I'll Be Watching You

Every move you make, and every vow you break
Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you

-Sting

Chapter I

New York City. NY

Kate Beckett poured herself a second shot of vodka only to see that the liquid barely reached halfway up the glass. She tilted the bottle all the way over and that produced another two paltry drops.

"Seriously?"

Annoyed, she set down the bottle on the coffee table with a thud. She could have sworn this thing was more than half full a few days ago. That she hadn't bought it less than a week ago.

She sighed as she picked up the half-full glass and downed it in one shot. It would have to do. It was nearly midnight and too late to head out and buy a refill. The little family-run bodega across the street from her apartment closed at 11pm and the next 24-hour grocer was three blocks down the road.

Beckett exhaled and ran a hand through her tousled hair.

Besides, it's not like she needed it. She wasn't an alcoholic, like her father.

Goosebumps ran up her bare arms at the thought.

No. She wasn't. Not even close.

She'd been a bit of mess since the sniper case. That's all.

Even though Javi had talked her off the ledge and even though it happened nearly a month ago and they'd caught the guy, she still had trouble sleeping. Still had nightmares that messed with her head. Horrible dreams of getting shot through the chest a second time the minute she stepped outside her apartment.

It's why she'd poured herself the vodka. Because she needed to be at the precinct at 7 am tomorrow and just once this week she desperately wanted to get more than a couple of hours of sleep. Because she didn't want to ask Burke about getting a prescription for sleeping pills.

One more glass would help knock her out.

But going out to buy vodka at midnight would mean that she needed it.

And she didn't.

So Beckett slipped out of her jeans and padded into the bathroom, barefoot. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, before taking off her t-shirt and bra and heading for the bedroom. Pulling the dark comforter over her head, she wished hard for an oblivion that, deep down, she knew wouldn't come.

It was 1:30 in the morning when she gave up. When she tossed back her covers, got up and put on the same clothes she'd taken off more than an hour earlier. She tied her messy hair back and slipped into a black leather jacket before grabbing her keys and leaving the apartment.

There was a neighbourhood bar a few doors down from the closed bodega. She didn't usually go there because rumour had it that it was a hang-out for officers from the 7th Precinct and she avoided cop bars like the plague.

She'd have two shots straight up and then go back home. That would be enough to knock her out and maybe give her a good four hours of sleep. It was Friday tomorrow, and if she got through this week, she'd start the weekend off on a fresh foot. Rent a car and get out of the city. Do some exercise and yoga. Burke always told her to try meditation. That would help stop her mind from racing better than a glass of clear liquid courage imported from Russia.

The bar was nearly empty when she got there, so she was served quickly and there were three bar stools between her and the next closest patron. She didn't have to make eye contact or small talk and she was grateful for it.

She ordered one shot of vodka straight up. The way she'd been taught to drink it in Kiev. No ice and no mixing.

Then another.

Combined with what she had earlier, it should've been enough to make her feel ready to sleep. But she still felt way too alert. Too awake. With a dozen thoughts racing through her brain.

"I'll have one more," she told the bartender.

"Why don't you slow down, honey?"

Beckett turned to her left, not noticing the man who'd slid onto the bar stool next to hers. She clenched her lips. This kind of patronizing bullshit was the last thing she needed right now. "I think…" She bit her tongue. "I'll make that decision." The last word sounded funny to her. As though she'd changed it from three syllables into two.

"Actually, I'm gonna make that decision." The bartender stood in front of her.

"I said I'd like one more."

"Lady, I think you're done for tonight."

"Are you kidding me?" Beckett glared at him. "You're cutting people off after two lousy drinks?" She must've raised her voice because she could see a handful of men and a couple of women staring at her now.

"Ma'am, I'd wager that this ain't the first bar you've hit tonight."

"Excuse me?" Kate stared at him in disbelief and got off the barstool. The guy behind the bar rail barely looked older than twenty. All she wanted was something that would allow her a few hours of sleep and in return she was getting nothing but attitude.

The heat of anger rose in her cheeks and she wanted to grab the bartender by the collar of his chequered shirt. But she swallowed it down and decided to ask for the bill instead. Get the hell out of the sanctimonious hipster boy's club that was masquerading as a bar.

"Hey, take it easy…"

The man who was now sitting next to her had decided that her standing up and taking a step towards the bar was somehow threatening. That it gave him the right to put his hand on her forearm to hold her back.

Kate blew an errant strand of hair off her face and shot him the iciest look she could muster. It gave her the chance to get a good look at him. He must've been in his fifties. Wide-set eyes and a handsome head of salt and pepper hair. Normally, she might have found him attractive.

Right now, she wanted to murder him.

