Close Encounters 30: Never Send Flowers

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previously on Spy Castle 29...

Castle was going down to his knees, crashing hard into the pavement.

"No." Kate's voice. Burning heat.

Oh, fuck. He'd been shot anyway.

Before the groan slipped past her husband's lips, Agent Beckett was on her feet and running. Castle, crashing to his knees, a mere form in the darkness, began to list to one side, his hands clutching at his ribs.

"Castle, Castle-" She skidded to a stop and grabbed his shoulder, reaching for the wound.

"Okay, I'm okay," he choked out. Face bloodless, but still upright. Barely. "You're - exposed. Get them-"

She turned hard, shielding him and aiming her weapon down the alley. She hadn't drawn fire, so she sprinted towards the SUV, skirt plastered to her hips and flaring behind her, but her arms steady. She shot twice at the vehicle - lit by the green of the traffic signal - but the dead man at shotgun was being pushed out of the passenger-side door by the driver. He stopped to fire indiscriminately back at her, but she didn't let up, unloading the rounds as she approached.

More than halfway down the alley, her aim found its mark, and the driver was catapulted back against the steering wheel. His foot must have foot must have slipped off the brake because the SUV lurched, the driver's hand blooming with blood, and she paused only long enough to draw a more precise bead on the man.

She shot him three times, center mass, and he slumped sideways over the dead man that he'd been trying to push out of the SUV.

Nothing moved in the vehicle - but the SUV itself was steadily rolling forward.

She ran towards it and checked the back seats - empty - as she approached. She caught the dead shotgun passenger by the back of his shirt, pulled him half out of the seat to crawl in over him. The driver wasn't breathing, his weapon had fallen between the seats, and his eyes were fixed, so she grabbed for the keys and yanked them out of the ignition.

The engine died, the car came to a stop at the curb. She ripped open the fuse panel just below the main console, scanned the tags, and pulled the fuses for the GPS system. The screen went black.

Now she had transport, and no one could report their location.

Beckett jumped back out again, ran back down the alley to her husband.

Castle had slumped back to sit sit on his feet, his chest heaving, lips pressed together. She couldn't see his face as he huddled over the wound, but when she got to him, his head lifted.

"I'm okay," he croaked.

"Like hell."

"Pavement ricochet," he said, pushing her away. His hands were soaked in blood, but she remembered that he always bled a lot - it always looked richer and brighter because of how his body healed. "Get Lo."

She didn't want to. She hesitated.

"Beckett-"

Damn, he was right. Not only did the woman deserve the CIA's help for her decade plus of service, but Beckett's own strong moral center wouldn't let her leave Salome out here to die.

Kate gripped the back of Castle's neck and shoved a rough kiss to his thinned lips. "Stay," she breathed, and then hustled past him in the darkness to look for Salome.

Castle could hear her just at his back, her soft calling of Salome's name, searching for the wounded asset in the pitch black of the alley. He took a whistling breath and glanced down at his side.

Burned like fucking fire, but he didn't think it was a bullet. Hard to know. He had expected his regimen-enhanced body to plug the hole any moment now, but so far he was still bleeding. So maybe more than just a ricochet.

Damn. Beckett was going to kill him if he was wrong.

Might be shot. Maybe. But he couldn't just sit here on his knees, staring down at the wound like a stunned green agent, like he was no smarter than Ito in that damn grocery store.

Castle slowly peeled his hands back, and the wound gushed brightly in the darkness. It was strange how it actually glistened in the dull wash of traffic signals from the street. Still bleeding, still thick, just below the curve of his last rib, high enough that he didn't expect any internal damage, low enough to miss his lungs.

He began to ease out of his shirt, trying anyway, but it was no good. He resorted to simply pulling the material away from the wound, threads snagging in the messy edges of his skin.

Shit.

He had never been one for pain. Black had always said his thresholds were too low, had tried to toughen him up as a kid. Being on the regimen, most wounds had barely fazed him even with the pain because they had healed so quickly. Even grabbing that knife blade and wrenching it away from Beckett's neck - even that hadn't registered in the heat of the moment. But lately, whatever it was they'd done to his pills, however they'd fucked it up, he felt it in a way that always shocked him.

Damn, he had to get off his fucking ass and help his partner.

Castle ripped the shirt, the sound of tearing cotton echoing in the alley. His shirt hanging from his shoulders, he shrugged it off, gritting his teeth against the pain. It was a fucking flesh wound, and he was going to be fine if he could dress it properly and get on his feet.

