A/N: My (unlikely) version of how things might go down...

Chapter 1: Just You

He stands alone at the altar.

Ryan and Esposito, his two best men (because really, who could choose) stand off to one side. But despite the close presence of his friends, he feels alone. Utterly alone without her.

Flowers dress the pews like garlands. The light strains of organ music drift down from the balcony above. Happy faces are everywhere. Candles burn, their glow like firelight, and heady perfume scents the air. But the murmur of conversation, kept low in deference to their surroundings, and the hum of energy that fills the church with life, is but an incidental background to the single, jarring, demanding thought playing over and over in his mind.

She's late.

Kate Beckett is late to her own wedding, and that's just not like her. No traditional, fashionably late bride she. Being punctual is a personality trait, a point of pride, a lifelong quirk woven deep into her DNA. Being punctual today of all days is something she promised him, right along with lacy garters, stockings and suspenders, and a something blue she refused to share with him until after they were married.

She's late and he's trying not to worry. But be feels anxious and alone without her, and there's just no shaking that.

Time ticks on. The congregation becomes restless, the reverent hum becoming a noisier, anticipatory buzz.

When Alexis reaches his side, her pale face paler than he's ever seen it, her cell phone clutched in her hand, he knows.

She's late, and that's not like her. Not today, not ever. Tradition be damned. She's as eager as he is to do this, maybe even more so these last few weeks. Her face full of it every time he catches her staring into space; that dreamy, feminine, forever look in her eyes. Or when he catches her watching him, her long fingers curled around the two engagement rings she keeps close to her heart on the long silver chain she wears tucked inside her shirt at work.

He's knows what she's thinking, and she knows that he knows. But they never talk about it. Knowing is enough. Being in this place with her now – this time in their lives – is more than enough. He counts his lucky stars every day that they made it this far, over every hurdle they faced, and came out stronger, more together, more special than any other couple he knows. And maybe Kate is right that he shouldn't be so smug, but then he figures he's earned a little smugness this time, because he sure as heck earned her.

His forehead wrinkles into a frown, his eyes smart, and he grips Alexis' wrist to steady his hand as he peers at her phone, his vision swimming.

The words 'Jim Beckett' and 'hospital' leave his daughter's lips and reach his ears, but nothing much else makes its way in.

The boys crowd round, form a tight little circle only his fabulous, colorful mother manages to breach. Family protects him, shields him for a moment from the glare of curiosity – three hundred pairs of eyes watching and waiting with a collective swell of interest; like sharks scenting blood in the water they await the inevitable.

He leaves by the side door. Hurriedly. Gravel crunches underfoot. The ushers are briefed to address the gathering, to break the news, what little of it there is at this point.

Car doors slam, people pile in beside him, their physical and emotional presence holding him up. Blood rushes in his ears, as loud as the sound of the ocean breaking on the shore. He sees nothing the whole way there except for her face. Her beautiful, smiling, joyful face.

'I'll be waiting for you, Kate.'

'No, Rick. I won't make you wait for me this time. I promise.'

Gravel becomes concrete sidewalk, then squeaky, grey, vinyl tile. His shoes reflect the glare of overhead strip lights on their polished, black patent toes. Other people deal with the formalities – the who, the why, the where – their voices mumbling, unfathomable sounds that fail to breach the screaming mess inside his head.

The elevator doors open and he heads inside, his chest tight with the crush of everything he daren't give voice to – ever fear, every hope; he treats them both the same. When he turns to face front and the doors slide closed, he instinctively feels for her hand, finding his daughter's small, cold, clammy digits instead. Bile rises in his throat and he coughs, pressing the back of his knuckles against his mouth, forcing it back down. His eyes water and burn, he breathes noisily through his nose trying to regain some control.

Because all of them, here, together again in a hospital…

"Dad?" Alexis voice and the light squeeze of her hand stirs him enough to put one foot in front of the other, to leave the protective bubble of the elevator and make his way to the nurses' station.

Two dark figures stand sentry down the hall, all in black with brassy highlights. He spots them immediately. He knows how this works. He's been here before. He eschews the formalities and heads straight for them, his eyes burning with fear and fire and so help me God if she's not…

The uniformed men nod and step aside. His hand falters on the door handle, sweat making his palm slide against the tilt and press of metal. A doctor's voice, calm and businesslike, can be heard from inside. He pushes on.

