A/N: This is a very belated birthday present for the dear, lovely, SUPER talented Nic/ColieMacKenzie who asked for "Castle and Beckett having to share a hotel room and it leads to sexytimes." My brain, of course, wanted to set it in the 47 Seconds angst arc, because that's where my brain wants to set all the prompts, so this is an AU on Headhunters. Please forgive me bending canon to suit.
This story would never have been written without three amazing ladies. MarmelFred, your patience with me is as endless as the stream of "look, I wrote 3 words!" emails your inbox was bombarded with. Bec, you allow my inner dirty old man the freedom to excitedly shake his walking stick – I wouldn't dream of writing M!fic without your support. Kellie, your "brutal, ruthless editing" makes my words shine. All three of you have made me a better writer, and I'm so grateful for you.
This chapter is rated T; a second chapter, written but not fully edited, will (eventually – essays first, sorry, kids! Might be a couple of weeks!) follow, at which point the rating will change to M.
Castle belongs to AWM and ABC.
What if, in Headhunters, Castle found himself dumped out in the sticks mid-investigation by Slaughter?
She threw the car into park, killed the engine, and took a moment to get her bearings. The hotel was a complete cliché, a two-storied wooden structure teetering in an L-shape around a parking area that had more potholes than asphalt. The lazy flicker of neon drew attention to the fact that almost half of the hotel's freestanding sign on the roadside had long since ceased to function. It was the kind of joint that rented rooms by the hour and threw in the cockroaches for free, and Beckett found herself wrinkling her nose in distaste.
She glanced down at the slip of paper on the passenger seat, crossed with the hasty scrawl of the address.
Yup. This was the place, all right.
It helped that this was the only hotel in this back-country town. She'd had a clear view of every one of the half-dozen businesses nestled together on the main street, and the only side road had been dark with private residences, already settled in for the night.
A brisk wind caught at her hair as she stepped out of the car, and she was quick to do up the buttons of her blazer. Still, the cool of the evening did help her shake off some of her weariness after so many hours of tense driving – driving spent trying not to worry about the reason for her unplanned trip.
Opening the door to the front office, she was bombarded with the stale stench of cigarettes and cheap incense, the combination almost making her gag. The obese, balding man behind the counter didn't so much as glance at her. "We're all full up," he grunted in greeting.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine who found a room here," she replied, approaching the counter. "He's from out of town."
He still didn't look up. "Everyone here tonight's from out of town. This week's the Cow Chip Throwing Festival down at Five Mile Creek."
"This man didn't come for that. He, uh, fell out of the back of a truck?" she winced even as she said it, still vague on the details.
The man grunted again. "The city slicker. Room 48."
She left without a word; he wouldn't have noticed if she had said anything. Mounting the rickety stairs, she searched out the correct room, and took a deep, steadying breath which did nothing to slow the erratic pounding in her chest.
Her partner was behind this door.
Her partner who had shunned her for weeks.
Her partner who had ditched their whole team to follow another detective – a dangerous one – and who had somehow found himself shipped off to this Godforsaken place.
Her partner who didn't love her any more.
Raising her fist, she knocked heavily, swaying slightly on her feet as she did so. She had been driving for too many hours, determined to help him in spite of everything, but now that she no longer had the road to concentrate on she could feel the fatigue crashing in on her.
There was no way she would be able to make the drive back tonight. Hopefully Castle would be in better shape.
The door swung open.
He wasn't.
An ugly purple bruise bloomed across one cheekbone; a fresh cut adorned his eyebrow. He was absently rubbing a hand through his already mussed hair, wincing a little as his muscles stretched.
In spite of his injuries, though, her eyes swept hungrily down his form, clad only in a plain white t shirt and green-and-black boxer shorts; his muscular arms, broad chest, and muscular thighs very much on display as his looming form dominated the door frame.
Her mouth went dry.
Damn.
How had he managed to hide that physique, working with her day after day at the precinct?