"I found her," he heard from behind him. "Shit. Shit. Castle, I'm gonna need your help to get her out of here."

Salome wasn't good.

He heaved himself to his knees, swayed a moment, then planted a bloodied palm to the pavement and pushed off. He got his feet under him and lurched upward, stumbling as he tried to keep his balance. He yanked at the shirt, got one end in his mouth, and tore a long strip from the remnants. As he shuffled forward, searching for Kate, he pressed the majority of his shirt against his side, hissing sharply as pain cramped him.

He had to wait a second, shoulder to the adobe wall, before he could wrap the long strip around his torso and tie off the makeshift bandage. He tightened the knot until it burned, until it made his lungs flame, and then he jerked forward.

"Becks," he called. They needed to get out of here before-

Sirens chirped in the distance and then came on strong, two or three police cars, he estimated.

"Castle," she hissed from the darkness.

He measured his pace, counting steps under his breath just to concentrate on something other than the blood thickening at the bandage. When he got to the second dumpster, he softly called her name again.

"Here," she whispered. "I need help with her. Leg - her knee, I think. She's out cold."

Castle grunted but came forward, hunching over to finally find them. Salome had collapsed against the brick wall behind the dumpster, her lower half smeared with blood, her face white even in the darkness. It was so black in the alley that it was difficult to see his wife, but she touched his side, checking his bandage.

"Damn," she whispered.

"It'll work," he said tightly, drawing her hand away and squeezing her fingers. It burned all up his side, and he had a feeling the debris was still in there, exacerbating things. "Let me get a shoulder under her armpit and hoist her up."

"Into the SUV," Beckett said tersely.

"She conscious when you found her?"

"Yes."

Nothing else. He wondered what had happened between them, what Kate had said, if she'd said anything at all.

It was clear that Salome had gotten on the wrong side of someone. But how much of this was her own doing and how much was her connection with the CIA was hard to tell. And that mattered to him - it mattered. He wasn't risking their lives for a woman who was running some kind of long-con.

But if she was in trouble because she'd been passing them actionable intel for fifteen years, then that was another story.

Had to save her damn life to find out though.

Castle reached in and gripped Salome around the upper ribs, hauled them both upright using the dumpster for leverage. Kate was immediately at Salome's side, standing right with him, taking some of the woman's weight.

They began to make torturous progress down the alley, both of them breathing hard with the woman between them. He could feel Kate's arm where it tucked around Salome's waist, feel Kate's breast at his fingers where she was wedged against Salome to keep her upright.

Lo's head was bowed steeply forward, truly unconscious with blood loss or pain. The SUV loomed ahead of them, impossibly far.

"Becks?" he called.

"Castle."

"Between getting shot at and finding out you've been keeping secrets about your health-"

She dragged in a harsh breath, but he kept going.

"-I'm going to go ahed and call it. Sexiest night ever."

She laughed, a strangled noise in her throat, and he could see her turn to look at him. "But I was going for romantic."

"Same difference with you, love."

Dragging your husband's ex out of danger even as she was losing blood despite the tourniquet, while your husband was listing so badly it was almost more like dragging them both was not her idea of romance.

But if Castle's sappy looks her way were any indication, he kinda thought so. Or he was losing more blood than his super body could replace.

And that scared the shit out of her.

They worked to get Salome in the back of the SUV, a process of millimeters, wedging her unconscious body into the floorboards, Beckett crawling over her and inside, hauling on her shoulders while Castle lifted the woman's hips, trying to avoid jostling the wounded knee.

Losing a lot of blood, both of them, and Beckett was terrified she wasn't up to full speed, wasn't up to this. Two wounded and the local cops on their way.

When Lo was moderately inside, Beckett darted between the driver's and passenger's seats and crawled over the dead man. She popped open one of the doors and shoved until the driver was hanging more out than in, and then she had to kick at his ribs until he fell to the pavement. She glanced back to check on her husband, found him hanging over the frame of the passenger door, head bowed.

Her heart kicked. "Castle," she said sharply.

He roused and gripped the door frame, used it to haul himself inside. The SUV rocked with his ungraceful weight, and she pulled the keys out of her pocket and jammed them in the ignition.

His hand came hard to her knee. "Losing - blood, Kate."

"Hang in there, okay? A shot at the house."

"You - brought that?" he mumbled. His face was white, lips bloodless.

"Are you kidding me? A full kit, every fucking mission." Her indignation melted when she looked at him, the startled animal behind his eyes. "It's like the regimen's version of an epi pen, baby. I've got it everywhere."

"Damn," he sighed. His eyelids were drooping. "Love you."

