[ where it begins ]
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.
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.