"I'm in pain"
Castle is worrying. He has been all night, really. Since he got home from the precinct, carrying the day like an albatross around his neck. At the kitchen counter he bows his head. His phone is on the countertop in front of him. All evening, he's been fidgeting with it. Unpeeling the corner of the protective case and then slotting it back into place, over and over again.
He's got the paper dolls they found in front of him as well. Since he got home from the precinct he's been studying them, trying to figure out how they're relevant to the case, but he doesn't know where to begin. His laptop screen has long gone dark.
"Dad," Alexis says. It startles him and he jerks upright. His daughter is at the foot of the stairs, watching him. "Why don't you just go over there? You're no use to anybody while you're wallowing."
"She doesn't- I have to give her space."
Alexis folds her arms. She's wearing plaid pajama pants. He remembers these from a few years back, when they used to hang down over her feet. She would tuck the ends underneath her heels and skid around the hardwood floor. These days he can see the pale bottom inch of her ankle.
"I know I've never been shot." She gives him a moment to absorb that, let it pass without incident. "But I can't imagine wanting to be alone during this case. Beckett must be scared, Dad."
"Come here." Alexis moves around the dining table to him. He wraps his arm tight at her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. The neat, wet length of her braid smells like apple shampoo. "I appreciate your concern, pumpkin. I just don't want to crowd her."
She breaks out of his grip and moves to sit beside him at the island. Ever since she was tiny she's had a habit of tapping her toes against the back of the cabinets and she starts up immediately. Alexis frowns down at the paper dolls.
"This is Chiaroscuro."
"You recognise that?"
"It's a style of painting invented during the Renaissance." Alexis pulls his laptop towards herself and wiggles her finger on the mousepad. The screen comes awake and asks for his password. She types it in - he grunts - and then she's opening up a search engine.
He peeks over her shoulder. "Petrazano?"
"Yeah. Look at this one." She clicks on a painting to pull it up and holds one of the paper dolls to the screen. It's a perfect fit, and he gapes at his brilliant baby girl. "The Persecution of Kings."
"Can I just say that school of yours is worth every penny I pay?"
She laughs at him and reaches for the other doll. After a little more searching they find the painting this one was cut from as well. He reaches for his phone to call Beckett, but Alexis lays her hand over his.
"Gram told me what happened when Beckett went into the bank and found you. How you two looked at each other. She said that she's never seen so much relief."
"Well I'd like to think that Beckett doesn't want me to die."
He gets an eye roll for that. Alexis is growing up far too quickly; he doesn't like her having input in his relationships. It feels like a line is drawn straight down his middle to split him apart and let everyone see the messy insides.
"Isn't this just the excuse you need to go over there? I think Kate is in love with you, Dad."
It moves through him like clean and lovely light. He hopes - he has been hoping, since she came back to the city. On those swings he thought she was telling him that the relationship she wants is with him. He's been clinging tight to that ever since. And if even his daughter can see it then maybe it isn't naive of him to be hopeful.
"Even if she is, that doesn't mean I should go and bother her."
"I think if I was Beckett," Alexis says carefully. Her eyes are huge in the round eagerness of her face. "and I was hurting, I would want somebody there who cares about me. What if she does something stupid?"
The thought propels him right out of his seat. His daughter stays on her bar stool, prim and satisfied while he gathers his coat.
"I won't wait up," she tells him when he comes back to kiss her cheek.
By the time he makes it across town to Beckett's apartment he's shaking. Six times in the cab he brought up her contact on his phone, deciding at the last second not to dial. He doesn't want to hear her say that she's fine or tell him not to come over.
He knocks, firm and confident. There's sound from inside and he presses his ear to the wood. He knocks again, harder. There's a crash, something smashes, and Beckett cries out.
"Kate." He puts his mouth to the seam of the door. "It's me. It's Castle. I found a lead. Please let me in."
The deadbolt slides back and he hears the key turn, but the door doesn't open. He waits a handful of seconds and then he opens it himself. Beckett's apartment is dark. The blinds are drawn, and at first he can see only the lumpy, unfamiliar shapes of her furniture.
It's her breathing that alerts him. Her back is to the wall, knees drawn up. Her wide eyes dart rapidly around the space. Castle slides the deadbolt home again, making sure that she sees. He comes to kneel on the floor, a careful distance between them.
A vase has smashed and broken glass litters the floor of her apartment. Her gun is on the ground as well. Rick reaches for it, slow and sure, and puts the safety on. He moves it aside, makes sure Kate can't lunge for it. Her head moves jerkily and she cries out again.
"Beckett, you're having a flashback," he tells her. His voice makes her stiffen. "It's not happening again. I know it feels real, but it isn't. You're in your apartment. I'm here."
"You don't know," she wails. Her head rolls, but it's towards him and her eyes open. "Castle."
"I'm right here. Can you look around for me? Describe what you see."
For a moment, he thinks he's lost her. Beckett grits her teeth and turns her face away. Her hair has been amazing these past few days, spilling in those gorgeous curls. It gets in her eyes now and he aches to tuck it back behind her ear.
Her shoulders drop slowly and she sags. "Couch. I broke the vase."
"You did," he agrees. "We'll get you a new one. What else?"
"The painting. Books." She continues, listing items like a child just learning their names. It works though, and she relaxes enough to let her legs drop. They stretch out in front of her, feet slender in her grey socks.
She slows down after a little while, and when she looks at him again her eyes are no longer like flint. He smiles at her, gives her a small nod. "Better now?"