Inside the room the air is still. Time stops.

He briefly closes and then reopens his eyes. Relief rushes through him turning his legs to jelly.

She's lying on top of the bed, her wedding gown spread out around her. Curls escape from her elegant chignon; their messy tangle nothing any stylist would ever attempt to create. The right shoulder of her dress is torn, the sleeve separated from the wide-curve of the neckline. He tries to tear his eyes away, still programmed not to look, since this is her wedding dress and he's not supposed to see his bride before the big day. But he can't. He can't not look. This is their big day, only not how they'd planned to meet when they whispered promises to one another in the dead of night right before she left the loft to stay at her dad's place last night.

'I'll be there waiting, Kate.'

'Rick, no. No more waiting. Not this time. I promise.'

In spite of everything, she looks so beautiful that it takes his breath away all over again. Her milky smooth skin, the bare orbs of her shoulders, the elegant lines of her collarbone and slender neck all enhanced by the design of her dress. The sight of her, pale and roughed up, transfixes him beyond anything he can control. Blood stains the silver-grey, intricately hand-beaded bodice of her gown. Droplets have been caught and spread on the white tulle of the skirt. She could be Snow White, he thinks, as the jackhammer in his chest ratchets up another notch. This sweep, this absorption of all that she is right now, this living, breathing second, takes just three beats of his heart. And then his eyes travel up again to lock with hers - big, brown and soulful.

Her face crumples the instant she sees him, tears well in their amber depths, her chin trembles, lips puckering, and a single sob swells in her chest, breaking free like a hiccup. He goes to her, hands outstretched, seeking out her oh so tiny, shattering face.

"Baby," he murmurs, soothing her even as his own heart breaks at the sight of her raw fear, her pain, and her terrible disappointment.

Her ability to divest herself of her cloak of bravery in front of him alone swells pride in his chest. Someone clears the room and they are left alone.

"Shhhh," he whispers, kissing her swollen cheek, her split lip, gentling the shuddering in her chest.

She clutches his wrists, her grip fierce and strong. "I thought I'd never see you again," she whispers, for his ears only, her forehead pressed against his to form a perfect cocoon. "They promised. Me for you."

"No. No," he soothes, fingers slipping into her hair and round behind her head to hold her steady. "There is no me without you, Kate," he whispers urgently, needing her to understand this desperate truth. "Only you, babe. It's always been just you."

She squeezes his hand and he nods, breathing steadily to get air back into his lungs again. If she is alive then he needs to be too. Breath in, breath out, repeat.

"Sit," she tells him when he sways on his feet, and he feels like a fool. She's the one lying in the hospital bed and he is the one who looks like he might faint.

He lands hard in the institutional bedside chair, vinyl covers squeaking under his weight, a thin gush of air leaving the padded foam cushion. They stare at one another for a long, silent moment.

"What happened?" he asks suddenly, needing to replace his own terrible imaginings with the terrible truth of the day.

She clutches his hand, her tear-stained face calmer now. "Tyson," she murmurs, her eyes widening, as if uttering his name alone might summon him again, like a demonic genie in a bottle.

"What?"

Kate nods, her fingers tightening around his so that they are bone to bone. "Tyson and…and Kelly Neiman." She shudders and he watches as goose bumps retexture her arms. "My dad..."

She closes her eyes and more tears begin to fall. "I'm so disappointed, Castle," she blurts when her head shoots back up again, the words rushing out of her mouth like a wail.

"Shhh," he soothes, hating seeing her so upset. "Just take a breath and tell me what you know. Go slowly, okay?"

Kate takes a couple of deliberate breaths and tries again. "Dad…he…he…the doorbell rang," she explains haltingly, shaking her head from side-to-side as if to sharpen her memory or chase it away, he isn't sure which. "He went to answer it. We assumed it was the chauffeur."

Castle's blood runs cold, his skin clammy with chilling sweat. "But it wasn't?"

Kate blinks. "No…well, yes, he was dressed as a chauffeur. But not the real one."

"What happened to the real driver, Kate?"

"They drugged him and stuffed him in the trunk," she explains, as more tears run in rivulets down her cheeks.

"Wait," says Castle, looking back towards the door of the hospital room, aware of his surroundings for the first time since he left the church. "Where's your dad? Where's Jim?"

