Close Encounters 6: You Only Live Twice

once more for cartographical
who never stops
who carries the hope no matter the hopelessness:

this is your story

The hospital was cold and dark when they stepped off the elevator, a phalanx surrounding Beckett as she led the way down the hall. Castle was at her right hand and the boys were flanking them, but she was feeling the most vulnerable she'd ever been right now.

She wrapped her fingers around the blue garnet ring on her left hand, breathed against the strange throb of her scar that seemed to drill through her back and out her chest. Castle's thumb came briefly to her elbow and she straightened up again, relaxed her fist. The ring was that smoky blue that had always comforted her, made her think of him and the way his eyes turned dark when he saw her.

Outside the hospital room was a cop that she and her team knew well; Esposito had recruited the woman to stand guard for the rest of the night, and while Hastings was strangely reluctant, she had also brought her friend, a journalist, who was interested in helping them break this case.

Beckett wasn't sure how she felt about that. She'd met Paul Whittaker on a few of their homicides, but she wasn't certain that this kind of thing could be handled delicately with the press all over it.

Still, Esposito and Ryan thought it was a good idea, an idea they'd had that might force Bracken to pay for his crimes. City-wide exposure and the outcry of the public were their weapons to wield. Even if Castle was skittish of the journalist.

Beckett nodded to Officer Hastings and the woman gave that brisk nod back, standing at ease but with her eyes straight ahead. "Paul here?" Kate asked.

She shook her head. "He was with me earlier," she admitted. "But, he won't - he stayed outside. It's all off the record until you say, Detective Beckett."

Detective. It was strange to hear it.

Castle took hold of the knob and pushed into the room; Beckett thanked Hastings and followed him inside.

Smith looked like death warmed over. It wouldn't be long now.

The old man's lips were cracked and split; his left eye was closed with swollen, black bruises, and the right side of his body looked like it had been put through a cheese grater. It wasn't professional in the sense that Castle recognized the work, but it was most definitely done by someone with a certain skill set.

He was grateful that Ryan had gotten out of the encounter with such minimal damage, now that he saw Smith.

Beckett looked grim as she faced the broken man but Castle leaned in close, his body half-blocking Kate's view, and he pressed his fingers over the oxygen line where it rested on the bed. The cannula jostled and Beckett took a deep breath in, pushing closer, and he made certain she couldn't see.

"Mr. Smith," he said gravely, nudging the man's bandaged side.

The right eye flickered and fluttered open; the white was bloodshot and the pupil looked blown. Not good. Could have brain damage from intracranial pressure.

"Mr. Smith. Take to wake up."

"You," the voice groaned up from the damaged throat.

"Me," Beckett said forcefully, pushing past Castle and leaning over the bed. Castle released the oxygen line and let it flow through suddenly; the influx of oxygen made Smith rouse a little more.

"What do you. . .think you can do?" Smith rasped.

"More than you could," Castle answered nonchalantly. "Where's the file, Smith?"

"Wouldn't give you the pleasure," Smith groaned. Castle pressed his fingers into the crook of Smith's elbow where it was bruised and the man jerked, sucking in a breath.

"Smith?" Beckett asked, reaching for him with concern. "Smith, you have to tell me where you put the file. Just tell me. I can take him down; I can make Bracken pay for this."

"Have no idea what - what you're up against," Smith croaked. Castle shifted farther away and let Beckett work on her appeal, but he kept his fingers pressed into the man's elbow. She didn't seem to notice, so focused on the man.

"Please. You were my Captain's friend. He knew you would protect me," Beckett murmured. "He sent you that file because you could be trusted. Trust me now. Please."

Castle didn't expect it to work, but for some reason, Smith's face twisted in something that looked like regret. The older man opened his mouth and Castle immediately removed his fingers from that ugly bruise.

"Beckett," Smith sighed. "This is. . .bigger than you. Look - at me. What happened - to me. You have. . .no chance. Against him. No chance."

"I have Castle," she said back. She didn't even look at him when she said it, but he saw her hand move against the bed, searching for his. Castle gripped her fingers in confirmation.

Smith's good eye went to him in a dark and dangerous way. It made Castle stand up straighter, something in him alerted. He'd tortured this man, once upon a time - or gotten far enough down that road that Smith wouldn't forget.

"Smith, please. If you tell me where it is, then I have a chance."

Smith's eye roved to Castle once more and then his mouth opened. "Eighty. . .six. Eighty-six."

