AN: This is sort of a What If scenario, set during Kill Shot, when Beckett is in her apartment.

You are like the night

With its stillness and constellations

Your silence is that of a star

As remote and candid

Pablo Neruda- I like for you to be still

She can feel the hard texture of the wooden shelf at her back and scoots even closer until her entire back is aligned with it, her knees still pulled close to her chest.

She feels the heavy weight of the gun in her hands, the cold steel on her warm skin; it seems foreign somehow, incongruous, yet she can't seem to let go of the death grip she has on it.

Don't feel. Just do not feel.

She repeats the words over and over in her mind like they are some kind of a twisted mantra.

She feels the sound of the shots still ringing in her ears, the tremors of the sound still reverberating through her, filling up every fiber of her body.

She leans her head back against the board behind her, feels the pull in her chest again, cold claws clenching around her heart, ghostly fingers choking her and it hurts.

Just stop, just please stop.

She feels the tears brimming in her eyes, clouding her vision like a thick curtain; a watery barrier making the edges of her apartment disappear from her vision, converting everything into a distorted image.

The alcohol is still pumping in her veins, a slow burning sensation in her throat. She has lost count of how many glasses she had drunk this night. It had been too many and she can hear the demons laughing in her ears, the sounds echoing through her mind, mocking her with who she has become.

Her breathing fastens even more, desperate breaths of a woman that is close to drowning, drowning underneath thick, crushing waves in a raging storm and she can't help the gasp that escapes her throat.

The short knocks on her front door echo through her apartment like gun shots, the sound sending shivers up her spine, tingling underneath her skin and she hears the choked sound that is falling from her chapped lips, forcing its way out, sounding more like the cry of a wounded animal than human. And it scares her.

"Kate" his voice is calm, so calm when she hears him calling for her, and thinks that he must hear the sob that escapes her lips upon hearing his voice.

"Kate, please open the door"

She can't speak, feels the way her throat closes around her words, suppresses them in her mouth and the only thing that escapes her is a feeble whisper, a pathetic breath of words.

"I can't" she knows that he couldn't have heard her, that from this distance and with the solid door between them it is impossible for him to have heard her, yet she can hear his response, loud and clear.

"It's okay Kate." She can feel the tears spilling over, cascading down her cheeks; tears and mascara intermingling, leaving black tracks on her pale face.

"I'll just sit here okay? I am here"

She leans forwards, pulls her legs closer to her chest, surrounding them with her arms, the gun still held tightly in the grasp of her fingers.

"You know" she looks up again, focuses on his voice, focuses on the way it seems to fill the air between them, seems to make it lighter somehow and rests her chin on her knees.

"When Alexis was little she was scared of thunderstorms." she can picture him sitting behind her door on the floor, smiling at his own words. She sees the edges of his lips gracing upwards in a smirk and she feels the muscles in her body relaxing slowly at the image.

She starts scooting over towards the door, slowly, so very slowly, her gun held in a firm grip close to her chest, yet moving closer, closer to him.

"It was so adorable; you should have seen her, Kate. She would come to my bed at night, shuffling underneath the covers."

She has reached the door and leans against it, her head falling against the solid frame with a silent thud, yet loud enough to let him know, let him know that she is here.

"She would snuggle in close to me, her small arms around me" he continues "and she would press her face against my chest, waiting for it to finally be over"

She takes a deep breath, feels the way the air is finally filling her lungs again, his voice soothing the pain in her chest, like balsam on her wounds.

"One night she asked me if I could please just make it stop." She places the gun on the ground next to her, her hand still resting upon it.

"But I couldn't. I couldn't make it stop and she was so disappointed with me Kate. She looked up at me and asked me why. Asked me why I couldn't make her hurt less. You know what I told her?" She knows that he isn't expecting an answer.

"What?" her voice sounds raspy, like she hasn't spoken in days but he hears her words clearly.

"I told her that the fear was only in her mind, that the thunder was not going to hurt her and that she was safe. And that the only person able to make the fear and the pain go away was herself."

He waits for a moment, gives her the time to absorb his words, to let them settle.

"I guess it was kind of a stupid thing to say to a 9 year old though and I gave her ice cream and we watched Harry Potter through the night"

She feels the laugh bubbling up her throat, spilling out before she even realizes it and she leans back against the door, enjoys the small smile that has appeared on her face, enjoys that she can breathe if only just for this fleeting moment; enjoys that for right now she is safe.

She sighs heavily before she stands up, feels her wobbly legs almost giving out underneath her and takes a second to steady herself before she reaches for the door knob, resting her hand on it, hesitating for only a moment.

She is safe. She is not alone anymore.

He is here.

She opens the door.

Let me know what you think?