For one blissful moment, his eyes blazed wide with every ounce of adoration he had ever bestowed on her, like the sun bursting through storm clouds, allowing her to bask in glorious warmth after weeks of being shut out in the cold. Then he slammed the mask of his indifference down, contorting every feature to become the desolate husk of what had once been her partner, and she was left out in the cold once more.
"Beckett, what do you want?" His voice was gravel, his hair on end, his features drawn and lined with exhaustion.
Her first reaction was a white-hot flash of anger that crackled like lightning through her whole body at his words, at his ongoing indifference, and the easy way with which he had replaced her with another detective. But the anger was soothed almost immediately by the rolling wave of relief at finding him here, mostly unharmed, after so many hours of travel to reach him, worst case scenario after worst case scenario playing through her mind's eye as her Dodge Charger ate up the miles far too slowly for her peace of mind. Combined with the surge of arousal that flooded her veins at the sight of his state of undress, and the result was a devastating cocktail of emotions strong enough to tongue tie a far more eloquent wordsmith than she.
"A-Alexis called me," she stuttered, cursing her inability to form words.
He frowned. "You didn't need to go to the trouble, Detective. I told Alexis I'd find a way home tomorrow."
She blundered on, ignoring his hint to leave her alone. "It's what partners do," she said a little too brightly.
They tried not to stare at each other for a long moment, her breath catching in her chest as she searched his eyes for evidence of a whispered confession in a graveyard on a sunny day almost a year ago, her gut twisting as she drew a blank.
"I'm not getting rid of you any time soon, am I?" he asked, dropping his arms, his whole body deflating – yet there was just a hint of affection in his voice, something that reminded her of his interactions with Alexis, just enough to keep her from spinning around and running away.
He sighed a little dramatically, held open the door for her to come in. The room was crowded, the double bed complete with '70s-style floral bedspread dominating the tiny space, two chairs and the smallest table she'd ever seen pushed up against the wall opposite the foot of the bed, with just enough space to maneuver between the two to reach the door to the bathroom on the wall opposite the front door.
She perched on a not-quite-stable dining chair, the one not housing his shirt and jeans. "Make yourself at home, by all means," he muttered a moment too late, clinging to the last of his defenses like a cloak, yet his gaze on her was hungry – for the first time, she felt like she was doing the right thing in his eyes by coming after him.
She bit her lip, holding back the sharp retort that was all too ready to come out. It wouldn't solve anything; they were nowhere near their usual banter. Instead, she took a deep breath and schooled her voice into something more gentle. "What happened with Slaughter? Alexis seemed... a little fuzzy on the details." And more than a little put out at having to turn to her father's erstwhile partner for help. Alexis had been panicked, her accusatory tone reminiscent of another conversation held outside a bank at a barricade. Whatever was going on with him, it was definitely affecting Kate's tenuous relationship with his daughter.
He sank wearily onto the edge of the bed facing the window; judging by the way the covers were strewn, it was the side he had been sleeping on. He stared out through the gaps in the blinds as he answered her in a monotone.
"We got in a brawl, or Slaughter did. I did my best to help, but I got pummeled." He flicked her a nervous glance, a blush of shame creeping up his neck as he spoke. "We were out on the street, and I vaguely remember Slaughter sitting me down on the open back of a delivery truck that was double parked, while he was bagging and tagging our suspects." He turned to face her, frustration and guilt warring for place in his features, his eyes a cold gray. "That's the last thing I remember. When I came to, the back of the truck was closed and I was stuck in there with no service on my phone. I was in there for about an hour before we pulled up outside the general store across the road there. Gave the driver a fright when he opened the back."
"I can imagine," she replied evenly, slipping into detective mode to keep her emotions contained – but her fingers itched for her service weapon, for the opportunity to seek Slaughter out and do him bodily damage for putting her partner at such risk; her blood thundered through her veins at the risk Castle had taken in participating; her heart was left with a yawning cavity at the image of him waking up alone, in a truck, with no hope of rescue. She wanted to scream at him for being so stupid. She wanted to hurt him, to make him feel something – anything – for her again. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss his frown away.