"I know, baby. But you can't close your eyes just yet. Stay with me, navigate for me; I knocked out the GPS and we have police coming up fast."

She put the SUV into gear and ran the red light.

Castle wasn't entirely conscious for the drive. He was pretty sure there was a chunk he missed, but he had at least managed to hang on through the car chase, which was the best part, before he'd passed out again.

She was a magnificent driver; she really was. All natural. She'd come to him already perfect; he hadn't needed to do a thing.

"Yeah, honey, you've lost a lot of blood," she said at his ear.

He sucked in a sharp breath, buffeted by the sting of pain. She was peeling back his makeshift bandage. A soak of water from the fountain, peeling it back some more. "Ow," he said dumbly.

"Don't be a baby. Flesh wound," she said. But her lips were pinched. She was kneeling in front of him; he was in the courtyard, sitting down on the marble basin of the fountain. Her fingers were cool and lovely. "I need to clean this, get rid of the debris. There's a lot of grit in the wound."

"Bullet," he mumbled.

"You said it wasn't a bullet," she hissed.

"I might have exaggerated the truth," he sighed.

He wasn't sure then what happened, but it hurt and the pain knocked him silly. Debriding the wound? Or just her hands as she pushed the skin back together and butterfly-taped it. "We'll stick you in the whirlpool," she murmured. "Clean it out. After."

After. After? Oh, the shot. He would really love to float in the whirlpool for a while. But turn off the heat, turn the heat on low. Heat was bad. His body got too hot for him to be in a heated whirlpool.

She was dragging him out of the courtyard. He figured he must have made it that far before he'd had to sit down. "I need your help for just a little while longer," she said. "And then the shot."

"I can do it," he got out, shifting to put weight on his feet. He wasn't that badly wounded; it was just the blood loss. He needed that damn blood; it had to stay inside his body to work.

"Salome's in the car. I dressed her wound before I got to you; bleeding has stopped. I think she took it broadside, so it's torn muscle just above her knee."

He grunted acceptance. "We'll carry her out."

She was touching his neck. "Your skin is hot, so that's a good sign."

"Yeah," he grumbled. He was feeling it too, burning up. He wanted her to press her cool fingers everywhere.

She chuckled. He might have said that out loud. "Alright, sweetheart, just keep it up for a few more minutes, and then the regimen. You can sit in the whirlpool until you start to feel sleepy."

He'd be out for four hours when that happened. She was holding off on the shot until she didn't need him dragging his ex out of danger. Smart girl. Whirlpool would be nice. He would drag her in it with him. "What do you need?"

"Carry her hips. We need to get her into bed. But not the way that sounds."

He laughed, surprised by the snarl in her voice - and the humor. He laid his hand on her shoulder and let her take some of his weight, followed her through the door and into the attached garage. The SUV's engine was still ticking, and he figured this had all happened in moments. That she had darted out of the car, grabbed the first aid kit, and come running back to deal with the wounded.

He must have tried to follow her, must have gotten light-headed through the court yard and stopped at the fountain.

Though he didn't remember it.

"Okay, this way, Castle - grab her around the hips and thighs. Careful of her knee."

He obliged, watching Kate for his cues, backing up slowly to pull Salome out of the car.

"Damn," she huffed, clambering down to the running board with her arms under Lo's shoulders. "I hope I'm not this heavy when you've had to carry me. We're the same size."

"You are?" he blurted out, dragging a look down Salome's body. "Her hips are bigger. And her ass."

"Good thing you're a leg man," Beckett said.

Was she being arch? He looked up at her; she wasn't laughing. "I'm a you man."

She rolled her eyes. "Pick up your feet, Castle. You're going to trip on the edge of the tile."

He did trip; it always astonished him when his feet didn't obey his brain in time. Blood loss. He was feeling it. "I like your ass a lot better," he said.

"Well, fuck," she muttered. "You really are romantic." A huff of her breath. But they were both huffing. Unconscious woman, no matter how Beckett thin, was also Beckett long, and unconscious was always fucking heavy.

Castle tried to pick up his feet, angled them through the courtyard and towards the door to the main area of the house. "What bed?" he said stupidly.

"I need her close," Kate growled. "Fuck it all. She'll have to be close enough that I can - get to you both. I can't be sure she won't bleed all night."

"What... what bed?" he repeated. Downstairs master or the upstairs guest? Oh, fuck. Fuck. "You're putting her in our bed?"

Beckett's eyes blazed. "Just pick up your feet and move, Castle."

Oh, fuck. This was not going to be fun.