Title: 'Bushwhacked'

Author: eyrianone

Rating: T

Spoilers: Post-Ep for 'Headhunters, so spoilers through.

Summary: 'It's just a brown coat – except that it really isn't – not to her.' Post Ep. 'Headhunters'.

Disclaimer: (From ViaLethe) – 'Words are mine. World ain't.'

A/N: Firefly, Firefly how I love and miss you! And my fellow 'O (obsessive) C (Castle) D (disorder)' sufferers - enjoy.

bushwhack [ˈbʊʃˌwæk]vb

1. (tr) US, Canadian, and Austral to ambush

2. (intr) US, Canadian, and Austral to cut or beat one's way through thick woods

3. (intr) US, Canadian, and Austral to range or move around in woods or the bush

4. (Military) (intr) US and Canadian to fight as a guerrilla in wild or uncivilized regions

Kate pulls herself away from the trial prep pretty late that night, with a guilty feeling still niggling at her in the pit of her stomach. The kind of feeling you get when you know you haven't behaved the way you really should – the kind of feeling that says you let yourself down. Sure - her 'partner' and right now she uses that term in inverted comma's - has been an ass lately, but Detective Slaughter could have really hurt him when he sucker-punched Castle in the gut earlier, and beyond throwing a vaguely catty remark over her shoulder at him – she didn't stop to check that he was okay at all.

She's sure he is – that he must be, because he's actually a lot tougher than he tends to act, but her lack of compassion towards him after that punch – well she just doesn't like it, no matter the current awkwardness of their relationship.

It bothers her. And she's tried telling herself he deserved everything he got for ditching her in that fashion – tagging along after another cop indeed (it irritates her no end how furious just the thought of it makes her) but the fact is he didn't deserve it. Not at all. And the calm and sensible voice in her head – the one that these days speaks to her in the tones of Dr. Burke – reminds her that she's only furious - because she's hurt by it. And she's only hurt by it because she knows something isn't right between the two of them – and somehow she understands that somewhere, somehow – this is her fault.

And she still can't figure out what she could have done.

She was so happy to see him when he brought her coffee. Was honestly, absolutely thrilled that he'd just stopped by. She's missed him far more than she's comfortable with, both his physical presence and his smile. But the moment when she realized he wasn't actually there for her – it hurt. It hurt so badly that she couldn't wait to get away from him. And that manifested into a 'faked' cold indifference and a cooling untouched coffee on her desk.

She couldn't drink it – not when it was only coffee. Just plain old coffee – and nothing more.

She tossed it in the trash a few minutes after he left, and then instant fortifications began construction at once. And yet . . .

It has proven impossible to keep building up walls when she's finally gotten proficient in the art of taking them down. All she'd managed was enough to hide behind successfully for a while, and even newly reinforced - still her real feelings find her. Its hours later perhaps, but Kate's finally having to deal with how much it absolutely terrifies her that something could have happened to him – something seriously bad - in those brief hours when she wasn't watching out for him.

She's insanely grateful for Ryan and Esposito right now. Insanely grateful that they kept the faith and stood guard over him for her - when she deliberately looked away.

Not that she looked away for long. But it took some prodding from her boys before she reacted as she knows she should have all along – at least in the end he knows she was there for him. That she was standing beside him. That she did act to protect him when it counts.

However she still hates how she left things tonight - dangling all messy and vaguely reproachful. It isn't going to help resolve 'whatever this is' that they're going through and then it suddenly occurs to her out of left field - dammit – wasn't Slaughter wearing Castle's jacket?

Kate pushes to her feet and piles all the paperwork together neatly.

She really likes that brown leather coat – on her partner – not on Slaughter – she really likes it – because Castle looks sort of – dangerous - in it.

Edgy. Sexy. And even though he'd still be sexy in pretty much anything – that jacket it's just so . . . Mmmm.

Of course Castle can easily afford to replace it, and lets face it the man has a lot of clothes, but still – as a peace offering – it could work. Kate reclaiming what Slaughter has taken that doesn't belong to him – she knows her partner would see the meaning behind it instantly – and she'll do anything right now to help repair what's broken between them. Because this constant niggling fear she's living with is like an itch she cannot scratch. And now there's something she can do.

She can go and get Castle's jacket back – along with maybe some other things that have been inappropriately disposed of lately.

But first priority - the jacket.

Castle's brown leather coat; just because it's her favorite.

And then maybe the rest of all that's missing will follow.

Slaughter left telling her she knew where to find him. Turns out she doesn't, but she has ways to track him down, because it takes very few well directed questions and she learns that the man has some seriously predictable habits. And getting slamming drunk at a cop bar in mid-town after he's closed every case is apparently one of them.

Beckett enters the somewhat dingy establishment warily, still trying to formulate a plan of attack – because she has many doubts that just asking Slaughter to return the coat will get her anywhere. But he's definitely the kind of man who'd agree to it if she offered to sleep with him. And if he thought she wanted it because she likes the way it looks on another man – then he's the type to refuse to ever part with it just to piss her off.

