AUTHOR'S NOTES: First of all, I want to thank those of you that were brave enough to read this before I posted it, and then to go so far as to encourage me to put it online! That being said, I want to be VERY clear, that I do not intend any violation of the terms of use. I read them over and over inside out and backwards trying to figure out if an alternate version counted as the "same material" or a "unique story." I figure the fact that the narration is entirely different and there are several new scenes in this version qualify it as "unique" even though most of the dialogue is the same. Either way, I wrote both versions. If anyone thinks my interpretation is wrong and I am in violation, PLEASE just say so and I'll take it down. Anyway... thanks for all your interest in this version – I am still terrified to put this up, but most readers have liked it, so... here it is! I will just say, it is very descriptive so... weak stomachs, beware. Okay. I hope you like it! Happy reading!
Beckett's phone rang, slowly dragging her out of sleep. Barely conscious of the phone ringing, the first thing she became aware of was that she didn't feel very well. Slowly, she woke up and picked up the phone.
"Beckett," she said, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Her stomach churned as she sat up.
"Murder on 95th and Lex," said Montgomery, wasting no time on such formalities as 'Good morning, Detective.' "We just got an anonymous tip. CSU is on their way."
"I'll be right there, Captain," said Beckett. She swallowed, realizing she felt like throwing up. "Anything else?" she asked.
"It's messy," said Montgomery, then disconnected.
Beckett tossed her phone onto the nightstand and moved quickly to the bathroom. She pulled her hair back and got on her knees as her body started heaving, but to her frustration, nothing came up. She stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes, but she still didn't get sick. Giving up for the moment, she left the bathroom. Wondering if she'd come down with the flu, Beckett dug a thermometer out from a box under a stack of other boxes and checked her temperature. It was only 98.4. No fever, she thought. Must just be something I ate. Even thinking about food made her want to be sick. She put the thermometer back in the box and stared at her clothes.
While she was trying to decide what to wear, yet wishing she could just stay in her pajamas, she picked her phone up and called Castle. She knew he liked the especially grotesque murders, and he had become something of an asset in solving cases – especially since Beckett could tell she was going to need all the help she could get with this case today. She told him concisely about the murder, then hung up. Talking only made her feel like gagging.
She threw on black slacks and heels, a grey turtleneck, and her long red coat, then looked at the cabinets and thought briefly about food. No way, she decided, then took the stairs to the parking garage and drove to the crime scene. Even as she drove, Beckett thought more than once about pulling over, but she pushed through the all-consuming nausea and kept driving. By the time she arrived at the crime scene, her stomach was churning so violently she feared the others would hear it. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and walked out of the car.
Castle had just arrived as well, carrying coffee. On any other day, she would have gladly taken it at that hour, but not today. She could hardly imagine drinking water, let alone coffee. She shook her head vaguely, holding up her hand to show him she didn't want it. Looking bewildered, Castle walked pointedly toward the body instead.
Lanie presented the victim, and when Beckett asked about cause of death, she suggested blunt force trauma. Even though Beckett's insides were churning like a washing machine, she couldn't overlook the fact that the victim had been violently mangled, as if someone had very inexpertly cut her open. If that wasn't the cause of death, Beckett wanted a better look at what was, so she knelt down to try and see the head trauma.
Unfortunately, she moved too quickly, making her head spin slightly and sending her writhing stomach over the edge. The smell of a freshly disembowelled body didn't help much either. She stood up even faster than she had knelt down, and scanned the surrounding area for somewhere... there was nowhere exactly private, but there was at least an open garbage can a few meters away. "Excuse me," she said to Lanie and Castle, then walked as quickly as she could towards the garbage can, gathering up her hair as she walked. She made it just in time, although when she finally got sick she still didn't bring up much. She heaved, unable to breathe for what seemed like far too long, finally bringing up a small mouthful of vomit. Her stomach ached as she threw up, and it wasn't until she finished that she realized she had been gripping the rim of the garbage can so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Yet for all the effort she felt completely unsatisfied. She knew there was more in her stomach. She wanted to just throw it all up and get it over with – even if she was in the wide open, in the middle of New York City, getting violently sick at an active crime scene like some squeamish rookie.
Just then, Castle approached her, looking concerned. "Are you alright?" he asked.
