A/N: Takes place during the scene in which Vasily, the Russian diplomatic security agent, gets Castle, Beckett, and the boys into the party at the Russian Consulate.

"Stay cool," Vasily tells them, straightening his suit jacket before immersing himself into the mass of fellow partygoers, greeting them all with a suave demeanor and a winning smile that he had so easily fooled them all with in the beginning.

Beckett nods to the boys, Castle too as they break from their circle. The five of them branch off into opposite directions, weaving through the crowd of attendees enjoying the party, searching for anyone who doesn't belong, acting out of place or unusual, before their unknown target can be hit. Beckett takes the east side of the Russian Consulate's upper level, scaling her gaze along the walls, assessing faces amidst the clusters of well-dressed men and women.

They came here uncertain of what to look for, but she definitely knows once she's found it.

The familiar red laser of a sniper's rifle penetrates the glass of a window, slices through the air and stops her dead in her tracks as she follows the glow of red to its resting place upon the consulate general's chest.

Kate shouts, races for him and lunges to tackle the man to the ground just as the bullet pierces the glass.

They crash hard into the carpet, the impact of her shoulder to the floor jarring, a strange sting in her opposite arm flaring in the back of her mind, but Beckett rises onto her side first, inquiring about the general's health, checking on the other who had fallen with them and receiving a nod of approval through his wheezing for breath.

"I am fine, but I do not think you are," General Oborin, the man she had saved, states in a thick Russian accent, nodding to the stream of blood soaking the fabric of her sleeve and staining the white material of his shirt with crimson.

And just like that, the adrenaline abandons her, leaves room for the pain to rush in like fireworks exploding from the ripped skin of her tricep. Kate hisses, attempts to shift onto her knees, but she staggers back to the floor, the hot burn spreading up her arm to consume her chest, debilitating.

"Beckett!" Her eyes flicker towards the shout of Castle's voice, the panic in encompassing the call of her name, the fear. The blood is spilling fast from beneath the hand she lays across her injury, and by the time Castle falls to his knees beside her, half of her right side is warm and sticky with it. "Kate, Kate, are you-"

"I'm fine," she promises him, the utter devastation claiming his face, drenching his eyes in startling grief she's seen before on a sunny day in a cemetery, worse than any bullet wound. "A graze, Rick. It's just a graze."

It does nothing to soothe him. Castle helps ease her into a sitting position with delicate hands while the men she had tackled are escorted to safety by security, her husband's gaze intent on the seal of her palm to the wound, on the blood seeping through the crevices of her fingers.

"Has somebody called an ambulance?" Castle questions, his attention snagging on Ryan and Esposito, already jogging towards her with twin expressions of distress.

"They're on their way," Esposito nods while Ryan tries to dispel the crowd already beginning to gather around them.

Castle squares his shoulders, as if he can shield her from all of the attention he knows she doesn't want, but drapes a gentle hand at her thigh, discretely curls his fingers into the back of her knee.

"I hate your job sometimes," he admits on a quiet sigh, words he's said to her before, attempting humor, but his voice is tight and strained. And she doesn't blame him, not in moments like these, moments where the fear of losing each other is made all too real.

Her body is marred with so many scars, a large portion of them etched into her skin by the score of bullets, and she sometimes wonders how many she can take, how many scars she will bear, before the next to strike her is fatal. She knows Castle wonders it too and it causes her heart to constrict painfully, just as it does now while she watches his stricken blue eyes scan her up and down, drinking in the sight of her alive.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, his chest close enough for her to lean into, to fit her head against the cove of his neck and rest her good side to his sternum, her cheek to his clavicle. But Castle stiffens, his trembling hands pausing midair, arms half raised around her, as if he isn't sure he should touch her.

Kate lifts her head in confusion, grits her teeth against the surge of pain as she examines his careful expression, the pinched corners of his eyes, and oh, he thinks… he thinks she would deny him the reassurance of holding her in a moment like this, doesn't he? Because of their stupid separation, the rules they made to keep up the act while in public.

"Everyone will see," he murmurs, confirms her suspicions, but she only returns to her resting place against him, releases a soundless whimper into his neck at the jolt of fire licking up and down her arm, burning brighter with her every movement.

"I don't care," she grits out, pressing her forehead to the hard bone of his jaw. She should care, it's his safety at risk and that should be the only thing on her mind, but she just – she's in agony, lightheaded from blood loss, and she wants her husband, wants his arms secure around her, to block out the threat of her post traumatic stress that remains dormant but ready to wake with the memories the thought of snipers so easily evoke, and for the wild beat of his heart beneath her ear to calm. "I don't care, please just-"

Castle laces his arm around her waist, the other rising to submerge his fingers in her hair, cupping his palm over her ear.