"Listen buddy, if you don't get your hand off me right now, you're gonna regret it."

"Ma'am, you need take a step back," he said without letting go of her arm.

Maybe he'd have removed it had she given him an extra second, but the tiniest iota of patience she had left a second ago was long gone. She whipped out of his grip so fast that he barely realized what was happening.

Didn't realize that she'd almost knocked him off the barstool and that thanks to her father's bulky Omega watch, she'd left a long, bloody scratch on the guy's arm.

"Oh I don't think so, lady," the stranger mumbled after seeing the bleeding result of her irritation. "Not after the day I've had today."

He grabbed a pair of handcuffs that seemed to come out of nowhere and Beckett was the one who was caught off-guard this time, her reflexes dulled by the alcohol. The cuffs were slapped on her wrists in no time and suddenly her arms were tied behind her back.

"What the-?"

The man she'd scratched was already leading her away from the bar and now there wasn't an eye in the place that wasn't on the two of them.

"You're under arrest," he told her. "For assaulting an officer of the law."

A cop.

A fucking cop.

There was a reason she avoided cop bars.

Beckett stared at the ground, hoping it might open up and swallow them both. Wishing that somehow this wasn't real. That she hadn't been stupid enough to come here tonight.

That this was just one more nightmare in a long line of many.

Because a near sleepless night punctuated with nightmares was nothing compared to the hot mess she'd landed in now.

Later

7th Precinct, Holding Cells

According to the same Omega watch that had scratched the cop at the cop bar, it was now 4:07 am.

Kate's head pounded and her stomach lurched, the latter as much from the stench coming off her cell mate as from her hangover.

How could she be hungover? She didn't have that much to drink. Or did she?

Maybe that was good. She couldn't handle as much liquor as she used to.

Beckett pressed the palm of her hand into her forehead and winced, well aware that her wretched physical state was the least of her problems.

If the officer pressed charges, the worst-case scenario was that she could lose her badge. Best case: she'd end up with a slap on the wrist and a suspension.

Kate stared at the snoring, obviously homeless, woman lying on a bench across the cell. Tried to breathe through her mouth and ignore the overpowering smell. Tried to remind herself that cops hardly ever pressed charges against other cops. Cops were allowed to hate each other, but turning on one of your own was unheard of. That's what IA was for.

If only the bastard would come to her holding cell for five minutes so she could explain that this was all a big misunderstanding. After all, he's the one who put his hand on her first.

"Detective Beckett!"

The familiar voice jolted her out of her thoughts and made her jump. Beckett blinked twice when she saw who was standing outside the bars of her cell.

Captain Victoria "Iron" Gates.

Obviously, her boss would find out about this, but Beckett would never have imagined that it would happen this quickly. That Gates would high-tail it here in the middle of the night.

That could not be good. Not good at all.

Her stomach did another flip.

Maybe this cop really was going to press charges. Maybe he was that big of a dick.

"Captain." Her mouth was painfully dry.

Gates's icy glare was easy to interpret. She wanted to reach through the bars and strangle Beckett with her own two hands.

A uniformed officer walked next to the captain and opened the doors of the holding cell, motioning for Beckett to come out.

"Follow me," Gates ordered.

Beckett followed her boss into the Captain's office of the 7th precinct. Sitting behind the desk in that office was the same man she'd slapped at the cop bar.

Beckett bit the inside of her cheek. This wasn't possible was it?

The man pointed to one of the two chairs across the desk. Gates had already lowered herself into the other one. "Detective Beckett, have a seat."

The sign on his desk read Captain Frank DiGiusto.

Beckett suddenly remembered both the name and the face. She'd heard him speak at a conference once, a lifetime ago, right after her first promotion.

And now she'd been arrested by him. She'd give her life savings if she could turn the clock back five hours and revise all her decisions tonight.

"I owe you an apology, Detective," he told her.

"As do I," Beckett acknowledged. Understatement of the year.

"I've had a lousy day," he told her. "Went to a friend's funeral in the morning and then found out one of my men in Narcotics had his cover blown. Three months of undercover work down the toilet."

"I'm sorry."

"No excuse. I shouldna put my hand on you."

"I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Captain DiGiusto nodded and pushed back his chair. "Once I found out who you are, I reached out to Captain Gates. I should have known right away considering your face was all over the news only a few months ago. I also heard you were the one that caught the sniper last month. Frankly, I'm surprised you even worked that case." He shot Gates a knowing look. "Victoria and I go way back, to the academy. She's had nothing but good to say about you."

Beckett risked a glance in Gates's direction. Her boss's stone-face gave nothing away.

Since when? Beckett wondered. She couldn't remember Gates ever saying anything good about her.

