[ forced decompression ]

[fanofthegenre]

Combing the parking garage for any sign of the third victim's body proves fruitless. The killer - whoever he is - isn't sticking to his normal M.O. of leaving the body where he's killed them, either. Forensics bags the lone pump, the clumps of blonde hair, swabs the places where her blood had spilled, but Beckett isn't hopeful yet. Changing his tactic means he's becoming more unpredictable, getting harder to pin down, but the fact that she's being sent home after feeling like she and her team can actually be a help is weighing heavy on her shoulders. Her protests fall on Agent Shaw's ignoring ears, and she leaves feeling more helpless than before - a feeling she doesn't appreciate having at the moment. It's not until she's climbed into her car and left that she realizes Castle's still there, but something tells her he doesn't mind being left with another brilliant mind to build theory with.

The unit, a small trio of suits wearing earpieces, are waiting in various places throughout her apartment building by the time Beckett gets there, a bag of takeout Chinese in one hand. The sight of them only re-emphasizes her frustration over the situation, and her other hand tightens around her keys when she lets herself into her apartment. She makes a point of checking all the windows, combing rooms, and then pokes her head out into the hallway and tells the guys to head on home. There's no point in keeping them around when everything's perfectly secured and she's got a gun in her bedside drawer - and one in the living room, too.

Beckett changes into a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of jeans and cracks open the Chinese, mixing rice and veggies together with her disposable chopsticks. Fifteen minutes in and the casefile is spread out on the couch in front of her, and Beckett settles in Indian-style, combing over the information: crime scene photos, eyewitness accounts, victims' backgrounds - searching for anything she might be missing, anything Agent Shaw and her team (and her "smart board") haven't pinned down yet.

Comments

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

Castle had stayed behind at the parking garage while CSU swept the scene once, then twice. When they came back empty-handed, Shaw had ordered them to go over it again and a couple of them had grumbled about not getting paid overtime to be federal lackeys -- but they'd at least had the foresight to do it when they were out of earshot of the female agent. Castle'd had mixed feelings about Beckett's forced leave of absence. On the one hand, he agreed with Shaw: Beckett needed a break. She'd been running down leads in her sleep, trying to make impossible connections, and Castle had more than once caught her with her nose pressed close to the precinct's whiteboard, as if she believed the thing was actually going to talk to her.

On the other hand, watching Beckett slump into the SUV was like watching a favourite sports hero strike out at the bottom of the ninth. It stung. There was no way Castle could guess exactly how she was feeling, but he had a couple of speculative guesses. Not being included made Beckett want to go buggo -- either that, or she'd already started to dig in deeper, determined not to be underused.

Which is why, at nearly eleven o'clock at night, Castle hails a cab for her side of town. He's got a bottle of good French wine under his arm because, hell, if she thinks she's being underused, she can at least use his wine cellar to come to terms with it.

The street is empty when the cab sidles up to the curb. Castle pays the driver and gets out, sweeping a look up and down the street. He knows that the feds are paid to be inconspicuous, but this is ridiculous. It doesn't even look like these guys are here. He glances up the facade of Beckett's building. Lights are burning on the second floor, and her curtains are drawn. A good, upright, well-reared girl like Beckett knows better than to leave her lights on when she's not around; she's gotta' be home. He hugs the bottle of wine beneath his arm and goes inside, puffing (but only a little) on the short flight of stairs.

He's compulsively checking corners and dark hallways. What are you going to do if you actually run into someone? Download a gun-shaped app?

Castle makes it all the way to her door before he realizes he's got an even bigger problem:

How in the hell is he gonna' explain why he's here in the middle of the night, with a bottle of wine?