Beckett leaned in but Castle frowned, something stirring in his gut. Suspicion.

"Eighty-six Mmm..."

The alarm went off just to Castle's right and he jerked back, checked to make sure he hadn't accidentally pulled out one of the lines. But the alarm still sounded and the man's eye had rolled back in his head. Beckett was checking his breathing, but Castle grabbed her shoulder and moved her away as the nurse came in.

A code was being called, they were hustled out, and the response team was flooding the room. Castle grabbed her elbow and moved her towards the boys.

Ryan looked - despite not being able to take in a deep breath - strangely excited. "I know what - I know where it is. I know what he was trying to say."

Castle stared at Ryan and then his face cracked wide into a relieved grin. He clapped Ryan on the back and put a hand at the man's neck, gripping him tightly. "Ry - my man - are you serious?"

Ryan winced but nodded, shrugging out from under Castle's hand. Right, yes, Beckett had accused him of this before - being a bully. He let go and waited.

"We've had to do a lot of digging into Smith - Castle's orders, right? And I know that number. 86 Markwell Street. Michael Smith owned that building until recently, when it was bought by a development group. However, he has a controlling interest in the group."

"86 Markwell. You sure?" Beckett asked, frowning past their group to look in at Smith.

Castle watched the concern on her face and felt struck again by how much. . .more she was. If Michael Smith died, it would affect her; she didn't want it to happen. But Castle couldn't care less, one way or another. He wondered if - if things had been different for him - would he look like Beckett? Would he care like she did, be concerned for people? Or would he be callous in some other way - was he just wired to not let people affect him?

Except Beckett affected him. Beckett got to him. And if she didn't want Smith to die, then he. . . .no. No. Still didn't like the man; he remembered that look on Smith's face as he'd refused Kate's request. But for her sake, he hoped her conscience was at ease whatever happened.

86 Markwell Street.

"Let's go get that file," Beckett said suddenly, her face determined.

He had a bad feeling about this file.

The construction site was covered mostly in thick plastic sheeting to keep out the elements; looters had been through at one point and stripped out the copper wiring, leaving gaping holes in the sheetrock. They'd lost their funding midway through the project, if Beckett remembered correctly, and now it languished.

She, Castle and the boys stepped carefully into the remains of the ground floor, mindful of debris, and she pulled the weapon Castle had given her from his own stash. Her service weapon was still in the 12th's safe, but she liked the feel of this one.

Ahead of her, his own Glock drawn, Castle paused and held up his fist for them to stop. She halted at his back and felt her team do the same. Castle jerked his head towards the open doorway and pointed to his eyes and then back to the space beyond.

She nodded and Castle crept forward while her team was in ready. He eased to the doorway and then widened his eyes and held up one finger.

A man. One man.

Beckett turned to her team and they followed at her command; she brought Espo and Ryan into the shadow at Castle's side and they waited for his signal.

Castle framed the door next to her, while her boys were across from them. The hallway led over onto a former ground floor apartment. Beckett sneaked a look, gave it a quick study, and closed her eyes as she pulled back, memorizing the layout.

The man had been kneeling on the floor; he looked familiar - so damn familiar. She wasn't sure from where, but she thought she'd seen him. Either as a suspect in Castle's long briefing when they'd arrived stateside this morning, or attached to Bracken as some kind of security detail.

But either way - there was no doubt he was Bracken's man.

"They bug the hospital room?" Castle murmured in her ear.

She shook her head and shrugged. No way of knowing how this guy had gotten here ahead of them. "Most likely," she mouthed.

He set a grim line and then he held up a hand to the boys - both Esposito and Ryan looked like they were chomping at the bit, but Beckett figured they could let this guy do all the work, nail him when he came out.

Suddenly Castle stiffened and she heard the sound - telltale clicking, like a connection being made - and Castle was hurtling himself towards her.

The explosion punched them both back; Castle landed on top of her with a grunt and his eyes closed, his forehead smashing into her chin. She gripped his shirt even as debris rained down on them. Through the smoke and haze, she saw confetti.

Bright, brilliant lines of numbers and letters and photographs in tiny, parade-like pieces, drifting down over them like snow.

The file.

Castle had already called in his CIA team - unfortunately led by the grumpy Agent Deleware - so he told Beckett to send Ryan home. Poor guy could barely breathe through his taped ribs after that explosion. But the rest of them picked through bomb debris for the remnants of the file.