Captain DiGiusto held out his hand. "Obviously tonight was a misunderstanding. Hopefully a learning experience for both of us to keep our tempers in check. There are no charges at my end and I hope you'll accept my apology. I also hope that we'll meet again in better circumstances, Detective."

Beckett stood up to shake his hand. "Yes, of course. On all counts, Captain. Please accept my sincere apologies as well."

"Now if you don't mind, I desperately need a couple of hours before I come back here."

With that he turned and walked out of his own office while Gates remained seated.

Beckett exhaled, sheer relief coursing through her veins. This could have gone so much worse. Now all she had to worry about was the boys at the 12th finding out about this. With a little finesse, she could probably bribe her booking officer into silence with a box of gourmet donuts. Cops could never resist those bacon maple bars from the Doughnut Project on Morton.

She stood up on shaky legs. The relief was so heavy, so palpable, that she could feel it.

"Sit down, Kate." Gates's voice cut through the silent office.

Kate? Beckett did as she asked. "Captain…"

"For over a month now I've watched you come into work and wondered what the hell was wrong with you. Whether you're sick or hungover or wrapped up all night in your mother's case instead of sleeping."

"What?"

"I watched your team come up with leads in major cases before you did and wondered why you were slipping."

Beckett knew exactly was the Captain was referring to. A forensic detail that she'd overlooked in a double-homicide last week. One that Javi had caught. One that anyone could have missed. "Ryan and Esposito are excellent detectives, it's an insult to…"

"They're not you," Gates shot back. "Academy superstar and youngest woman in the NYPD to make detective. Youngest women to lead her own homicide squad."

Beckett's cheeks were on fire, burning from the unexpected humiliation.

"Don't you lie and tell me that you don't think you're a better detective than they are. You wouldn't be where you are today if you didn't. Stop playing me for a fool, Kate. Just because I spend most of my days in an office, doesn't mean I'm blind."

Beckett bit her tongue.

"I've been meaning to bring you into my office to get the truth out of you before you screw up a major case." Gates exhaled and for a moment she eyed Beckett, pensively and with something that looked almost like concern. "Obviously I waited too long."

Beckett's cheeks now burned with anger as much as they did with humiliation.

"I'm fine," she hissed. "I was off duty when a stranger put his hand on me at a bar and I overreacted. That's all."

"What happens when you overreact while armed and on duty?"

"I've never…"

"I want to believe that you're not drinking at work."

"What?" Beckett was stone cold sober now. "I would never and have never. I had a couple of drinks when I was off duty. Since when is that a crime?"

"Your blood alcohol level was .12 an hour ago. You're slated to be at your desk in three and half hours. That means you're either going to be still incapacitated when you show up for work, or at best more than slightly hungover." Gates flicked a strand of hair from her face. It had fallen out of the messy pony tail she'd put it in. "It definitely means you had more than a couple of drinks, Detective. What you did was get falling-down drunk, assault an NYPD Captain and then made me get out of my very comfortable bed in the middle of the night to bail your ass out and make sure that this doesn't go any further than this room."

Beckett cleared her throat. "Captain DiGiusto made it clear that it was a misunderstanding. He's not pressing charges."

Gates's face scrunched up, as though she'd bitten into something sour. "Do you really think that's what happened? Do you really think I didn't have to twist his arm and convince him that you're one of the top cops in my team in order for him to let this go?"

Beckett was on the cusp of telling her boss she didn't buy it. But a sudden inkling of self-preservation stopped the words from spilling out.

Gates was silent too. Long enough to allow Beckett to consider her options.

"I screwed up tonight," she admitted, opting for a bit of honesty. "I'm sorry."

Gates still didn't say anything, instead she massaged one of her temples with an index finger, as though Beckett's alcohol-induced headache had migrated over to her captain.

"It won't happen again," Beckett promised her, meaning it. She made a pact to throw out every bottle of liquor in her apartment. "Your blood alcohol level was .12" – the words still rang through her pounding head in disbelief. There was no way she'd had that much. She'd be puking her guts out now, wouldn't she? Unable to have a coherent thought. There was no way she'd built up that much of a tolerance.

"You're right, it won't," Gates told her.

Beckett sensed that something else was coming. Some punishment that she was just itching to dole out.

"Captain DiGiusto thinks you might have PTSD," Gates told her.

Beckett winced. It had taken a lot of resolve to continue seeing Dr. Burke, even after her mandatory post-shooting therapy sessions had finished. But she knew she'd needed it. And she thought she'd been on the right path, until that sniper case set her back down into the rabbit hole again. Brought back the nightmares in full force.

"In fact," Gates went on. "He said he'd be surprised if you didn't, considering you were shot and almost died at your former captain's funeral.'

