So I started this at about 2 o'clock in the morning, and had to stop myself so that I could actually sleep.
Inspired by the song "Bruises" on Train's new album. The context of the song is different, but the chorus is SO Castle/Beckett fitting.
I'm actually really proud of how this turned out.
Disclaimer: Don't own Castle or the song. Though I enjoy them greatly.
Summary: The bruises are worth it when you have someone to come home to.
Enjoy!
Her key clicks in the lock at that point in the night that's indistinguishable from early morning. She had argued with him. Told him he should get some sleep and she'd see him tomorrow. But he argued right back, insisting that she come over as soon as she was done and he'd be awake and waiting.
It made her feel a little guilty, having him awake until this stupid hour for her. Worse when she remembered why he was so insistent.
Sure enough the second she steps through the doorway she spies Rick leaning against the entryway to the office. Just…waiting. He looks completely drained. But there's still one last little hint of a smile on his face.
It's because she walked through the door in one piece.
One shaky, slightly-wounded, but here, piece.
These bruises
Make for better conversation
He leads her through the office and into the bedroom. There are no other lights on in the loft except for the bedroom lamps and the bathroom light. It makes for a wonderfully comforting glow across the dark bedspread. As he carefully maneuvers her to walk ahead of him he's pulling off her coat, dropping it with her bag on a chair in the corner. She can shed her badge and gun herself though, tucking them carefully into what has pretty much become her nightstand.
Somehow she makes it to the bathroom, divulged of her boots and knee-highs, her shirt unbuttoned and hanging open on her thin frame.
He's pushed her to sit on the closed toilet seat, where she watches as he soaks a washcloth in the sink before bringing it to her with a larger bath towel.
"I…assumed you wouldn't be allowed to take a bath. However much I know you want one."
"God, I would love one," she sighs in desperation. "Wine, too."
"Well, too bad for you" he squats down in front of her, "because there will be no mixing of alcohol and painkillers in this house."
She quirks an eyebrow. "Yes, mother."
"Don't be snarky." His free hand runs slowly up and down her thigh. "You want some help? Or do you want me to go?"
Kate reaches out, raking her fingers through his hair and to the back of his head, pulling him to her for a kiss. "I can do it. But I kind of love the company."
"Yeah?" He looks so…grateful.
She nods, slipping her shirt from her shoulders and trading him – clothes for washcloth.
Loses the vibe that separates
He leans against the wall, watching with a mild concern, while she stands in front of the mirror, carefully rinsing the dirt from her skin with the terrycloth. It's no bath – hell, it's not even close to a shower – but it's all she's allowed to have for the next three days.
"Does it hurt?"
She doesn't even have to look up to know where he's looking. And if she's really honest, she doesn't want to see the hurt look in his yes.
"Not really. Kind of numb. Got good drugs, remember?"
He hums, stepping up behind her. "I do. It just looks so painful." He gently lifts her left arm up, as parallel to the floor as it'll go right now. "And purple's not really your color."
They both look over at the dark patch on her upper arm. The cut's only about two inches long, but it's deep enough for the stitches that make an odd, deep purple, crisscross pattern along the seam. Like a zipper. Even the skin around it has turned to a similar shade of plum.
"Hey, I like purple."
"Flowers, yes. Your clothes, definitely." He drops a kiss to the skin right above the wound. "Not your skin. Not if it means seeing you caught in a knife fight."
"Cause there are other, acceptable ways for my skin to be purple?"
"Absolutely. Like this one." His hands have come to rest on her waist, his head dipped down, kissing and nipping at the skin right at the bend between her neck and her shoulder.
"Hey now," She shoves her self back with enough force to knock him off balance. "None of that." She turns in his arms, letting her left rest on his strong bicep – it's starting to get sore and tight – her right hand coming up to caress his face. "Purple's not so great on you either, tough guy."
He managed to get a few good licks into the guy, but not without consequence. They could probably hold a contest for who's got the darker bruise? Her arm or his eye.
"What? Doesn't make me look even more ruggedly handsome?"
"Well," she almost giggles, "it certainly qualifies for 'rugged.'"
He scoffs. "I am insulted, Detective Beckett. I very nearly save your life – again, for your information – and you insinuate that I'm not handsome."
"I'm not saying you're not handsome, I'm saying the shiner isn't. I kind of like your face the way it's supposed to be, you know." She tilts her head up to leave a light kiss on the corner of his eye. "I'm not fond of people messing up my writer."