Beckett stood up and put her hair behind her ears, hoping to scrap together a few shreds of dignity. "I'm fine," she said.
"You don't look fine," said Castle. Beckett was certain he was right. She could almost feel her face draining of colour, and she hoped against hope there was no vomit in her hair. "Why did you even come in if you're sick?" Castle asked.
"I don't have—" Beckett paused, swallowing. She could feel the rest of the contents of her stomach fighting to come up, and she didn't want to put Castle into any more awkward of a situation than the one he was already in. More than that, she didn't want to admit to him how sick she was. "—a fever," she finished, recalling the readout on her thermometer. For what little that was worth, it was true. If nothing else, at least she wouldn't have to worry about getting him sick.
"You sure?" Castle asked.
"I'm sure," said Beckett. "I think it's just food pois—" she tried to tell him 'food poisoning,' but got no further. Her words caught in her throat and she grabbed the edge of the garbage can with both hands, finally vomiting up all the food in her stomach. It strained her muscles and burned her throat, but it was almost gratifying to feel everything that had been writing and churning inside of her finally come up. She was also vaguely aware of Castle's arm on her back – he had pulled back her hair when she started to get sick again.
"Food poisoning?" he asked, finishing her train of thought.
"Yeah," said Beckett, straightening her back. She wanted to thank him for holding her hair, but it seemed like the sort of thing she should be telling him after a night of one too many drinks – not that she would ever have a night like that with Castle – but certainly not at a crime scene. Oh God, the crime scene. She was still there, after all.
"You gonna be okay?" Castle asked her. He handed her a tissue, which she gratefully accepted and wiped her mouth with. She wished she had a glass of water, but that would have to wait. She nodded, swallowing and trying to ignore the bitter taste in her mouth.
"Thanks," she said, tossing the tissue in the trash and trying to redirect her attention to the crime scene. "Okay. Let's go see about the body."
Lanie looked Beckett up and down with that piercing understanding that only a best friend could accomplish. "You okay?"
"Fine. You were saying?"
Lanie shook her head, incredulous at Beckett's ability to compartmentalize to a fault. "Just that I'll need to get her down to the lab. And get you down to bed! What are you doing coming in to work and then throwin' up in a trash can?"
It was a little ridiculous, Beckett had to admit. But she was in charge of the case, and she wasn't about to shirk her duty, even if she wasn't feeling well. Besides, she didn't have a fever. That settled it. "I'm sure it's just something I ate," she reassured Lanie. She immediately regretted even mentioning food. "Let's get back to the station."
Castle rode with her back to the precinct, but he was uncharacteristically quiet. Beckett was glad for this, since she was still feeling nauseous, and opening her mouth to speak only made it worse. Worse yet, she still had no water. The acrid taste of bile, mucus, and half-digested food still clung to her mouth, reminding her of exactly what had happened, and what would likely happen again if she wasn't careful.
Once they got back to the precinct, she picked up a glass of water from her desk and went straight to bathroom to rinse the taste of vomit from her mouth. As she'd nearly forgotten, this was never as easy as it seemed. There was still the burning bitterness in the far back of her throat where water couldn't reach, and no matter how she tried, spitting over and over, it wouldn't go away. When she had come as close as she figured she could get, she filled the glass and tried to drink some. She drank it a little too quickly, and almost immediately she felt sick again. She set the glass down and took a breath, waiting for the feeling of queasiness to pass. It'll be fine, she thought. It's just water.
Just water was just enough. She tried to stop it, but couldn't. Covering her mouth as she doubled over, Beckett ran for a stall, slamming the door shut seconds before throwing up the water and what little food was left in her stomach. Her eyes watered, and she groaned, realizing she was going to have to start all over at getting the taste out of her mouth. Several minutes later, after futilely spitting in the sink, she wiped the smeared eyeliner from her face and went back to work. Castle was waiting for her at her desk, holding a cup of tea.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Peppermint tea," he said. "Figured it might settle your stomach a little."
Beckett wasn't sure about this, since she'd just proven to herself that she couldn't even keep down water, but she remembered hearing somewhere that peppermint was good for an upset stomach. Either way, it was sweet of him to try. "Worth a try," she said, taking the cup and tasting it warily. She sat down and stared into space, suddenly feeling very tired. It was still quite early in the morning, and she'd already worn herself out throwing up repeatedly.