"Yeah. Thanks." A flush of colour appears high up in her cheeks, creeps along the pale column of her neck. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"We're partners," he says immediately. Her hand comes up and her fingers work at her chest, over the top of her NYPD tee. "Are you okay?"
"I'm in pain." The honesty seems to surprise her just as much as it does his. Her mouth drops open and she blinks. "It's the PT. Makes me ache. It's just the scar tissue."
The tension is bleeding out of her now and she crosses her legs. Now that she's back with him, he lets himself touch. He covers the peak of her knee with his palm, tucking his fingers into the seam of her leg. "How can I help?"
"I need to sleep. I'm always exhausted after a. . ."
"Panic attack," he supplies. She nods, and he squeezes her knee. "You don't have to be ashamed, Kate. I'd be amazed if you didn't have some kind of emotional response to this case."
Castle gets up from the floor and holds out a hand to her. She takes it, lets him tug her to her feet. For the first time he realises they're surrounded by the broken shards of the vase. Before Kate can protest he sweeps her up and carries her across the room to where it's safe.
He puts her down right away, but the warmth and the softness of her body pressed to his still lingers. She's blushing furiously now, won't even look at him as she mutters her thanks.
"You go get into bed and I'll clean that up and see myself out."
"What about the lead?"
For a moment he debates keeping it to himself, waiting until the morning. But this is Beckett, and there's no way she's about to let it drop. "Go get into pajamas and I'll clean this, and then I'll tell you."
"These are my pajamas."
He rakes his eyes slowly over her yoga pants and t-shirt. When he makes it up to her face her eyes meet his and he turns his face away, clears his throat. "Right."
At his insistence, Beckett settles on the couch with a glass of water. He's not actively trying to sober her up, but he did smell the vodka on her. The floor is sticky when he tries to sweep it and he has to make another trip to the kitchen for a damp cloth.
As he cleans, he tells her what he found. By the time he's done she's pulled up a list of all the possibilities for the location of the next shooting.
"Leave it," he says as he comes to sit on the couch with her. "We'll attack it first thing in the morning, Beckett. Right now you need to get some rest."
He waits for her to stand up, to head for her bedroom. Instead, Kate leans sideways until her cheek meets his shoulder. "Thanks, Castle. I thought having people around to witness it would make this harder, but you helped."
The sleepy weight of her against his side makes him brave.
"Kate. How can you have flashbacks if you don't remember what happened when you were shot?"
She stiffens immediately and lifts up to sit straight. Castle is carefully not looking at her, terrified of what he might find on her face. She still has that pinched paleness, and he can't bear to watch it get worse.
"I do remember. I remember all of it."
It doesn't surprise him as much as he would have thought. On some level, he expected this. It seemed too neat for her to have forgotten everything. When she first came back to work and she couldn't hold her gun without trembling, he knew.
"Why would you lie to me, Beckett?"
"You saw me tonight. Every time I think about what happened that day, I panic. I wasn't ready to face things. I'm still not."
She's worrying at a hangnail and he takes both of her hands in his. "It's okay. I understand. I'm gonna go, give you some space."
"Stay?" she murmurs.
"Are you sure?" Kate lifts her eyes to his. The courage he finds there fortifies his own. He leans in, and right as she sucks a startled breath, his kiss lands. Her forehead is smooth under his lips and he lingers.
When he pulls back to see her the corner of her mouth twitches in something close to amusement. "I don't think it's smart for me to be alone right now."
He follows her to her bedroom in mute wonder. Kate lets him have the bathroom first, and then while she cleans her teeth he strips down to his boxers and climbs beneath the sheets. His pulse is frenetic in his throat and he sits on his hands so that he won't fidget.
When she comes back she gets into bed with him as if they do it every night. Kate turns out the light and the room plunges into darkness. It takes a minute to adjust, and then he can make out the fuzzy shapes of her dresser and wardrobe.
Kate is a patch of deeper, more textured darkness in the bed beside him. He lies like a river stone, heavy and unmoving. She wriggles, sighs, and then she scoots across the mattress and curls up against his side.
"I'm not ready to deal with it yet, but I'm working on it. I'm still seeing a therapist."
"Right. Roger."
"No, Doctor Burke." Her voice is small in the great blackness of the room. Castle slides a careful arm around her shoulders and lets his fingers flirt with her clavicle. "I'm working at it, because I do want to face what happened. All of it."
He can feel the curve of her breast against his bicep every time she breathes. When he came here tonight he thought maybe if he was lucky he'd get a hug out of her. Not this. He is so awed by her, so humbled, that he has to work his tongue around his mouth before he can speak.
"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Beckett." She gives him a little huff, and he takes it as agreement. "I respect that you're not ready, and I can wait. But I don't want it to be an awful memory, I don't want you to panic when you think of it."
"It's a little late for that," she says wryly.
He wishes he could see her face for this, but he needs the leaves of night. It gives him courage, makes him reckless. "Even so. I want you to have something good. So, Kate. I love you."
"Castle-"
"You don't have to do anything with it," he assures her. "Just so you can think of it without all of the pain and suffering. Now go to sleep."
She kisses the ball of his shoulder. He's not wearing a shirt, and her lips are warm and a little dry against his bare skin. "Thank you. For not pushing."
"Any time. Now hush."
A/N: I'm hoping to fill as many of these as I can for Alex because she is a sundrop, so look out for more. Thank you to her and Esther and Steph for looking this over.