His mind flashes back to that moment in the darkened alley. Their suspect above him, ready to take another hit, then the telltale trigger of the safety on Kate's gun, her command for the dealer to step away with his hands behind his head. She was still terrifying, even with a gaping hole in her leather jacket with blood dripping down the sleeve.
"Same goes." He whispers.
It's good to let you in again
You're not alone in how you've been
She lets him help her find a shirt that she can get on without jostling her arm too much before following him into the kitchen. He says she should eat something, even though she's really not that hungry.
She only agrees when he says he'll eat too. They're both tired but not yet ready to sleep.
They get to the kitchen and he starts preparing two bowls of ice cream – chocolate for him, strawberry for her, while she rummages around for a cold pack for his face.
"I could just hold the ice cream carton up to it. It'll do the same job."
She just rolls her eyes at him before finally spotting what she wants on the bottom of a shelf. It gets wrapped in a couple paper towels before she lets him have it when they settle at the counter with their desert – or is it a really early breakfast?
Kate's halfway through her bowl when she winces. Rick eyes her from the next barstool, not saying anything, knowing she'll work through it on her own.
She catches his concerned look and tries to smile. "It's just starting to tighten up. Pinches a little."
"They sent you home with a prescription, right?"
She nods. "It's in my bag. I stopped in between the ER and the precinct."
"Thank you."
She knows what he's implying. Thank you for not being stubborn. Thank you for taking care of yourself, for me.
He stands from the stool and squeezes her side on his way to the bedroom. The little red pill bottle is in his hand when he comes back. He sets it on the counter in front of her, where they both look at it.
"Well, do you want me to take one or not?"
He fumbles with the plastic lid, trying to get the damn child safety lock opened. One of the little gel caps falls into his palm and she plucks it right up, swallowing it with no preamble whatsoever.
A feat for the woman who usually refuses help.
It's that look on his face when the knife sliced her flesh that comes to the forefront of her mind. She needs to make that look go away, because it's still lingering.
"You take something too." She lifts her hand to press the ice pack to his eye. It doesn't look as bad as she expected, but she's still suspicious that he'll wake up with the thing swelled shut.
"Okay," he nods, turns his head to kiss her wrist.
She smiles. "Thank you."
Thank you for taking care of yourself, for me.
Everybody loses-we all got bruises
We all got bruises
They climb into bed shortly after the clock hits three AM. The thicker duvet gets pushed back, the two of them getting comfortable underneath just a black flat sheet. She loves his sheets – she always feels safe here.
His warm, arms wrapped around her might have something to do with that too, she thinks.
"Comfortable?" He asks as he pulls the sheet up around them. She's tucked into his side with her left arm sprawled across his chest. The angry purple mark right in his line of vision.
"Very," she kisses his shoulder, tangling her legs with his. "You?"
"Mhmm." He absentmindedly runs his hand up and down her back, just happy she's here and not in her apartment, or worse, in the hospital, or dead. "Just glad you came over."
"Me too." Her voice is scratchy with exhaustion, but she can't let herself slip off into sleep yet. She lifts her head from where it's resting against his shoulder to find him staring at her arm.
"It's probably going to scar." He sounds so upset by that.
She shrugs a little. "It might not be too bad. They cleaned it up pretty neatly. Won't really know until the stitches dissolve. It's just another one to add to my collection."
He doesn't say anything.
"I'm sorry that they bother you."
"They don't-"
"Yes they do," she finds his hand, laces it with hers, "and that's okay. Sometimes they bother me, too. But that's the thing about scars, they're not going anywhere, so you don't really have any choice but to get used to them."
"They're a part of you."
"Yeah." Her thumb brushes against the back of his hand, "And they're stories, you know. My stories."
"Things you survived."
She can't say anything, because he knows how hard it's been for her to be okay with some of her dramatic 'stories.' She just lets him hold her a little tighter.
"You never told me how you got your scar. The one above your eye."
He chuckles. "That's probably the stupidest scar story you'll ever hear."
"Try me."
"I was backstage…I think I was ten? I didn't listen to anything my mother told me then-"
"You don't listen to her now."
He puts a finger to her lips. "Shh, no interrupting. I wasn't listening and got myself tangled in a net that was being used for some show – I don't even remember what she was in at the time – and in trying to get out of it myself, I knocked over shelf of props and the corner of this metal picture frame hit me in the face."