"How are you feeling?" Castle asked.
"I've been better," said Beckett. Understatement of the year.
"You sure you don't want to just go home and sleep it off?" he asked her. "I'm sure the boys can cover for a day while you get some rest."
Rest sounded good. She was so tired. Nothing sounded better than lying down and doing nothing until she felt better. "Rest won't change anything," she said anyway, knowing she wasn't feverish, and even if she was, the case wasn't going to solve itself. "It'll just take some time to get it all out of my system."
Castle didn't look particularly convinced. "Fair enough," he said, "but are you gonna be able to get any work done if you have to stop and throw up every fifteen minutes?"
Probably not, Beckett thought, but I have to try. "It's not every fifteen minutes," she said. More like ten, on average. "And yes, I'll be able to get work done. I'm just... a little nauseous. It's not a big deal," she added. After all, it wasn't. She'd come to work hungover before when she was younger. This wasn't so different, if she thought about it. She'd gritted her teeth and made it through that.
She took another sip of tea. At least it tasted good, which was more than anything else that morning could say. "Thanks," she said to Castle.
"No problem," he said. "Anything I can do? For you, or the case?"
Beckett tried to re-focus. Case. They had a case. "Umm... why don't you check in with Lanie and see if she's ID'd the body or cause of death yet. I need to check in with Montgomery about a couple things."
Castle agreed, and left the precinct to go see Lanie. Beckett took another careful sip of tea and got up slowly to walk to Montgomery's office.
"Morning, Captain," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "Body's down at the morgue, and CSU is sweeping the crime scene. Did you still need me to put together that file for the D.A. on the Ryberg case?"
"Yeah, when you get to it," said Montgomery. "Our top priority is this murder, though. Ryberg is probably going to end up facing a manslaughter charge, and he's not making bail any time soon. Let's catch whoever did this to that girl first."
"Yes, sir," said Beckett. A wave of vertigo hit her, and she involuntarily reached out for Montgomery's desk to steady herself.
"Oh, and one more thing," said Montgomery. "Go home. You look like hell."
"I'll be fine, sir," said Beckett. "You know as well as I do that these first forty-eight hours are the most crucial."
"Be that as it may, you're miserable and it's all over your face. Take a sick day and come back and solve the case when you can operate at 100%. Besides, the last thing I need is you getting the rest of the force sick."
Beckett sighed. "I'm not contagious," she said, hoping this would persuade Montgomery to let her stay.
"How do you know that?"
"I don't have a fever."
"Doesn't necessarily mean you aren't contagious," Montgomery countered.
"I'm sure it's just food poisoning," Beckett insisted. "You have nothing to worry about."
"Knock yourself out, Beckett," Montgomery conceded. "But the offer stands. If you change your mind, go home. I won't hold it against you."
"Yes, sir," Beckett repeated. That settled, she went back to her desk and started typing up her report of the crime scene. She paused, tapping her fingers on the keys without actually pressing them, as she tried to decide how much detail to include. She didn't see the point of mentioning her untimely episode with the garbage can. It had nothing to do with the case, and was completely humiliating. She finally decided, somewhat against her better judgment, to leave it out completely, and hope that decision wouldn't come back to bite her.
Next she printed out a picture of the victim that CSU had emailed her, and attached it to the whiteboard, which she began to organize. There wasn't much information to include yet – just the photo and the approximate time of death. As she stared at the whiteboard brainstorming anything else she could add, the smell of the uncapped whiteboard marker made her head throb. She closed the marker and sat down, glancing at the stacks of paperwork she needed to do. Paperwork seemed like a good enough way to kill time until she got more reports from CSU or forensics. There was a lengthy affidavit for a search warrant she'd been working on the day before, until she had put it off due to a more urgent phone call. Beckett picked up where she'd left off on the affidavit, but it wasn't long before even looking at the computer made her head hurt that much worse. She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples, but it didn't help. Instead she drank a few more swallows of tea. The warmth was nice, but her stomach was still having a hard time holding anything. Beckett clenched her teeth and took a deep breath, hoping her stomach would calm down. This is just getting ridiculous, she thought. An hour ago she had been all too eager to hurry up and vomit already, wanting to get it over with. Only thing was, she hadn't seemed to have gotten it over with at all; instead, she had gotten so sick she couldn't stop throwing up.