It'd only been twenty minutes when Castle glanced up from his sifting screen and tweezers, feeling entirely too CSI for his action-hero taste, and noticed that Beckett wasn't working - she was wandering.

"Beck."

She gave him a funny look for that and he realized he'd inadvertently given her a nickname. Calling out love in the midst of a CIA op probably would have been worse. He raised his eyebrows and gestured her over and she came to squat down next to him.

"Beckett, you finding the work too tedious for your liking?"

"It's not that," she said slowly, like she hadn't even registered his sarcasm. Whoa. Something was going on here because Beckett snarked with the best of them.

"Kate?"

She was biting her lip and glancing around, and now he saw that she was studying each face of the men on his team. His hackles raised instinctively - these were his guys, even if Deleware was a brown-nosing, pain in the ass.

"I just," she started, then finally turned back to him with a constrained smile. More of a grimace. "Rick. The guy who set off the bomb."

"Yeah?"

"I know who he was."

"Who?"

"One of your guys."

"What?" he hissed.

She shook her head and put out a hand to stay him; he realized he'd half risen from his crouch and instead dropped back down.

"What are you saying, Beckett?"

"Remember the guy from the hotel that night you got Foley here in New York?"

"The night you swiped my key card."

She bit her bottom lip and he saw a surge of shame flash over her; he hadn't meant to bring that up ever again. He really hadn't; he needed to keep his mouth shut.

"That night. The guy right outside my door. Mr Spy Bodyguard. That was him. In here. Now in - pieces."

Castle stared at her, but she had the grim set to her eyes that he knew too well.

"Mr Spy Bodyguard," he repeated slowly. "You mean Stone. Stone Spadden."

"Spadden?" she murmured. "But yeah. Stone - he looked like a stone."

"How could you possibly know it was him? This guy had his back to us the whole time and you got one brief look."

"Dude," Esposito interrupted with a low voice. "Beckett is the best at that. The sketch artist comes in - Beckett nails it right off. She's never wrong."

Castle gave her another look, and she hurried on to continue her theory.

"You said it yourself, Rick," she said softly. "For someone to get here ahead of us, the hospital room had to be bugged. Someone who put it together just like Ryan did. To have that information, to know what we know that quickly?"

He groaned and squeezed his eyeballs with his finger and thumb, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shit. It's someone in the CIA."

"Maybe it was just Stone," Beckett said calmly. "But if Bracken got to him, flipped him or has always had him, then we gotta look closely at your team here."

"And who knows if they're destroying evidence right now," Castle said, grinding his teeth as he glanced around.

Esposito shook his head. "It'd be hard to do with so many of us. We're each working a grid - it's pretty detailed and we'd notice. Too big a risk. But I do think once we get as many pieces as we can, we take this to a guy I know from my time in the 54th."

"Oh?" Castle asked, not liking that idea at all. A guy he knew?

"Yeah, man. Document restoration dude we used once for some shredded books. He'll be able to get on it, start piecing back together what we've got."

Castle shook his head. "No. Not-uh. This is classified information. The more people who know about this, the more-"

"Castle," Beckett interrupted, holding her hand out to silence him. "My call. You said. This is my call. I don't think we can trust the CIA or the NYPD. Too many moles. We go to this guy Esposito knows-"

"He owes me a favor."

"-and then we see where we are. If you want, you can baby-sit the whole process. Park yourself at his office and don't let the confetti out of your sight."

Castle crossed his arms and tried one last time. "What about that FBI agent? Shaw? She had a line on this."

Beckett rubbed her fingers at her forehead and bit her lip. "I don't think we can trust anyone in the alphabet soup."

Castle sighed, but he could see her concerns were valid. "Fine. We'll send it to your guy."

Kate watched him - once more - pack his bag. It seemed most of their life together was a series of packed bags.

It made her ache. Some cracked part of her chest was opening even wider as he threw a set of clothes into a backpack and checked the ammo clip for his weapon. So she slid between him and the bag on the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressed her cheek to his chest.

His hands came up to her neck and shoulder almost automatically; his mouth descended to her cheek.

"You'll get the dog?" he murmured.

She nodded against him. "And visit with Carrie a little bit."

"Thanks, love. I don't want to forget her in the middle of all this."

"Piecing together this thing might take longer than you expect," she murmured into the hollow of his throat, kissing him again. They'd taken to being circumspect even in her own apartment, wary of the agents on his team, wary of the ways they could be tracked and monitored.

