Tomorrow at the very best, if you're really, really doing better. Tomorrow might be your best shot."

He heaves a deep sigh, throws his head back into the pillow. Ouch. That hurt.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" she asks, wincing sympathetically.

"Nutella truffles?" he says, dreaming out loud.

She huffs another laugh. "Sorry, I'm afraid the vending machine doesn't have those."

He opens his eyes again, gives her a small grin. "That's too bad. I'm gonna file a complaint as soon as I leave, trust me."

"You do that. I could go for some nutella truffles on my break." She gives him that arch of her thin eyebrow and he eases forward in bed, glancing down at the pile of his stuff in the floor.

"Um, actually," he says more seriously, "can you give me the black notebook that's on the lower shelf of the - yeah, that's the one. Thanks."

His fingers brush over the leather cover, the familiar shape of the pencil.

"Anything else?" Molly asks. He shakes his head and she smiles, moves towards the door. "Okay, well, I'll be back later to check on you. Don't do anything crazy," she warns, and he wonders exactly how transparent he is.

Eh. Maybe Kate told on him.

He slides open the notebook, fingers through pages of random notes, doodles, Beckett quotes. He might be too restless to write, but maybe he can toy with plot ideas for his next novel, do something useful at least.

Huh, look at that. Sometimes he can hardly decipher his own handwriting. It's easy to tell whenever he's gotten excited about a scene or idea, because the letters all run into each other, cramped, the ink smeared on the page because he couldn't wait for it to dry. This one could be a character sketch of some villain - mysterious man, he reads, and a voice on the phone - oh - he remembers this.

Smith. That's who he was thinking of at the time, his mind intent on trying to understand the man, his motivations. I'm a friend of Roy Montgomery's.

Smith's protection. Ha. A whole lot of good it did them.

Rick traces the curves of the letters with his index finger, his mind wandering, considering.

Secrets and lies. All last year.

Maybe they went at this all wrong.

When she gets outside, her body is still humming with the smoke and cordite of the firing range, and the humidity of the morning air slides around her like a sensual hand. She sheds her jacket and pulls her phone out, wishes Castle was allowed his iphone in the hospital room. But she calls the phone at his bedside and hopes he's awake to pick it up.

"Lady Irena's House of Pain."

Kate barks out a laugh and feels her face flush as pedestrians give her strange looks, cups her hand around the phone as she strides for the subway station at the end of the block. "You in pain, Castle?"

"Not really. Just always wanted to say that."

Jeez, she loves him. How did that happen? "How's it going?"

"It's been okay so far. Better now. Looks stormy out there - you know what lightning does to me now. When are you coming by?"

Kate smirks, bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing again. Lightning. "On my way now."

"All smoking hot and smelling like bad-assness?"

"You asking me if I smell like an ass, Rick?"

"Ah, um. . ."

She grins and watches the wind pick up some trash in the street, press a plastic bag against the base of a skinny tree.

"Uh-huh," she murmurs. "But yes, I'm done at the range. Weapons re-qualification is out of the way-"

"How was Burke's?" he says quickly.

"Good. Actually. It was good."

"Good," he repeats, sounding a little inane, but warm on the other end of the line. She can see thunderheads building in the sky and picks up her feet.

"I should be there in about twenty or thirty minutes," she says, gauging the weather with a hesitant sniff at the air. Burned ozone-

And there's the lightning, a flicker just west of her. And yeah, it kinda does it for her too. At least, it has memories attached now, their first night, how his body looked illuminated by the white-blue flash, how it seemed to be perfectly timed to. . .all the best parts.

"Hey, Kate, glad you called. I need to let you know. When my mother came up this morning, she said a couple of photographers were hanging out by the main doors. Usual fare, nothing too crazy."

Oh. The press. Photos on page six. Her face linked to him-

Or, well, actually. The publicity isn't really about her and him, is it? It's all Castle.