She really, really didn't want to, but she couldn't help it. It was off to the bathroom again. Resignedly, Beckett stood up from her desk and walked to the bathroom. Just like earlier that morning, she felt her whole body starting to heave as she walked. Moments later, it was déjà vu all over again as she closed the stall door behind her and leaned over the toilet. The tightening in her chest made it hard to breathe, and the straining made her eyes water. She retched repeatedly for a few minutes, hardly bringing up anything more than the smallest droplets of stomach acid, yet her stomach ached as if it was full of expanding and contracting iron that scraped the lining of her stomach and surged upwards, pressing on her chest but refusing to come up easily. After several minutes of this, she finally gagged hard enough to bring up a mouthful of liquid – traces of tea, probably, but mostly bile.
Feeling dizzy and deprived of oxygen, Beckett grabbed on to the toilet paper dispenser, the only handhold in reach. She flinched slightly as her fingernails scraped along it, then closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the dizziness. She still felt sick, but she didn't think she could throw up any more if she tried. She rinsed her mouth again, not bothering to even try to drink water this time, and returned to her desk. Beckett sat down and cradled her aching head in her hands, overwhelmed by the thought of all the work she had to finish. She couldn't even work on mindless paperwork without sending herself to the bathroom. What would she do if she had to interrogate a suspect? Before she could think of an answer to this question, she felt a hand on her back. Castle, probably.
"Beckett," he said. "Go home."
"I don't have a home," she mumbled. Sure, she had been living at the hotel for several months, but that didn't make it a home.
"Hmm?"
"I said, I don't have a home," Beckett repeated. Castle hadn't moved his hand. She felt like she ought to be bothered by this, but it was such a small thing in comparison to everything else that was bothering her at the time, and she had to admit, it was kind of sweet. It would have been easy for Castle to jump ship and head home, or even to make fun of her in her sickness. But he hadn't.
"That's right..." said Castle quietly. "Beckett, where are you staying when you're not at the station? I know you can't be sleeping here every night, or there'd be boxes stacked on boxes for all your coats and scarves."
"Long term hotel rental," said Beckett. She didn't feel like going there. If she had a proper home to go to, maybe she would take Montgomery up on his offer to take a sick day. After all, fever or not, there was no denying at this point that by some definition or other, she was definitely sick. "I can't keep anything down," she admitted.
"I'm sorry." Castle squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.
"It's not your fault," said Beckett.
"You're always welcome at my house, you know," said Castle. "You can crash there for a few hours if you want."
"Oh Castle, I couldn't." Beckett suddenly felt nervous, though she couldn't explain why.
"Sure you could," he pressed on. "It wouldn't be an imposition. Alexis is at school and Mother... you don't have anything to worry about."
Beckett tried to be rational. She knew what Castle's apartment was like, and she knew it was luxurious and comfortable, and... it was his home. And she had met his family. They were a little – okay, a lot – eccentric, but very friendly. After having worked with Alexis briefly the previous year, she'd been quite impressed with the high schooler's maturity. And Martha was crazy, but she had a big heart. She sighed. "Maybe you're right," she said. "Maybe I am too sick to work."
"You think?" Castle asked, with just the slightest trace of sarcasm. "You've only thrown up, what, three, four times?"
The damn writer was dead on. So much for trying to be discreet. "Something like that," she said evasively.
Castle extended his hand, offering to help her up. "Come on," he said. "Let's go."
"Just leave?" Beckett tried to remember the last time she had left in the middle of a shift. Surely she should at least check out with Montgomery or something.
"Ryan and Esposito can hold down the fort for one day," Castle assured her. "They'll be fine. Do you think you can make it through the cab ride home?"
Beckett imagined riding around Manhattan, weaving in and out of traffic. Ugh. "Do I have a choice?" she asked.
"Not unless you want to walk home," said Castle apologetically.
"Hell no," said Beckett. The only thing worse than being stuck in the back of a cab would be physical exertion.
"Then cab ride it is," said Castle. "Shall we bring a bucket, Beckett?"
In spite of the humorlessness of the situation, she almost laughed at his play on words. "I'd love to say no, but it's actually not a bad idea," she told him.