"It might, but for now - I don't plan to be away from you that long."

At least a night though. And a good part of the day. And the way he was packing his bag, another night after that.

"Espo's taking me there, doing the introductions. You sure we can trust this to some felon from the 54th?"

She snorted into his skin and squeezed him tighter. "Only resource we got, Rick."

He sighed and traced his lips across her forehead. "I miss you already."

Kate pinched his hip. "Don't be sappy. That's so not you."

"It could be me. I could moan and mope around the house for you, call you every hour to ask what you're doing-"

"Don't you dare," she laughed, shaking her head against him.

"I mean, think about it. You met my - you met Martha. You see what she's like. Had she raised me, who knows how melodramatic and ridiculous I'd be."

Kate pressed her lips together, tried to imagine Castle as a man less than fully in control of himself.

And realized that, yes, actually. She could. It wasn't all the ways he'd be less himself, it was all the ways he'd be more. More relaxed, happier, quicker to laugh. He was already a different man than the one she'd met, already gentler, more compassionate. He had that same steel core of strength and uncompromising loyalty, but now he tempered it with a willingness to understand.

She curled her fingers around his bicep and promised herself she wouldn't push, not anymore. If he wanted to meet up with his mother now that they were back in New York for a while, she'd make that happen. But she wasn't going to nag him about it.

Suddenly his mouth was on hers, soft and slow, warm lips making her open for him. She gripped his arm tighter and lifted on her toes to meet the tension of his kiss, slid her other hand to his neck to stroke through his hair.

He broke to range down her throat, and she clutched his nape and curled around him, her lips brushing at his jaw, over his ear. She hummed and closed her eyes, breathed in the winter-dark scent of him. Like metal and wood, snow and sweat.

"Love you," she murmured into his skin. "I love you so much, Rick."

He gripped her harder and lifted her off her feet, walked them the last few steps to the bed.

Castle fiddled with the edge of the man's desk as their felonious professional spread the materials out over a massive workspace. The light difussed across the room but made each piece of confetti all the clearer, already an improvement from their team's pitiful attempts.

He was beginning to like this guy - Esposito's document restoration professional. Joseph Mickoltzick, Mick for short, was a mousy guy with black-framed glasses and orthopedic shoes. His plaid shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and missing a button somewhere in the middle.

He cared more about paper than he did about life, which was an ideal characterisitic in a guy working on restoring this file. Castle studied him for weaknesses and figured only his ability to be physically threatened would work against them. Mick was safe enough, so long as Castle kept up his precautions.

He missed Kate.

Stupid, sentimental, just as she'd said - sappy. But there it was. He wanted to see that smile that she gave him when she was pleasantly surprised. He wanted her mind at work with his, churning over theories and ideas about Bracken, what to do next, how to proceed.

Last night he'd slept here at Mick's office on a sleeping bag and he'd missed her. He'd called her and they'd talked quietly long into the dark hours of the too-early morning, but he couldn't bear to hang up and not hear her voice, throaty and sleep-hungry and rich on the line. She'd made him tell her a dirty story, which he'd had to make up on the spot, and she'd laughed and told him he was terrible at it.

And then she'd told him a story and it had been entirely too much.

He missed her. And staring at a skinny, excitable little man as he tweezed through fragments of paper just wasn't distraction enough.

So when his phone rang, he smiled in pleased relief and answered without looking.

"Castle," he said, expecting that laughing tease to her voice.

But it was his father. "Richard."

"Ah. Agent Black-"

"New information. After that stunt on Markwell, the lines have been lighting up. We've got intel coming in all over the place."

"And?"

"He's got it out for you. Don't know how the word got around, but it was hitting the regular places simulataneously, Richard. This was no trickle down effect. This was a flood. They all know."

"About?" Castle grated out, so very over the way Black liked to dangle his information over his son's head, give it to him piece by piece like-

Oh, shit. That's what Beckett had accused him of before, wasn't it? Giving it to her in fragments, building suspense, enjoying the power of knowledge.

Castle scraped a hand down his face. He was going to have to change that, be aware of what he was doing. "Look, Black. Tell me what's going on."

"There's a hit out."

A hit - seriously? Bracken actually put out a hit? "On me? How much?"

"Both of you. Four million dollars to the man that can prove you and Beckett are dead."

His heart contracted; he couldn't breathe. "Both - both of us. Me. And Beckett."

"That's what I said."

Castle hung up.