He seemed to rouse at her words, standing and facing her, looking through her once again. "So what now? Are you driving back tonight?"
"That's up to you."
"Don't let me put a crimp in your plans, Detective. I can just hitch a ride to the next town over, and then–"
"If you think I'm leaving without you, Castle..."
"Really, I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble." He plastered on his publicity smile, as if she was an unwelcome guest crashing his party.
She gritted her teeth. "I drove for almost six hours to come get you, Castle. I'm not going back without you."
"I can figure it out for myself." His stubbornness would be adorable if it wasn't so frustrating.
"Dammit, Castle, I promised Alexis!" The girl might not exactly love her right now, but she knew Castle would do anything for his daughter. Even accept a ride from someone he apparently hated now.
He glared at her, but didn't come up with any further excuses. Instead, he crossed the room to the chair opposite hers. "There's no point in driving back until you've rested. Give me your keys and I'll curl up in the back seat of your car," he said, reaching for his jeans.
She gasped, disconcerted by both the conversation and his sudden proximity. "Castle, I can't kick you out of your room!"
He stared at her, all but tapping his foot in annoyance. "What option do we have? I got the last free room."
She sighed. "Castle, stay. I'll sleep in the car."
He snorted, wrestling with his jeans – the act so intimate, she felt a blush stealing up her cheeks. He didn't seem to notice. "Like I'm going to let that happen."
"I'll sleep on the floor then." She glanced around, hoping a large enough stretch of floorspace would present itself to aid her cause.
He succeeded in righting his jeans – one leg had been inside out – and sighed, stilling suddenly. "Just take the bed."
Her eyes roved over his bruises. "No, Castle, you're hurt. I'll take the floor."
"And my mother would never let me hear the end of it. I'd rather share than that." He waggled his eyebrows like it was meant to be a joke, but his words pierced deep.
"Really, I'll be fine," she demurred. Not all that long ago, he would have jumped at the chance to share such an intimate space with her.
"Is sharing a bed with me really so repulsive to you?" he demanded. The shutters had slammed down over his eyes once more, sucking out everything airy and light, discarding any progress she might have made since her arrival. He sounded done, his shoulders slumping in defeat, and her eyes jerked up, just in time to see his drop away.
Wasn't he the one finding her repulsive?
He ignored her reproachful stare, flinging his jeans back onto the chair and turning away. "Fine. Do what you like. You always do anyway. Now, if you'll excuse me, Detective, I'm going back to bed. Feel free to watch TV or whatever – it won't disturb me. Bathroom's through there. I think I left at least one clean towel."
He climbed into bed on the side nearer the door, turning away from the room and settling down. Beckett was left sitting there as he clicked off the bedside lamp, leaving only the pale glow of the security lights outside beaming in through the gaps between threadbare curtains.
She sat there for several moments, eyes stinging and throat burning with unshed tears at his brusque words. There was no way in hell she was going to cry in front of him after that speech. Yet she found herself staring, unable to tear her eyes away from the lump in the bed that was the man she was irrevocably in love with, in spite of the evidence before her that he could hardly stand to be in the same room as her. It was intimate, watching him sleep. The incident with the tiger had been too highly charged to really enjoy the experience, and she found herself understanding for the first time why he had spent so many hours in an uncomfortable chair as she did paperwork.
She was riveted; he was fascinating, shuffling to make himself more comfortable, grunting into his pillow has he resettled himself. A vision rose in her mind of the future, maybe five or ten years from now, of her sliding off her heels at the loft door, of tiptoeing into their room at the end of a long day at the precinct, of watching him slumber for several long minutes before stripping off her clothes and joining him in their bed, waking him with kisses and touches and whispers of love – of drawing that grunt from him again as she snaked her hand down between their bodies to make sure he was fully awake, before following with her mouth, disappearing under the covers even as his barely awake brain began to process what was going on, watching as she wrapped her mouth around him with a devilish smile, and–
It was only when he shifted under the covers and huffed to himself that she realized exactly how far her thoughts had wandered, and, standing hurriedly, she all but ran into the bathroom, her cheeks flaming.