Castle then began looking around the office for a bucket or something resembling one. The closest he found was a small plastic wastebasket that was only holding a few old envelopes. He poured these into a larger wastebasket and brought the smaller one with them.
Out at the curb, they waited for a few moments for a taxi. Beckett leaned against the exterior wall of the building, awkwardly holding the wastebasket. She was so tired, and still wearing heels. Now that she had decided to leave work and take a sick day, she couldn't wait to get to Castle's loft where she could sit down and not move for the rest of the day.
Soon Castle had hailed them a cab, and they were on their way. Driving definitely wasn't helping, and it wasn't long before Beckett started to feel the familiar lurching in her stomach. Please, not in the car, she begged silently. I've humiliated myself quite enough already. Even as she thought this, she could feel Castle's eyes on her. He's probably just concerned, she told herself. He hasn't made fun of me yet. Still, she didn't fancy getting sick in front of him. Again. She breathed deeply, praying that wouldn't happen.
"Are you okay?" he asked her.
"I don't know," Beckett admitted. She figured her stomach was empty enough that she wouldn't throw up easily, but she couldn't be sure. She definitely still felt nauseous – increasingly so as they kept driving.
"We're almost there," Castle said.
Good, Beckett thought. A few stoplights later, Castle asked, "You don't get carsick, do you?"
"No," said Beckett, even smiling a little. She thought back to a road trip to Myrtle Beach she had taken with her dad, shortly after she made detective, and how she had read Castle's early novels the whole way there. "This has nothing to do with carsickness," she promised.
Carsickness or not, she felt like hell by the time they finally got to Castle's building. She walked painstakingly slowly, baby step by baby step, into the foyer, taking care not to shake herself up any more than was absolutely necessary. They took the elevator, seeing as this was infinitely preferable to the countless flights of stairs. Still, the subtle motion of the elevator was almost too much.
Shit, Beckett thought, tightening her grip on the plastic wastebasket she was still carrying. The feeling of panic must have shown on her face, because Castle turned towards her, looking worried.
"Beckett?"
She shook her head. Her stomach hurt, clenching in on itself even as it threatened to explode. Though there was next to nothing in her stomach, she still needed to throw up. Instinctively she put a hand over her mouth, even knowing it was useless.
Just then, the elevator arrived at Castle's floor, and he put a hand on her shoulder and walked her to his loft. It seemed to take an eternity for him to unlock the door, and as soon as it was open, Beckett cast her eyes around furiously, looking for the bathroom, or at least a sink with a working garbage disposal.
"Castle, where's your—" she cut herself off, again clamping her hand over her mouth as she looked at him desperately.
He pointed in the direction of the bathroom, and she bolted. Yet as it turned out, she might as well have not bothered. As much as her stomach ached and twisted, there was absolutely nothing left in it. She heaved, straining her throat and her gut, but it made no difference. There are few things more physically miserable than trying to throw up nothing, she thought. In desperation, she stood up and walked to the sink, cupping her hands under the faucet to drink a little water, hoping it would give her something to bring up. It worked. No sooner had she finished swallowing than her stomach revolted and she spit up in the sink. Beckett stood there for a minute, clutching the edges of the counter. For just a second, she felt like she was going to faint. Oh no, she thought. Okay. Couch. Now.
Beckett walked somewhat unsteadily out of the bathroom and headed towards the couch. Her head was throbbing from the strain getting violently sick over and over. She walked slowly, although she wanted to get there as quickly as possible so she could sit down and rest.
"Can I get you anything?" Castle asked.
"No thanks," said Beckett. She just wanted to go to sleep and not think and not feel until she didn't feel sick anymore. She sat down on his couch, reveling in the comfort of being able to relax.
Castle sat down beside her. "You can just sleep here for a while if you want," he said, handing her a fleece blanket.
"Yeah. Okay," Beckett agreed. Sleep sounded wonderful. She only hoped she would be able to.
Castle left for a minute, then came back with his laptop and a glass of water, which he set on the coffee table. "I don't want you to get too dehydrated," he said. "Try just drinking a few sips."
Beckett raised the glass to her lips and pretended to drink it, but she didn't dare. Her stomach was much too upset, and now that she was curled up on the couch, the last thing she wanted to do was jump up and run for the bathroom. "Thanks," she said anyway, knowing Rick meant well. She set the glass back on the table and lay down, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. Castle tucked the blanket around her and rubbed her back. "Sleep well," he said. "And feel better."