He presssed his lips together, then startled up from the stool. "Sorry, Mick. Gotta leave you to it."

Mick glanced over at him as if just now realizing Castle was there.

Fine, that was fine. Forget the file. He had to get to Kate.

Beckett's phone rang sharply in the cold air and Sasha pulled on the leash as if she were in a hurry to get home, as if she knew.

Kate chuckled into her phone as she answered the call from unknown, somehow certain that Castle was home now. He'd sounded so morose last night, alone, and she hadn't expected him to last much longer at Mick's place.

"Hey there, handsome. Feel like getting lucky tonight?"

"You answer every blocked number like that?" he asked. There was a tightness to his voice that she didn't understand.

"Yes. I do," she said with a smirk, shaking off the sensation and wrapping her hand around the leash. "Oof, Sash. Slow down, you big wolf."

"So I just got home and you're not here. Where's my welcome party, Kate Beckett?"

She laughed and glanced down at the dog. "Sorry, baby. We're miles from you."

He whined on the phone, a matching whine for Sasha's eagerness, and she laughed again.

"Where are you?" he asked. There it was again. Must be his controlling, domineering, bully of a self coming out again.

She rolled her eyes. "In Central Park. I didn't expect you to get out of that meeting so quickly." Meeting. Uh-huh.

"We're working on it, Kate. I mean - I know it's not ideal, and it takes time, but this is what we've got. More than what we had."

She bit her lip and nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "I know. I'm - I'm okay with this. I know this is just how it goes." She didn't say all the things she wanted to say - how the confetti of that file still haunted her at night, how having everything so very close made her restless and aching with the need to finally shut it down, have it be over.

"I'd give anything to just be done with this," she sighed. "I just - I need it done. I want to move on with my life." I want you.

"I know, Kate. I know."

She swallowed hard and nodded again, kept her eyes on the dog to help give her control. "Your girl's excited you're home."

"Oh, you are?"

She laughed at that, felt the smile spread across her face. "Not me, you idiot. Your dog."

"She's your dog too."

"No," she said softly, felt that peculiar tenderness well up in her when she thought about how much he adored this wolf. How much he adored her as well. "No, she's yours. And so am I, Castle."

"I knew it," he sighed out softly. "You're on your way home, right?"

"Mm, not quite. Why - you anxious for me?"

"I am," he said darkly, and even though she knew the intention was supposed to be sensual, somehow it came across. . .uneasy. Like he needed her right in front him to be sure.

"Hey," she said quickly. "Love you. You know I love you."

"I know. I know, Kate. Just - wish you'd been here when I got home. Love you back."

She hummed and smiled into the phone, reached down to let Sasha off the leash. The dog nosed at her for a moment, then slowly wagged that long tail and wandered off.

Castle cleared his throat. "Hey, what do you want for dinner?"

"I don't know. Anything. I'm hungry already."

"How long will it take you to get back?"

"Much as I'd love to hurry home, we just got here and she's not. . .gone, you know? So it might be another hour."

"Oh, okay. Might order something then. Oh huh, what is this?"

"What is what?"

"In your fridge. Leftovers?"

"Oh, I made that chicken thing."

"You up for that? I might heat it up in your oven now. Be ready when you get here. Tempt you home faster with succulent chicken."

"Sure, but it's not as good as when you make it. Just a warning," she laughed, wrapping the loose leash around her fist. "Sasha, sweetheart, just go already. I'm not taking you home until you do. Daddy is waiting."

"Daddy?" he chuckled, and she blushed, shaking her head.

"Um. Forget I said that."

"No way," he said triumphantly. "You called me daddy. You want little Castle babies."

She sighed and blew the hair out of her face, but she couldn't exactly deny it.

"Not right now, Castle. Maybe later."

She felt his breathlessness over the phone, heard it in the stutter of his next words.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. I - yes. Later. Um. What's up with your oven?"

"What do you mean?"

"When's the last time you used it, cause it's not coming on."

"It's fine, Castle," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Hold on a second. Let me see if I can-"

She heard him put the phone down, and she trailed her eyes to the dog. The wolf sedately investigated a tree, nosing around it, and then disappeared through some bushes. Kate didn't follow - the dog liked privacy, the silly thing - and she listened to the sounds of Castle on the other end, fiddling with her oven.

He better not break-

"Oh, God."

Her heart flipped over. "Castle?"

And then a furious roar screamed through the speaker and the line went dead.