Author's Note: Hello! This is going to be a series of standalone one shots featuring Castle and Beckett at varying points of their relationship. This is inspired by Beckett and Jim's talk in 5x24, "Watershed," when she asks what happens when the music stops and wonders if she and Castle just fell in love with the dance they were in for four years before finally getting together. All of the stories are also inspired by music, so they'll have some song lyrics at the top that fit in with the story itself. Some of the stories will follow canon events, others may be AU, depending on what fits with the songs. Each story will have a summary underneath the author's note to give you an idea of what to expect within it. None of the stories are connected, but since they're all fitting under this overarching theme of music and Caskett's relationship, I figured it was easiest to put them all under one title of "When the Music Stops." I hope y'all enjoy this first story and the future ones to come!

Summary: Seeing their victims take bullets to the heart was too much for her. It was too soon, and the case was breaking her, slowly but surely. Beckett decided to just drink the pain away, just like her dad did after her mom's murder, but maybe all she had to do was phone a friend.

When the Music Stops

Safe in Your Arms

I hope that you see right through my walls

I hope that you catch me 'cause I'm already falling

I'll never let a love get so close

You put your arms around me and I'm home

The case surrounding Sarah Vasquez and Henry Wyatt was getting to her. It was too soon. The mask she tried to wear was breaking, and she knew it. Everyone around her knew it. No matter how much she tried to tell herself she was okay, she wasn't.

Going to Dr. Burke didn't help. All he had to suggest was getting off the case, being patient, waiting, taking the time to work through everything, reminding her that the emotional and mental scars she had from her shooting were just as real as the physical scars. Medication would help, but it wouldn't help fast enough.

She decided she was fine and went back to the case. She had a sworn duty to bring justice to the families of her victims, and she didn't have time to shed tears over this. She didn't have time to wait and work through everything. Not now.

She had to be okay. The mask had to stay on, no matter how cracked it got.

But the longer this case went on, the less she was fine. The longer this case went on, the cracks in her mask just got bigger and bigger. She could feel parts of it chipping away.

When she got back to her apartment on the night after finding the spot where Vasquez was shot from, she changed out of her work clothes and broke out the whiskey and a shot glass. In a normal state of mind, Beckett would've never dreamed of doing something like this. She knew what happened to her dad when he turned to alcohol to make his pain go away, and she wouldn't let the same thing happen to her.

But tonight, she wasn't in her right state of mind. Tonight, alcohol was the medication she needed. Tonight, she would drink the pain away.

If it helped her dad all those years ago when her mom was murdered, then it would help her now, when she needed to have the edge taken off.

Her mind flashed back to seeing the first victim, Sarah Vasquez. The way she laid on the ground with a bullet wound straight to the chest, straight to heart. She remembered how her own hand went up to her chest, where the bullet struck her and nearly took her own life. Lanie told her their victim didn't feel it. She died instantly.

Beckett took a shot. The whiskey burned as it ran down her throat, and she made a face.

She was at the cemetery now, standing at the podium, delivering the eulogy at Montgomery's funeral. She could remember the words she said, remember every breath she took, remember every action she did, including taking a brief look back at Castle. She remembered seeing the glimmer of light from near one of the grave stones in the back and thinking nothing of it until it was too late. She remembered the bullet hitting her.

Beckett took another shot. There was a slight burn as the whiskey went down her throat, but she didn't make a face this time. The burn felt nice. She felt the pain starting to fade away.

She saw the second victim now, Henry Wyatt. Another bullet to the heart, though their sniper was aiming for the head. The same glimmer of light she thought nothing of at Montgomery's funeral haunted her. It was on every building now as she looked around to try and see where this sniper could've shot from. Doors slammed, and she felt her body tense up. A siren made her drop to the ground.

Beckett took a third shot. There was no burn from the whiskey anymore. The pain was gone now. The edge was fading away.

She remembered being on the gurney, being wheeled into the hospital. She remembered the ambulance ride there. She felt nothing; her body was too numb then, too busy fighting to keep her alive, but her mind held memories of it all, as much as she wished it didn't. The last thing she remembered from her ride to the hospital was the sound of the heart monitor flatlining.