"Mmhmm," said Beckett, already starting to drift off. She felt sick, but now peaceful. She was warm, comfortable, free of commitments, and being cared for. Sleep came quickly, and she was only dimly aware of the sound of Castle's fingers on the keys of his laptop.
However, not long after falling asleep, Beckett woke up again, triggered by the increasing pain in her head. Castle was probably right; she probably was getting dehydrated. She pushed herself up and, and Castle looked up from his laptop.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," said Beckett back. She felt awful. Even in the short amount of time she had been asleep, her stomach had seemed to have replenished its supply of acid, and there was nothing else to dilute it. Hoping water would help, she took a drink, but this immediately proved to be a bad idea. Even as she swallowed, an air bubble tried to escape from her stomach, and to her horror, she threw up onto the floor.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" she cried, grabbing a handful of tissues from a box on the coffee table. She pushed off the blanket and knelt on the floor, trying to clean it up. It was useless, because the sudden movement only made her feel worse. She quickly covered her mouth, only to spit up into her hand.
She wanted to vaporize. She had thought she could humiliate herself no further, but clearly she had thought wrong. Castle had set aside his laptop and crossed over to her, which only heightened her feeling of shame. Her only comfort was that he knelt down behind her, where he couldn't see her face. If not for the exhaustion, she would have felt like crying, not that that would help the situation in any way.
Castle had pulled back her hair. "It's okay," he said reassuringly.
What's okay? Beckett thought. My eventual long-term health? The fact that I just vomited on his surely very expensive floor? She didn't say anything. Her stomach was churning and she felt like she would faint if she moved too quickly. She realized she was shaking. Without thinking, she leaned back into Castle's arms. He was sturdy; she wasn't.
"Ohh, I'm exhausted, Rick," she breathed, taking herself by surprise when she called him by his first name. It had just slipped out. Maybe it was being in his house; maybe her brain was addled from the sickness. Castle didn't notice, or at least he didn't react.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Beckett nodded, though her answer was a complete lie. She felt Castle's hand pressed against her forehead.
"Hmm. I think you're right, you don't really feel warm," he said.
"Mmhmm," said Beckett. She knew that already. For all the nausea and dizziness, she didn't feel chilled or feverish.
"Are you done for now or do you want me to bring you that bucket?" Castle asked.
"I think I'm okay," said Beckett. She rested her head on her knees. "But you might as well bring it anyway."
"Okay," said Castle, then helped ease Beckett back on the couch. He brought back the bucket and a wet washcloth, and she grabbed the bucket from him, feeling another sudden wave of sickness. The room started spinning.
Castle held back her hair while she coughed up stomach acid into the bucket.
"Ow..." she groaned involuntarily. She almost expected to see blood.
When she had stopped getting sick, Castle picked up the wet washcloth and began to wipe down her hands.
"Castle! Stop!" said Beckett irritably, snatching the washcloth out of his hands. She turned away from him and finished cleaning her hands and face herself. "It's patronizing," she added.
"I'm sorry," said Castle, sounding a little hurt. With a couple of rags he had also brought back, he finished cleaning up the floor.
"I'm so sorry," Beckett said again. She straightened up and looked around for her purse. "I should go," she said.
Castle looked up from cleaning the floor and set down the rag. "Kate, don't be ridiculous," he said. "What good is that going to do you?"
Beckett stared down at the floor. "Let me at least finish cleaning up," she said, ignoring his question.
Castle shook his head. "You should be resting," he said. "And besides, you forget I was a college boy once. I could do this in my sleep."
Beckett smiled slightly, imagining Castle being nineteen and wasted, singing with slurred speech at the top of his lungs, no doubt. "Fine," she said. "I'm going to wash my hands."
She took her time standing up, not wanting to take any chances. She was still shaking. In the kitchen, she washed her hands thoroughly, enjoying the warm water on her skin, then splashed her face clean. When she got back to the living room, Castle had finished cleaning and was back to his laptop, typing away.
"Castle?" she asked, feeling shy and girlish all of a sudden.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks." She looked back at the floor, finding herself unable to meet his eyes. She sat down and sighed, resigning herself to the impossibly long day ahead of her.
Castle smiled. "Always."