She laughs. Music to his ears.
"I told you it was stupid."
"It's not stupid, you were being rebellious ten year-old Rick. I'd expect nothing less."
"Gee, thanks."
"I don't think it's stupid." She tells him again a few minutes later. Softer. "It's part of what makes you, you."
I would love to fix it all for you
I would love to fix you too
She wakes up to just the faintest glimmer of sunlight casting through the window. He's tucked a pillow underneath her arm where his chest once was – where was he?
Carefully she stretches out her legs and arms, actually pleased that she took that pill because her arm's just sore now, rather than in searing pain. When she turns her head she can see the light coming from the office.
So, he either had to write or he couldn't sleep.
Probably the latter if she knew him well enough.
She finds him leaning back in his desk chair with his legs propped up on the desk. His laptop's open on his knees, but his hands are folded behind his head.
"Hey," she calls softly, not wanting to startle him.
He turns and smiles faintly. "Hey, why are you up?"
"My partner can't sleep. It's my job to fix that."
"Yeah?"
"Of course."
Rick pulls her over to his side, wrapping an arm around her waist while the other keeps the computer balanced. She lets her arm stretch across his back, resting on his shoulders. "What were you doing?"
"Sending some emails. Replies to people about the benefit."
"Oh." It's a mental battle that she doesn't know what to do about. She loves that he cares enough to organize this scholarship fund for her. For her mother. But she can't help but connect the dots between her mom's death and the take-down that could've killed her in a very similar fashion, only hours before. She wonders if he did, too.
He probably did.
"It's just the legal stuff. Not the stuff you like doing."
Kate smiles. She's actually been loving planning the benefit dinner, getting to pick all the colors and linens, organizing photos and speakers. She lets him handle the money and the technicalities.
"Good. Cause you know I'd hurt you if you sign off on the desert choices without me."
"Trust me," he laughs, "I know."
She tugs on his hand, "Come on, let's get a couple more hours of sleep. I don't have to go in today so we've got the whole day to ourselves." She's pleased when he sets the laptop down and moves to go with her.
When they're finally settled back in the bed – this time with the warm comforter – she moves to face him, on her knees in front of him, sitting back so that she's almost sitting on his legs.
"What?"
She cups his face in her hands, her head tiled to the side, smiling. "Just wanted to thank you. For saving me last night."
He sighs, whispers "But I didn't really save you."
"Hey," she nudges his chin with the heel of her hand, "you did. This is just a scratch." She nods to the purple mark on her upper arm. "It will go away, and you soon enough you won't even remember it's there."
"But it could happen again."
"Of course it could. Anything could happen. But I told you, I'm not afraid of it. And I don't want you to be either."The desperation seeps through her voice. Her pleading for him to remember that now is what matters to her.
They talked about this all those months ago when the secrets came out. She thought he understood that she wasn't going to let ambiguous then's and when's and if's define her anymore. She just wanted to enjoy one day at a time, with him.
"I just wish I could fix it for you. So you can have the life you deserve."
"Rick-" she can't go any further before she just has to kiss him, to prove to him that she's okay. "Why don't you let me decide what I deserve? Don't worry about the cuts and the bruises and the scars. Just let me be here with you."
His eyes soften but he doesn't say anything.
"Look," she lets her hands fall to his shoulders, "I can't promise it'll always be okay. But you know I do whatever I can to make it home. I don't want anything about us to be different. We're perfect just like this. I'll go to work and you'll write. We'll hang out with the guys and Lanie, and Jenny, Alexis will call every night like always. I'll distract you when you don't know what to write and you'll take care of me when I get hurt. I don't want it any other way."
He pulls her into his chest barely a breath after she finishes talking. "I know," he says into her hair, "It's just different now."
Now that we're an us. Now that you come home to me every night, not an empty apartment.
"But I'll get better at this, I promise."
"Good," she leans back to see his face, "I know my partner can handle the tough stuff, but now my boyfriend has to, too."
He smiles and his lips crash into hers with enough passion to knock her backwards.
"Trust me," he whispers as he leans his forehead to hers, "he can handle whatever his girlfriend dishes out."
"So that means I can keep him around?"
I want this. All the time. Only with you.
"Always."
Please don't fix a thing-whatever you do
Thoughts?
Tappin
=)