She hurts.
Her right arm is broken, encased in a full plaster cast up past her elbow, and her left wrist is sprained, strapped down tight. She aches all over, there's a deep cut on her forehead and bruises cover her torso, her hips, her legs. Her ribs are especially sore, the heavy plaster cast resting against them is not helping, even her breathing causes shooting pains down her sides.
She cannot believe her freaking arm is broken.
Earlier today she had been chasing a suspect - he had run out of his apartment and therefore so did she. What she hadn't counted on was Castle coming from the opposite direction – having delayed his entry due to a conversation with Alexis – and startling the suspect right before a long flight of stairs. The suspect decided that the best thing to do was to push Kate down the stairs. And she fell. Hard.
She had apparently passed out, hitting her head on the way down, but the next thing she remembered was waking up in the hospital, her body in pain and Castle's finger wrapped around hers – he didn't want to hurt her by holding her hand. Remorse was plastered on his face and he had began to apologize to her.
She had assured him it was not his fault, her heart hurt at his guilt, tried to assuage it as best as she could. She knows it didn't work though, knows he'll carry it around, because if the situation was reversed, she would feel the same.
She had forced him to go home, had given up arguing with him and promised him she was fine. She's more annoyed about the time out of action the injuries are going to cause.
Plus, she's still angry at him, because of the summer, because of Gina, and she knows she probably shouldn't be, but it stings still, her heart compressing every time his girlfriend's name is mentioned. She tried to get over him, had a date with a good looking doctor, but it didn't go any further than that. She couldn't stop the comparison, couldn't stop her stupid mind from wondering what Castle would have been like on a date.
So she accepted him back, and is now wondering if that was a good idea - the way he was looking at her, touching her, in the hospital was making her head swim, her heart melt. She had tried so hard to suppress her feelings, why were they coming back now?
She's brought out of her thoughts when she hears a loud knock on her door and groans. She knows it's him because who else would it be?
Lanie had come home with her, said that she would look after Kate for tonight – she has a concussion and was not supposed to be alone. But then Lanie had got called into work. Kate had told her she was going to be fine, but now she is pretty sure that Lanie has something to do with the mystery writer banging at her door.
"Hang on," she calls, knows she will be slow to rise, her bones and muscles protesting as she stands up.
She walks over to the door, her throbbing head clouding her vision, oh, she does not feel good. Reaching out, she quickly unlocks it, doesn't even open the door for him, and shuffles back as quick as she can to the couch.
The creak of the door opening and closing signals his entry behind her, but she doesn't even acknowledge him until she's collapsed back down on the cushions. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, her hand resting tightly against her forehead, willing the pain to disappear. She feels the couch sink, and blinks her eyes open to a very worried looking Castle looming over her.
He holds a giant bouquet of flowers in his hands, pinks, yellows, and oranges bloom out and she's momentarily distracted from her pain as she studies the arrangement, her heart sparking at the gesture.
He places the flowers on the coffee table in front of her, and casts his gaze down over her, taking in each of her injuries, as if he is hoping they'd healed in the hours he hasn't seen her.
"Hey, you ok?" he asks, his voice light, but worry lines crowd his face. She wants to wipe them away with a brush of her hand.
She tries to smile as she looks up at him, but it turns out as more of a grimace. "I'm fine. Moving is... not the most pleasant."
"And you told Lanie you would be fine by yourself," he scolds.
"I would have been. She shouldn't have called you. You didn't need to come, Castle."
"Kate, you need someone here. You have a concussion. What if you pass out?"
She sees his hand twitch, as if he wants to touch her, comfort her, but he refrains. She almost wishes he wouldn't.
"I'll be fine, Castle," she stresses, but softens at the ever present guilt lingering on his face. "But thank you for the flowers."
"It's the least I could do, seeing as it was my fault that you're in this state," he mumbles.
Castle, no.
She reaches out with her semi-decent hand and grazes his knee. Do they do this now? Comfort each other using their hands?
"Castle. I've already told you. It wasn't your fault. You're not the one who pushed me down the stairs."
"But-"
"Castle," she cuts off, digging her nails into his leg. She thinks the movement hurts her more than him. "No more okay?" she pleads.
He sighs. "Okay."
"If you want to be useful you can get me a glass of water and my pain meds."
He jumps up, his smile returning and his face smoothing from her request, and rushes to bring her meds to her.
She tries to sit up, but forgets that she can't put weight on her wrist until it feels like flames burning her bones; man, she cannot do anything with both arms immobile.
She'll be fine – or semi-fine – after her left wrist heals, but it still aches to move it, and clearly no pressure should be placed on it. Her cast on her right arm makes every movement heavy, requires extra effort to perform simple tasks, increasing the tension on her sore muscles. She breathes through the pain, directs her focus to Castle as he walks back over to her.
He sits on the couch next to her knees, his hip spreading heat through her as it brushes her leg. He hands her the pills and she puts them into her mouth, then reaches for the glass he's holding out and, oh... he's found her a straw. So she doesn't have to hold the glass. She smiles gratefully and leans forward to sip the water and swallow the tablets. She's closer to him now - he's leaned forward and so has she, close enough that she can study the details of his face, his eyes, his lips. It's too much, so she swallows as fast as she can and leans back down, using more force than necessary, to lay against the cushion.
Just that movement is enough to jostle her head, her arms. Her cast bumps against her ribs and her whole body pounds with pain. A cry escapes her lips before she can stop it and her eyes slam shut. Can it just stop already? She can feel Castle shift closer to her, and then she's greeted with the weight and warmth of his hand on her shoulder.
So this touching thing is definitely happening.
It feels good though, grounds her, gives her something to focus on other than the drummer having a party in her head.
"You ok?"
God, he sounds so concerned.
She hums, unwilling to open her eyes until her head calms down. "Fine. Just- hurts," she grits out, her teeth clenched.
She gasps when he lifts his hand and softly runs his fingers over her forehead, down her hair. Her heart pounds - matching her head, but without the pain - and she has to stop herself from releasing a moan as he repeats the motion over and over. She thinks he's murmuring something, she's not really paying attention, but she hears sorry and shh, and she could cry from his sincerity. She would stop him – she should stop him – but it feels so good, and she can feel the pain start to drift away as she relaxes into his touch. Her insides are at battle, surges of electricity contrast the soft swells of tranquility. Damn him and his hands, his comfort. She's supposed to be over him, supposed to not be affected by him.
Look how well that turned out.
She decides to ignore the head-heart battle, and instead focuses on the graze of his fingers as they comb gently through her hair, her mind fogging as she drifts off to the motion of his hand.
A/N: Thank you for reading, and thanks to the girls who read over this for me.
This will be a three shot.