Beckett took a fourth shot. The edge was gone. The pain she felt was starting to become numb.

She remembered the moments just after the bullet hit her. She remembered being tackled to the ground by Castle, just seconds too late. She remembered the fear in his eyes as he realized the bullet hit her and the life was leaving her body. She remembered him pleading with her to stay, to not leave him. She wanted to say something, anything, to reassure him that everything would be fine, that everything would be okay, even if deep down, she knew it wouldn't be, but she couldn't form the words.

"I love you, Kate."

His words echoed in her mind, and Beckett took a fifth shot. She reached for her phone, her mind now a little fuzzy from the alcohol as she scrolled through her messages and found her conversations with Castle. For the most part, they were a little silly. He'd send her a silly video he'd seen on YouTube or a funny picture, something to bring a smile to her face. Sometimes he'd invite her out for drinks, and sometimes, she'd accept. Sometimes, it was just her telling him about a case.

Tonight, it was her texting him about how much she wished he was here with her, how much she wished she could be in his arms.

Her mind went back to that day at the cemetery. She heard the gunshot, but before she could even react, she heard Castle calling her name. She felt the bullet hit her. Seconds later, she was on the ground, but it was too late. They both knew it was too late, but she was glad he was there. She was glad that the last thing she could focus on in that moment was his face, even if it was pained, and his voice, even if it was pleading and begging her to stay. Still, she felt the burning in her chest where the bullet hit her. She felt the life leaving her body. She felt the tears run down her face. In what was nearly her final moments, she clung to Castle's words, clung to the memory of him in her mind, clung to all of the things she wanted to say to him and never did; it gave her a reason to fight for her life, so that when the time was right, she could open her heart up to him and tell him everything she'd wanted to tell him since the summer he left for the Hamptons with his ex-wife.

Beckett took a sixth shot, emptying not only the shot glass but her whiskey bottle too. There wasn't much in it at the start, but it was enough to take the edge away and numb the pain she felt. That was all she needed.

And then she heard a gunshot, and she screamed. She knocked over her coffee table in the process, as well as the bottle of whiskey and her shot glass, shattering it and sending shards of glass across her living room floor. All of it broke, but her eyes just darted around the room, looking for the source of the shot. She reached for her blinds and closed them in her drunken haze and panic. Her mind flashed back to the cemetery again, and she just reached for her service weapon, sliding over to the wall of her living room.

As she raised her weapon, hazel eyes focused on her window, she didn't even notice the blood that ran down her arm from the cuts she sustained to her wrist from sliding across the broken glass on her floor.

o.o.o.o.o

"Beckett?" Castle called out as he knocked on her door. He got no response, but maybe it was because he was too quiet. He didn't want to disturb her neighbors, but maybe he would have to. He knocked again, this time a little louder. "Kate?"

Still nothing.

His heart sank. He knocked one more time. "Kate!"

Still no response. Surely she would've heard him knocking by now and at least said something to indicate that she was coming to the door. He pressed his ear to the door, and he heard nothing, no shuffling of feet, no signs of a struggle, nothing. It was eerily silent.

Castle needed to get inside. He needed to quell the rising panic he felt in his heart and his mind.

He felt around in his pockets for something, anything that could be used as a lock pick. He went into his wallet and let out a breath as his hand brushed across a paper clip. He wasn't quite sure why it was there, but for the moment, he was glad it was.

He straightened the paper clip out and got to work, taking care to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb any of her neighbors. He was fully aware of what this looked like, but given that she hadn't answered her phone when he called or responded to him knocking on the door, he had cause for concern.

And compared to the alternative of just kicking her door down, this seemed like the better option.

It took a few minutes longer than he would've liked, but he was able to get the door unlocked. He'd just pushed the door open, only to be blocked by the chain lock she'd put on, when he heard a voice. Her voice.

"Castle?" she called out, her words laced with drowsiness.

"Kate," he breathed, fumbling with the chain lock. He managed to get it unlocked, and he was able to push the door open with no further obstructions.

His eyes widened. Her living room was a mess. She was a mess.