A crushing sob leaves Kate's throat and Castle rushes to stand. Bending over her, he carefully gathers her up in his arms to hold her. "Where, Kate?" he whispers, running his fingers over her hair and down her back, again and again.

"Down the hall. They drugged him too," she manages to say, pushing gently on his shoulder to get him to sit down again once she composes herself.

He fishes a white handkerchief out of his pocket, doesn't know why he didn't think of it before. Carefully, he begins to dab the soft pocket square over her cheeks, blotting her tears and removing the evidence of her ruined make-up, even helping her to blow her nose.

Her knuckles are skinned and swollen, and one of her nails is chipped and ragged. She has an angry bruise on the side of her head. His heart aches for her. Her special day ruined. All their planning and hoping destroyed by this twisted, spiteful, vindictive, unhinged man who seems to feed off his attempts to destroy their happiness.

"Tell me he's okay?" he asks, carefully taking her hand as he settles back down beside her.

Kate nods, a watery smile on her face. "He came round in the back of the ambulance. Asked me what he'd missed," she tells him, a tiny sob of a laugh bubbling out of her.

"And then?" asks Castle, needing to know everything, even though it's like picking at a scab.

"We—" Kate bites her lip and raises her hand to point to the table over by the window. Her bouquet is lying on the hard, plastic surface, the delicate white and pale pink petals of the peony roses she chose to offset her gown slightly crushed on one side.

"Go on, love," he encourages, stroking the back of her hand.

"We got our things together. He was…early, but I was excited, you know?" she admits, flashing Castle the first genuine smile he's seen since he got here.

He nods in reply, his own nascent smile mirroring Kate's.

"So, I made dad get our things. The camera, my bouquet, keys… Dad took my cell phone. They waited until we got out near the car and then Kelly appeared from nowhere. She used a rag to drug my dad and Tyson pulled a gun. It all happened so fast. My guard was down completely. Castle, I froze," she whispers, her face flushing with shame.

"Hey, hey, now. No. I want none of that," he tells her, tipping her chin up to get her to look at him rather than hide her face away. "You're a bride today, Kate. You're not a cop. You were on your way to your wedding...to get married. No one would expect you to fight off those lunatics."

"I'm so ashamed."

"Babe, don't be. You're here in one piece. Your dad is safe too. That's all that matters, you hear?"

"Only because his neighbor, Joe, saw the whole thing, got his hunting rifle to the tires in time to stop them leaving. I—I fought with Kelly," Kate admits, looking down at her ruined dress. "She had a scalpel, Rick," she whispers, clutching his hand even tighter. "Said she was going to make me perfect this time."

Castle scrubs a hand down over his face, doesn't know if he can stomach hearing anymore, but Kate carries on talking anyway. And maybe she needs to get it out, expose it to the light, dissolve the power this awful memory holds by repeating the details out loud. Whatever the reason, he's ready to listen.

"The inside of the limo was laid out like some…field hospital. There was a sheet covering the bench, this…this array of surgical instruments spread out on a green cloth, swabs, a mask…bandages," she says so faintly he has to strain to hear her.

"Joe shot out the tires and we lurched to a stop. I—I dunno. That seemed to kick-start something. I saw my dad lying there in his suit…so pale, and I snapped."

"Where are Tyson and Kelly Neiman now?" asks Castle, eyes scanning hers for a clue.

"I stabbed Kelly in the arm. But they both got away."

"And Joe?" Castle wants to shake this man's hand. Maybe nominate him for a medal.

"He's helping the cop who's taking point. Hunter, I think his name was. Helping give a statement. His wife is the nosiest woman on the block. Turns out she was watching at the front window, waiting for me to leave. She saw the whole thing."

Castle smiles softly at her, finally letting his gaze travel down over her dress, absorbing everything.

"I'm sorry you had to see the bride before the wedding," Kate tells him gently, surveying the damaged gown along with him.

"I'm not," asserts Castle, fiercely.

"I'm sure this isn't what they usually mean by bad luck," grins Kate, wincing when her lip splits open once again.

"Homicidal maniacs? Deranged plastic surgeons?" asks Castle, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "I'm sure you're right."

"I was so scared," admits Kate, her voice barely a whisper, taking the handkerchief from her fiancé's hand to dab at her bleeding lip. "I didn't want to die without ever knowing…"

Castle lets his hand come to rest on her tulle-covered thigh. "Knowing what?" he presses, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze.

"What it would feel like to be your wife."

TBC…