"You're okay," he mumbles, his lips at her temple, his fingers stroking along the silky fine hairs at the base of her skull. "You're going to be okay, sweetheart."

She had told him how she hated when he called her that, especially outside the privacy of the loft, but the soft whisper of it in her ear now is soothing, warm and comforting. It's all in her head, she knows, but combined with the embrace of his touch surrounding her, the points of contact he provides, some of the pain from her bullet wound begins to subside.

"Just a graze," he adds on a mumble. "It's just a graze."

She isn't sure which of them he's attempting to reassure.

Rick sits with his wife in the ambulance, holding her left hand and toying with the ring on her fourth finger while the paramedic stitches up her arm. The doors to the van are closed and the EMT is focused on sewing her skin, reciting comments about aftercare as he finishes up, paying no attention to the connection of their fingers, the way he lifts her knuckles to his lips each time she winces.

"Ryan and Espo are across the street, found the sniper's nest," he informs her, reading the update off of his phone and Kate nods, her eyes on her knees where their hands rest.

Guilt lives within the lines bracketing the frown of her mouth and he squeezes her hand in hopes of dispelling it to no avail. It's always been his job to protect her, whether he was fit for the position or not, and ever since her shooting at Montgomery's funeral, he had sworn to do better at it. Tonight, he felt like a failure, his stomach still in knots from the sight of her on the ground with blood staining her clothes, and he knows she feels like one too for seeking out his comfort amidst her agony, for putting what she wants above the need to keep him safe.

"Come home tonight." Kate glances up from the tangle of their fingers. "I know the case is far from over, but for tonight it is, so just - come home, let me take care of you."

"Though not always necessary, that would be a good idea, ma'am," the paramedic chimes in without looking up, beginning to wrap a strip of white gauze around her arm.

She ignores the kid dressing her wound and purses her lips, indecision hard and overwhelming in her gaze.

"I already screwed up tonight, Rick. I didn't even consider your safety in there, I just-"

"It doesn't change anything," he argues, refraining from saying too much in front of the EMT almost done with her arm. "No one saw anything, Beckett. Just the people in that room and we've checked out all of them."

The paramedic cinches her bandages and stands, gathers his supplies and places them off to the side.

"I'll give you two a minute," he states with a polite nod, opening one of the ambulance doors and stepping out of the van, the entry remaining open but the paramedic drifting out of earshot.

"We'll sneak you in if you want, I don't care-"

"Okay," she sighs, withdrawing her hand from his to curl her fingers at the back of his neck and guide him in closer, close enough to smear a kiss to his lips and calm the flutter of worry consuming his system. "We'll talk to the boys, check in with Vasily, and then we'll go home."

Castle presses another kiss to her lips, feels them spread beneath his in a tender smile, and skims his fingertips along the bandage consuming her upper arm.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it to you sooner."

The smile falls from her face and Kate grips his arm before he can draw back, lifts her gaze to search his with a furrowed brow.

"Castle," she scolds softly, her eye darkening with anguish he had never meant to revive. "It's not your job to protect me."

"The hell it isn't," he whispers, hisses, still hovering over her. "You don't get to take that job for my benefit and deny me when it comes to your safety."

"Rick-"

"Partners. We're partners and protecting each other will always be a job we both hold. You made that promise when you married me," he reminds her, stealing the hand from his shoulder and sweeping his thumb across her wedding band for emphasis.

"Fine," she relents, using the grasp of his hand to haul herself up. "But that doesn't mean I want you jumping in front of bullets for me."

He shrugs, knowing better than to start this argument again, and aids her in descending from the ambulance, careful not to jostle her arm on the step down to the concrete. "Habit."

"Not funny."

The boys bound up to meet them, eyebrows arching at the link of their hands that disconnect a second too late, but they fail to comment, attentions drawn to the gauze adorning Beckett's arm. They volunteer to bring Vasily up to speed for her, to hold down the case until morning, and Kate murmurs her gratitude, pats them both on the shoulders as she follows Castle down the sidewalk to her cruiser.

"Should I call a cab for you and I can drive your car back to the precinct, meet you at the loft? Or did you want me to-"

"No," Kate says, curling her fingers around the passenger door handle of the vehicle. "I know it's dangerous and we should take precaution, but I just - I just want to go home, Castle."

Sorrow threatens to breach her eyes, the constant stress that comes with hiding their relationship all over again ready to crack her composure, and he accepts the keys she hands him before the dread can settle in. It may be a risk to their cover, but for tonight, at least, it's worth it.

Rick sweeps his eyes over the area, aware that they aren't necessarily alone, but deems it safe enough to drift in, dust a kiss to her forehead before he walks around the car to slide into the driver's side.

"Okay," he murmurs, stepping back and relishing in the slow lift of her lips. "Let's go home."