He closed the door behind him, locking it again, and went straight to her side, kneeling down to be on her level. Now that he was up close, he could see her blood shot eyes, the blood on her arm and her clothes and her floor, the tear stains on her face. His heart broke.

He took her hands in his own. "Can you stand?"

She nodded, and he pulled her to her feet. She stumbled for a moment, falling into his body. He placed his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. As much as he wanted to just wrap his arms around her, something in his mind told him not to; he sensed that Beckett wasn't completely in her right mind. He didn't want to cross a line, not like this. He led her to the couch, taking care to not let her step on the broken shards of glass on her floor. When she was seated, he went to her bathroom. He had to rummage around for a bit, but he was able to find the first aid kit she kept in there and brought it back to the living room. He sat down and set it on the couch next to him.

"What happened?" he asked, opening the kit to take out some cotton pads and cleaning solution.

She didn't respond, but he knew better than to push her. Over the last three years they'd worked together, he learned that when she was ready, she would say what was on her mind. So instead of pushing her, he just carefully poured some of the cleaning solution onto the cotton pad and dabbed it on her wrist where the cuts were. She hissed at first, but he just glanced up to her apologetically and continued dabbing the wound.

"Why are you here?" she asked after he finished cleaning the cuts on her wrist, her eyes focused on the wound. There were several smaller cuts and a couple larger ones, but it was nothing that required serious medical attention, which she was grateful for.

"You texted me," he replied as he reached for the bandages.

"I-I didn't…" she started, turning her head to look at the state of her living room. Broken glass covered the floor, and she spotted her phone on the opposite side of the room, on the floor near the kitchen bar. She groaned, running her free hand through her hair. Beckett wasn't quite sure when she fell asleep, but it was starting to come back to her; she remembered coming home and drinking the pain away, and somewhere along the way, she fell asleep on her living room floor and didn't wake up until she heard Castle knocking on her door.

At first, she thought it was all a dream, but the reality of it all was starting to set in. She pulled away from him before he could start wrapping the bandage around her wrist, standing up to go pick up her phone.

"Kate," he said. He watched as she bent down to pick up the phone, examining it for a moment before unlocking the screen.

She saw her notifications first. There were several missed calls from Castle, one voice mail presumably from him, and a couple text messages, also from him. She opened her text messages, and she saw the two from him, but her eyes focused on the two she'd sent him.

"I wish you were here right now. I wish I could be in your arms right now."

She closed her eyes and locked the phone, setting it on the counter in front of her. The pounding headache that inevitably followed a night of heavy drinking was starting to get to her, and she was starting to regret drinking the rest of her whiskey.

"Kate," he called out. She opened her eyes and turned to him. "If you want me to go, I will."

"No, stay," she said after a moment, returning to the couch to sit down next to him. She let out a quiet laugh as he took her wrist to start bandaging it up. There was a part of her that wished she hadn't sent him those messages, but drunk Beckett had a mind of her own. The idea of Castle seeing her in this state, broken and damaged and vulnerable and hungover and spiraling out of control, was something sober and even hungover Beckett didn't want him to see.

But he was here now, and even though she didn't fully agree with drunk Beckett's actions, there was a part of her that was glad they happened. She was glad that he was here now, taking care of her in this state without even batting an eye.

"Better," he said, gently patting her wrist once he was done bandaging it up. He returned the supplies back to the first aid kit, then took it back to the bathroom to put it back in its rightful place. He found the bottle of painkillers she kept in the medicine cabinet and took a couple out before heading over to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

"Here," he said, sitting back down next to her, handing her the pills and water. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Beckett, I can smell it. You've been drinking. A lot. I'd be shocked if you didn't have a pounding headache right now."

Another quiet laugh escaped her as she took the pills and swallowed them with a swig of water. Of course he would be observant enough to see that she wasn't in her right state of mind, to notice that she'd been drinking. She set the glass on a table next to her couch, then leaned back into the couch with a deep breath. Now that she was finally coming down from everything, she was starting to regret the decisions she made earlier in the night.

Now that the hangover was starting to settle in, she realized that drinking only numbed the pain for a little while. The pain was coming back. Everything that she was trying to forget was coming right back to her.