"Because you were shot," she murmurs. "That's - Paula and I talked right after you got out of surgery. She released a statement, and maybe I shouldn't have been the one, but there wasn't really anyone else to ask. Alexis helped me word it."

"She told me," he says softly. "Partners, Kate. It needed to be done."

Her breath comes quickly, tasting storms on her tongue. "Yeah. You read it?"

"I did. Sounds fine. But see, the press being downstairs might be a good thing. See, here's what I was thinking."

She feels the storm breaking just past her, the scent of rain and wet pavement filling her nose. She dashes the last few feet and makes it into the subway station, pausing on the steps off to one side so she can keep her cell phone reception.

"What were you thinking?" she prompts him, watching the rain - at first in scattered fistfuls, and then fatter, juicier drops.

"We should let them know. Let the city know what we're dealing with. We know who shot me. He thinks he's untouchable. But let's put his name out there, let's talk about the conspiracy, make it clear what we're up against. I'm moderately famous - let's use it to our advantage."

She catches her breath, her body held away from the subway tunnel, people huddling on the stairs with her, unwilling to go out into the summer downpour. Alexis has a week before she's got to be in school, Kate is going back to the 12th, Castle will have rehab and therapy and be miserable for a while, but he'll be at her side soon enough-

"You trying to turn yourself into Batman here, Castle?"

"Yeah. Doing my best. Only I don't need a cape, more's the pity; the bad guys already know who I am. They know where we live; they follow us to Central Park. So we let everyone else know too. If the whole city has the same information we do-"

"Safety in numbers," she murmurs. Too big a mess to clean up.

"Exactly. No more secrets and lies, Kate. It doesn't work. The truth will set us free."

She turns towards the dark tunnel, her back to the rain, feels the thunder rumbling out overhead. "Let me think. I'm in the subway, my phone is going to cut out in a second, but let me think about this."

"Okay," he says quietly. "How about this? Avoid the front doors if you don't want the publicity. But if you do - if you think I'm right - then, Kate?"

"Yeah?" she says, hearing the clamor of raindrops just past her, feeling the press of bodies as it gets crowded on the subway steps. She wonders if there's lightning out there, brilliant and dazzling displays from cloud to cloud that she can't see right now.

"If you're with me on this, then use them. Give them something to quote. Get pissed and let them know. I don't care what you say - I trust you. Anything you want - about me, about the shooter, about the conspiracy, about us."

"About us," she repeats, takes that next step down into the subway station.

"About us."

"Okay," she says quietly. "Let me think."

She absolutely cannot put him and his family in any more danger.

When she shows up at his hospital room, her hair is damp and curling a little, her hand around her phone, her eyes on him. He tries to read there what's happened, but he can't.

She comes inside, holding a hand out to Alexis with a little squeeze, and then Kate's at his bed, her fingers trailing up his forearm, along his uninjured shoulder, finally running through his hair. Her lips brush his forehead.

"I came in the main doors," she says.

His heart flips.

No more secrets.

He feels stronger tonight, and he knows it's not just the sleep, not just his body being on the road to recovery, not even the certainty of leaving the hospital tomorrow (Molly was right).

It's the hours spent with his family, with Kate and Alexis surrounding his bed, joking and messing with him, making him laugh.

It's the strong squeeze of Kate's fingers against his, the determination in her green eyes, the beautiful lift of her mouth. The knowledge that they're in this together.

She talked to the press.

His mind still reels from the fact, disbelief and excitement taking turns. Kate Beckett, who has to be the most reserved, the most private person he knows, talked to the press. Her whole life - her family's tragedy - being shot last summer, and now this.

She talked to the press.

He makes Alexis go home, sends Kate with her, claiming exhaustion. And it's true, it really is. He can't keep his eyes open, and it's a natural and only slightly aching sleep that greets him.

They're ready for this; they're doing it the right way - out in the open, in the light, where the truth can be seen and the lies tossed out like garbage.

The Dragon doesn't have any idea what he's up against.