[ where it begins ]

[fanofthegenre]

She needs to change. She keeps a spare set of clothes at the 12th - but they're meant for the shifts where she pulls an all-nighter and doesn't have time to go home.

They're not for this, for the red that stains the white of her sweater - someone else's (I'm fine, Castle, it's not my blood). She was just supposed to have a conversation. She'd hoped it was one that would bring her a little closer to the truth.

Instead, she's got one more murder on her hands, and more questions than answers.

She's not expecting the door to the Bar when she walks in, but a part of her is almost relieved. She needs a place to decompress, to think about her options and to consider her next move before she heads back out into her world, into the place where all of it becomes real again and everyone's counting on her to step up, relying on her to tell them where to go from here.

Because, right now, Beckett's not even sure she knows what to do.

Comments

[trigger_man]

Jack had been out of the bar for most of the day; hadn't really been planning to return that night. But after washing grease off his hands--his truck was acting up, not something he needed at the moment--he'd opened the fridge for a beer and found it empty.

He's only just taken a seat at the bar when the door opens and he glances over to see who's coming in. He gets about as far as opening his mouth to say Beckett's name when just what that is staining her sweater sinks in.

The blood drains out of his head, a chill washing over him, and it feels as though his heart stops. In that second, it's not just Beckett that he sees; his mind's eyes is filled with an image he still remembers with crystal clarity after almost ten years.

(ten years in three months from now, actually)

His feet start moving him toward her without consciously thinking, instinct taking over. He pushes his way past patrons, not really paying any attention to who he's passing.

As he approaches, somehow his lips form her name, though it comes out sounding more like a croak.

[fanofthegenre]

Beckett's not thinking about the blood. She hasn't thought about the blood since Raglan was shot and died on the floor of the diner, since the moment she realized it wasn't her who had been hit.

What's more important now is trying to figure out what Raglan wanted to tell her after all those years of silence, and whether or not it was that information (of course it was, it had to be) that actually got him killed tonight.

She starts to slump onto a barstool, brushing her hair away from her face with a hand, when she senses movement along her side and turns to see Jack - looking as though he's seen a ghost, his face completely devoid of any healthy color, struggling to speak.

The reason for it - the blood she still happens to be wearing - hasn't yet clicked for her.

"Jack," she murmurs, but she can't put on a convincing smile - or even say much of anything else, for that matter.

[trigger_man]

In that second Jack finds his voice, but the cold dread doesn't start to lift. He looks at her eyes for a moment, before his eyes drift down to the bloody stain on her chest.

"What happened? Are you okay? Are you--?"

He can't bring himself to say it.

[fanofthegenre]

Her gaze follows his down.

(I made a bad mistake and that started the dominoes falling)

"It's not mine," she says quietly. "I - I was on my way to change, when - "

[trigger_man]

"You're sure it's not yours?" Jack asks, putting a hand on her arm, as though to reassure himself that she's warm and alive...not that the dead here appear any different.

"What the hell happened? Whose blood is it? Is Castle okay?" he asks, suddenly realizing what might be behind her unnatural quietness.

[fanofthegenre]

"He's fine," she adds, glancing up again. "He's - not here, he's back at the precinct."

Beckett shifts her weight, willing her voice to remain steady.

"The blood belongs to a man named John Raglan. He - he was the lead detective on my mother's case."

[trigger_man]

"Your mom's case?" Jack asks, wrinkles popping in Jack's forehead as his eyebrows pull together in thought. "Did he have some new information?"

[fanofthegenre]

She nods slowly.

"He called me earlier tonight, told me to meet him. He said he wanted to tell me something about my mother's case, something that had been weighing on him all this time."

For a moment, she can't tell if it's easier or harder to look at him as she speaks.

"He was shot and killed before he could reveal anything."

[trigger_man]

"I'm sorry, Beckett," he says, knowing how frustrating and disheartening it must be for her to get so close and end up with nothing.

Jack pauses for a second, a thought coming to him. "Wait a minute. He was killed by a sniper, wasn't he?"

[fanofthegenre]

"It's fine," she echoes - even though, at this point, it really isn't. "Aside from the fact that I've got a murder on my hands to solve."