A shower, no matter how questionable in quality, sounded perfect right about now. She needed time and space away from her partner to cool down after that all-too-real daydream.
It would also give him time to fall asleep properly, she hoped. She was thrilled at the idea of sharing a bed with him; it was one of her most common fantasies, especially this last year, to imagine that Castle was taking up his share of the vast expanse beside her in her bed. Yet he was so closed off to her lately, so moody, that her stomach dropped and her palms grew clammy at the thought of him being awake to coldly witness perhaps the only fulfillment she would ever get of her bed-sharing fantasy.
She wanted to take notes, to remember. She wanted to tuck this experience away in her heart of hearts, to keep her warm on the long nights ahead, should he carry on down this path of rejecting her.
Turning on the faucet, she stripped out of her clothes, finding the one clean towel her partn- Castle had mentioned. Glancing around the bathroom, it became apparent that he had made some toiletry purchases, as there was a new toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving gear, and, in the shower, soap – all of which were too good to be complimentary. She used a little of his toothpaste on her finger – better than nothing, and she wasn't sure he'd appreciate her using his new toothbrush – then played with the shower faucets until she found the exact place where the water wasn't scalding but still had at least some pressure. She then stepped under the spray.
The shower smelled undeniably of him. Her eyes slammed shut as the water sluiced over her, and her mind conjured more fantasies of him – this time featuring him throwing open the unlockable bathroom door, tearing his clothes off, and joining her; of his big hands chasing water drops across her skin, her whole body ablaze, dwarfed and surrounded by his broad frame.
She washed as quickly as she could, hands shaking as she ran his soap across her skin, mingling her scent with his. Stepping out of the shower, she dried off before facing her next dilemma. She hadn't planned to stay the night, had come straight from the precinct when she received Alexis' call, stopping only for takeout at a gas station along the way.
Underwear and the tank top she had under her work shirt had to be it. It was about the same as Castle was wearing, anyway.
Once she was dressed, she carried the rest of her clothes out to the other room, draping them across the chair she had appropriated earlier, before turning to the bed. There was enough glow from the lights outside to clearly illuminate his apparently sleeping form, hunched up on one side of the bed.
As quietly as she could, she approached the other side. He hadn't left any bedding out for her, so she really didn't have a choice. She slipped under the covers, trying not to jostle him.
The mattress was a little lumpy, but overall, not too bad.
She sighed as she let her back find rest, before rolling on her side to face her partner.
So near, and yet so far.
She watched the rise and fall of his chest, admired the solid wall of his back, wondering what it would feel like to sweep her hands across the muscles she knew resided there.
And almost without conscious thought, her hand slipped out from under the covers, sliding along the sheets until just the very tips of her fingers skimmed feather-light against the soft cotton of his shirt.
She yearned for him, even as he slumbered within touching distance. She missed him, missed his smile, his laughter, his love. She longed for him to roll over, tug her into his arms while cracking one liners and making suggestive jokes about them being in this position in the first place. She longed to be able to press her hand against him properly, to wrap her arms around him and tell him that she loves him back. Instead, she continued her feather-like caress of the fold of his t-shirt.
In a single, swift movement, he threw the covers off, stood, and paced away from the bed – all so suddenly that she didn't know what to do aside from snatch her hand back and stare at him with round eyes.
She had honestly believed him to be asleep. Clearly, he wasn't.
He turned on the bedside lamp before facing her, his eyes blazing.
"I can't do this anymore." It was an accusation, a demand for answers, and not for the first time in the past weeks, she had the sensation that she was failing him simply by not knowing what was in his head.
She sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light, clutching the bedspread, needing some kind of shield against the brutal blunt force of his fury.