She opened her eyes and looked over at him. He leaned back into the couch too, his arm draped over the back of it. He was just watching her, keeping his gaze on her. At one point in their partnership, she found it creepy, but now, she found it comforting. Knowing that he was there watching her, making sure she didn't do anything reckless again tonight, made her feel a little more comfortable.

"This case has hit a little too close to home," she said, finally answering his earlier question, looking away from him as she did so; as much as she wanted to open her heart up to him and allow herself to be vulnerable in his presence, she still felt a little nervous about it, felt like she'd ruin whatever it was they had by doing so. She brought a hand up to her chest, placing it over the spot where the scar from the bullet was. "I thought I could handle it. I thought I was okay, but the more we've worked on this case, the more I've realized I'm not okay."

She sighed. Maybe Dr. Burke was right. Maybe she should step away from this case. She wasn't the only cop in the city. Ryan and Esposito could handle this without her, and Castle would probably stick around to help them out too. The three of them would be able to put the pieces together and put their killer behind bars without her help.

Beckett shook her head. No, she had to finish this. Just because they couldn't find her shooter didn't mean she had to stop looking for Sarah Vasquez and Henry Wyatt's. She had to bring justice to their families. This was her job, her sworn duty.

She was okay. She could do this.

"What do you want to do?" Castle asked.

"I'm going to keep working the case," she said, letting her hand fall to her lap. "It was just a moment of weakness that I felt earlier, but I'm fine now."

Castle raised an eyebrow, but he didn't push it. He just nodded. Kate Beckett was a stubborn woman, and he knew better than to insist she back down from a case. Even if she did, one way or another, she'd keep looking into it until she got the answers she wanted and the killer was brought to justice.

"Alright," he said. "What do you want me to do then?"

At that, she didn't know what to say. The only reason why he was here was because drunk Beckett decided it was a good idea to send him a couple text messages that he responded to and she didn't because she was too busy finishing her whiskey and panicking over gunshots that rang through her mind.

But now that he was here, there was a part of her that didn't want him to leave. He came over to her apartment without hesitation when she wasn't responding to texts or calls. He broke in knowing what could happen if one of her neighbors caught him, or worse, if she'd been in a better state of mind and had the awareness to ready her gun. He stayed, knowing that she and her apartment were in a state of disarray. He cleaned the cuts on her wrist and bandaged them up, brought her a couple painkillers and water to deal with the pounding headache she had.

Through it all, he stayed by her side. Everything he did tonight was done out of concern for her, not with some ulterior motive behind it. She knew the words he wanted to say, but he wouldn't because he knew how she'd react.

"Come with me," she said softly, standing up. Castle stood and followed her to her bedroom, where she threw the covers back before sitting on it. She patted the space next to her. "Stay."

He stood in the doorway to her room for a moment, just watching her. She was just sitting on her bed, watching him and waiting for him to come and join her. He hesitated though, knowing that this all started from a couple drunk texts in her "moment of weakness," as she called it. Her eyes were still bloodshot, there were still tear stains on her face, and she still smelled like whiskey. But he saw the smallest smile on her face as she ducked her head away, hiding her face with her hair, and in that moment, he knew that he didn't have the drunken Beckett that texted him earlier in the evening. He had his Beckett, the one he fell in love with, the one that changed him for the better.

She wasn't in a drunken haze now. She was tired, but she was in a mostly normal state of mind. She was past her so-called "moment of weakness," even though deep down, he knew she still had demons to face, demons she'd take on later with his help and with Dr. Burke's help.

He could give her this.

He moved to the bed, sitting down and kicking his shoes off while she shifted to lay down, propping herself up with her arm. As he laid down next to her, pulling the covers up over the both of them, he noticed her smile grew. It was a real smile, the same one he'd fallen in love with, the one she saved for moments with him. She snuggled into the side of his body, and he let his arm wrap around her. She felt a warmth wash through her body as she rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes and letting herself fall asleep to the sound of his heart beating.

For the first time since her shooting, everything felt right. Everything felt like it would actually be okay. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, it would all be okay. But right now, in this moment, laying in the comfort of his embrace, she was okay.

In his arms, she felt safe.