More reasons to dislike him. And Kate does, she really – really – does, and not just because his methods are so suspect; but because in her eyes he commits the biggest cardinal sin a cop can. He doesn't give a rat's ass about his partners – cares so little in fact that he's gotten them killed – and that makes him scum in Kate's book.

Pond scum who is so not keeping anything of Castle's.

No way – in hell.

And with this thought Kate smiles – deadly – dangerous – seductive, because she's suddenly figured out exactly what she's going to do to get it back.

Kate finds him – thankfully still wearing the prize she's come to reclaim - drinking at the far end of the bar, and judging by the five empty shot glasses in front of him, Detective Slaughter is well on the way to being exactly where she wants him.

Slipping on to the bar stool next to him, Kate steps up on the ledge of it and then leans provocatively over the bar, deliberately allowing her top to ride up and expose the smooth pale skin at the base of spine. Her snug dark-wash jeans leaving absolutely nothing about the perfect curve of her ass to anyone's imagination, and as Kate attracts the bartender's attention she really hopes Slaughter is enjoying the show.

Because eyeing up her ass is as close as he'll ever be coming to it – but he certainly doesn't need to know that yet.

Kate gives her drink order in an overly breathy voice and waits for her fellow detective to register that she's there.

Doesn't take him long.

"I had a feeling you might decide to change your mind about me." Detective Slaughter leers at her as she sits back down.

His eyes travel slowly down her body, and then hover relentlessly over her breasts for a while as he drinks her fully in and Kate – she toys with him. She tosses her hair, she bites slowly on her lips and she half-smiles. Lets herself imagine that she's here with Castle instead – imagines how fun it would be to seduce him – uses it to find some heat to fill her eyes with.

"You are one seriously hot piece of ass." Slaughter tells her.

He is an ass. But Beckett swallows the revulsion crawling up her throat from the vicinity of her stomach and the eye-roll that she was instinctively going to give him. Those are the wrong tools - instead she fakes a wide toothy-smile, looks at Slaughter from beneath her eyelashes and grabbing her shot of tequila from the bartender she fights against leaning away from him and instead she leans in.

"You're not bad yourself – Slaughter." She tells him (lies), before she slams her shot back and bangs on the bar for another.

Detective Slaughter looks amused. "I just knew I had you pegged right Detective, and I can always tell Beckett." He responds. "It's always the most straight-laced ones who secretly have a hankering for the bad boys. I'm guessing that's the real reason why you and 'Sherlock' have never hooked up. I mean he claimed its 'cause you were friends – but I know better Detective – he just ain't man enough for you. He just doesn't get you hot – or wet."

Oh Slaughter – she thinks. You could not be farther from the truth. And for a moment she has to fight it – how tempted she is to tell him that, to just shoot him down by telling him just how desperately she does want Castle, but that's for later. Instead Kate's eyebrow climbs and she deliberately lets her smirk widen. She reaches for her second shot, and shrugs nonchalantly as if he's right. As if Castle's manly appeal is nothing.

"He of course seriously wants you. I confess I've read his Nikki Heat books – and the man sure does like to fantasize. You should throw him a pity-fuck honey – give him some real insight for his novels." Slaughter continues, clinking his shot glass against hers before he downs another.

She wants to punch him in the nose – jackass, but it won't get her anywhere. So instead she reaches out, and rests her hand – high up on his admittedly muscular thigh and slams back her second shot. Then she runs her fingers slowly down the column of her neck after she swallows it and beneath her fingers she can feel him tense. She hears him swallow loudly, and she lowers her head to risk looking at him. She's close enough to watch his pupils dilate with desire as she breathes out, her response feathering like a caress across his lips.

"You shouldn't say such mean things Ethan." She jokes. "He's sweet – my partner. And he's so very smart. But I'm not here to talk about him Detective Slaughter – I'm here to talk about you."

Slaughter grins. It's all predatory as it splits his face. And Kate can tell he wants her badly now, and as buzzed as he currently is this is going to be remarkably easy – and she's not the prey here – he is.

Time for the big guns – because she wants this over with and fast.

"When you left you offered me 'hot sex' Ethan . . . and there's just all these hot, wild . . . kinky . . . things I do like to do."

"Really . . . "He says, drawing it out. "So you wanna get out of here then Beckett?"

Kate giggles.

"I thought you'd never ask." She gushes.

Beckett slips off her bar stool and then she tosses a twenty from her pants pocket onto the worn wooden bar top, with an exaggerated sway she saunters away and waits for Slaughter to catch up.

He's on her tail in seconds. Crowding close enough that she can feel the heat pouring off of him and she fights back a shiver of disgust, pulling the image of Castle into her head instead. She imagines him in a bright blue shirt, dark jeans, sleeves rolled up and forearms bare. All charm and irresistible boyishness, with love for her shining in his bright blue gaze – desire. It fortifies her.