Beckett tightened her lips. Whatever punishment Gates was going to dole out, she wished she'd do it already. It couldn't be worse than the torture of this. She wanted nothing more than to go home, have a hot shower to erase the stench of the holding cell and a gallon of water along with two aspirin.

"I've continued seeing a departmental therapist," she admitted. "After my mandatory sessions ended."

"I see," Gates was surprised by that admission. "Good. I'm glad. I wish…" She paused as if searching for the right words, something Beckett had never seen her do before. "I wish that you'd felt you could come to me, the way I'm sure you felt you could come to Montgomery when you had a problem." Their eyes met and for an instant there was a mutual understanding between them. A knowledge that it wouldn't happen. Not anytime soon.

Good, Beckett thought. Because she'd rather poke her eyes out with a rusty nail than tell Gates that she hadn't been able to sleep. That she'd been plagued by nightmares for weeks now and needed several stiff drinks to doze for a few hours. Spilling her guts to Burke was bad enough.

"I think a change will be good for you."

"Change?" She'd expected anything from a slap on the wrist to an unpaid suspension but the word "change" sent goosebumps up her arms.

"I received a request from the Commissioner last night. Richard Castle's been threatened by an online stalker for some time now. This stalker is not only obsessed with the writer himself, but with the women he's dating."

"Richard Castle, the writer?"

"That's the one."

"They've threatened the women he's dating?" Beckett's hungover brain tried to process it all. From her occasional glimpses at the city's gossip columns, Richard Castle appeared to be dating a new woman every month.

"Yes. His most recent girlfriend has been poisoned."

"What?" She hadn't heard about any of this.

"This person has made major threats against them via online messages. Enough so that we believe his life in in danger."

"I'm…sorry to hear that. But… how does this involve me?"

"Richard Castle is a close friend of our mayor," Gates explained. "The mayor's reached out to the Commissioner who then reached out to me, because Castle's primary residence is in our jurisdiction. He's asked me to put this thing to rest. To find this stalker and to keep Richard Castle safe and in one piece while we're doing it."

Beckett still wasn't following Gates. Still wasn't sure how this involved a homicide detective. It should involve Cyber Crimes and a security detail.

Maybe if her head wasn't pounding quite so hard.

"You're the detective I'm giving him," Gates spelled out for her.

"Me?" Beckett thought it was a joke.

"Yes. You. There are already two detectives from Cyber Crimes working on this. You're gonna take the lead and you're also going to be personally responsible for Richard Castle's security while you're doing it. You're gonna help find this stalker and put them away. In other words, you're gonna give the 12th some good publicity for a change. Is that clear?"

"You want me to take over this case and babysit Richard Castle while I'm doing it?"

"Maybe you can date him. It seems to bring this psychopath out of the woodwork."

"What?"

This was insane. Surely she could take this to the union and refuse.

"I'm not suggesting you sleep with him, detective," she shot back incredulously. Gates always seemed to read her mind. It was uncanny. "But you could make it look like you are. Or maybe you could prove to me you're a good enough detective that you can find and arrest this nutter without resorting to that."

Beckett swallowed. She didn't know what to say anymore. Her night kept getting worse.

"Apparently, he's going to the Hamptons for the summer."

"The stalker?"

This time Gates did full-on roll her eyes. "Richard Castle."

"You're going to meet him there on Monday."

"In the Hamptons?"

"Meanwhile Cyber Crimes will forward you everything they've put together so far. Get up to speed on the case over the weekend so you can immerse yourself in Richard Castle's world."

"I, uh….all right," she managed.

"You'll check in every other day with the Hamptons PD for a breathalyzer test and you'll continue seeing your therapist at least once a week. Get yourself straightened out, Kate. Clear your head, get away from the city, and catch this stalker while you're at. And if that's not enough. If you need more help, then you come to me. I'll make sure you get whatever help you need." For the first time this evening, her expression softened. "You're far too young and far too good to go down this road, Kate. I will not stand by and just let it happen. Not on my watch."

Beckett felt the blood drain from her head. Lightheaded. She suddenly felt lightheaded.

"What if I refuse this…assignment?"

There was no malice in Gate's expression when she replied. "If you refuse, I'll make sure that Captain DiGiusto presses charges against you."

Author's note: As always, big thank you to WRTRD for going over this and always making me look so much more polished than I would without your expert eye. Any mistakes are mine.

I also confess that I'm not entirely sure if this multi-chapter story would have seen the light of day if it wasn't for the crazy global events of the last two weeks, which have drastically changed my day-to-day life as well. If it provides anyone with a bit of an escape and entertainment, then I'm grateful. Stay safe!