His question gives her pause.

"How did you know that?"

[trigger_man]

"Because you probably wouldn't look quite as discouraged if you'd caught the person responsible, which means it couldn't have been at close range. It's also what I would have done when I was in Delta, if someone needed to be silenced and I didn't want anyone to be able to identify me."

That cold feeling of dread is back. "Christ, Beckett, he could have taken you out too."

[fanofthegenre]

Barring the part where that first comment opens up an entirely new series of questions about him that she can't afford to get into right now - she shakes her head, focusing in on the present.

"No. It wasn't me he was aiming for. Raglan was the one someone was trying to keep from talking."

[trigger_man]

"Yeah, and you're the one picking up the case; the one with a personal investment in it that means you're not likely to just call it a cold case and be done with it. That makes you a target, Beckett," he says, his voice a little stern.

[fanofthegenre]

"I'm not going to get invested," she insists, thinking back to the conversation she'd had with Montgomery earlier.

"But they need me to work the case. If anyone can figure out what he was going to tell me, the truth of what he knew that got him killed, I can. I can't just walk away, Jack."

[trigger_man]

"I know you aren't just going to walk away," he says a little more tersely than he'd intended. "I just want you to be careful."

There's a short pause before he adds, "And I want to go out there with you this time."

[fanofthegenre]

"Of course. I always am."

Now, more than ever, she has to watch her step, especially because someone's trying to keep her from the truth.

"But I can't let you do that," she quickly adds, the tone of her voice losing its initial waver.

[trigger_man]

"I don't recall phrasing it as a question," Jack says with a steely stare.

He's had to sit in the bar and wait for her to come back in and say everything was all right once before; he's not doing it again. Not when the likelihood of someone going after her is pretty high, at least in his opinion.

[fanofthegenre]

"Jack - "

She sighs, under the stare, but doesn't turn away. If anything, she takes a step in, re-asserting.

"I've got too much to worry about without the added possibility that you could be in serious danger by associating yourself with me in the middle of this whole thing."

[trigger_man]

"Yeah, I've told people that before and they tend not to listen," he says. Of course there's the one exception who told it to him, but he buries that thought and pushes on. "I'm starting to see why. I've been in someone's sights before, Beckett; the idea of being a secondary target doesn't bother me."

[fanofthegenre]

"But it bothers me," she insists - if that wasn't obvious already, and in more ways than just the obvious, too.

"The less number of people I have who are involved in this, the better. I understand what you're trying to do, but - it's better this way."

It has to be.

[trigger_man]

"And it bothers me sitting in here and not doing anything when you're in danger," Jack snaps. "I have a hard time believing that that's better."

[fanofthegenre]

"If I let you come," she starts, making a point to emphasize the letting part, "that'll open up a whole new slew of questions that I can't afford to spend the time answering.

"The danger - that's just part of the job description. I knew the risks when I chose to do what I do."

[trigger_man]

"You've already had one nameless agent from an unspecified government agency on one of your cases; another one wouldn't raise as many eyebrows," Jack says, flatly. "Trust me, I know the risks too. And it doesn't matter if you sign up to take them or not, you end up just as dead.

"When I saw you come in wearing that," nodding at her sweater, "the only thing I could think of was that my wife had the same bloodstain on her shirt, after she'd been shot in the chest by someone I trusted."

He'd started out angry, but his voice had gone hoarse all of a sudden as the mental image of Teri slumped in the chair hit him again.

"She died because I wasn't there, and so have other friends of mine. I'm not losing another friend for the same reason."

[fanofthegenre]

"I understand, okay?"

Her voice is still firm, but it doesn't quite match up with the look in her eyes the longer she watches him, watching the anger give way to worry and the sadness of remembering the past.

"I've lost people. People I've - cared about, very deeply. But if I'm going to have any chance at all at finding out the truth about who ordered my mother's murder - "

She draws in a breath, slowly letting it out, but none of the tension disappears from her stance.

"I can't afford to be distracted."

[trigger_man]

"I do have some experience with investigations, Beckett. My being there doesn't automatically mean I'll be a distraction," he says, tersely, but his anger and frustration is starting to cool for the moment.