"Can't do what anymore, Castle?" she asked carefully, scrambling for her poker face even as panic overwhelmed her, her earlier fears coming to life, making her lightheaded, making her stomach churn.
Oh, God.
In her gut, she knew this was it. He wasn't just talking about sleeping here. He wasn't coming back to the precinct.
She had lost him.
It was over.
Oh, God.
"This!" He waved his hand vaguely at the bed, at her, at himself. She must have shown at least some of her confusion, because this time, he continued. "I can't lie there with you touching me like you care when clearly you don't. I can't pretend any more, Beckett." He paced away, staring at the window next to the door that faced down across the parking lot and the main street, his stance rigid almost to the point of shaking, her brief glimpse of his face dark and thunderous.
She gripped her hands together in her lap, taking a deep, steadying breath before replying, speaking quietly in an attempt to hide the hurt. "What makes you think I don't care about you?"
"You all but said so," he mumbled, his back resolutely to her.
"What? When?" To gain some kind of equal footing, she pushed the covers back and rose from the bed. Having a physical barrier between them didn't hurt, either.
"During the bombing case."
"I did not!"
"Did too, Beckett. I was there."
"When?"
He turned then, eyes full of furious hurt, tears that threatened but refused to fall. "When you told that suspect you remembered your shooting. You remembered every second of it. Every damn second. And you were okay to lie about it to me, but the moment it becomes a useful interrogation technique, why, by all means, throw it out there for the world to know." All the fight drained out of him, leaving him slumped and broken. "That's when," he finished on a whisper.
A sob rose in her chest, threatening to break free.
She choked it down, though. Now was not the time for self-pity.
Shame burned across her cheeks as she watched all the work she had put into healing over the past year go up in flames before her.
No wonder he had been so distant.
She dropped her eyes, staring at her hands wringing each other so tightly her knuckles were white. "And the only explanation is that I didn't care."
That gave him pause. "Yes?"
"That's why you've been different these past few weeks."
"I just... I needed time to get over you, Kate. That's all. I didn't want to be the guy who stops working with you just because I misread a few signals. Wise ass, not jackass, remember?" His voice was raw, cracking; his eyes windows of misery and humiliation, even as he screwed his mouth into something that clearly attempted – and failed – to be a self-deprecating smile.
She could hear Dr. Burke's voice in her head. What do you want, Kate? Taking her courage in both hands, she forced the words out. "What if you were wrong?"
"I-I'm sorry?"
"Is that how you'd write it?" she asked instead, raising a challenging eyebrow at him. "A little cliché, don't you think?"
His mouth closed with a snap as he stared at her, weighing her words.
"Sometimes life doesn't happen the way I would write it," he said eventually, but he was looking intrigued rather than empty, like they were at the precinct and he was testing a theory.
She played into that, prompting him. "Just humor me, Castle."
"If I was wrong, it means you'd have another reason," he said slowly, raising hopeful blue eyes to meet hers.
"Like what?" Maybe it was unfair, making him do the work, but she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be satisfied until he had the whole story, and she needed to be sure he truly understood. She could fill in the blanks later.
"Well, you'd just been shot by a sniper at Montgomery's funeral..." he began, piecing together the time line. He took a tentative step toward the small amount of floor space at the foot of the bed, toward her, and she matched his movements. She wanted to be nearer him, now that they were – hopefully – on the same page. She no longer needed to be barricaded by the bed; she wanted him to see all of her, and to see all of him in return, open and honest and without subtext. She nodded along with his words, encouraging him to do what he did best – to find the right words, to articulate the story. "Maybe you were worried that whoever shot you was going to come after you again? Or after the people you care about? So you isolated yourself away from the city... to protect us?"
Her eyes flickered down to his mouth, then back up again, delighting in the way his eyes darkened, raking over her face. It was so easy to get lost in the cadence of his voice as he masterfully wove a story.
"I'd say you've got yourself a solid theory there, Castle," she replied, her voice husky, unable to stop her grin at the wonder on his face.
He stopped short. "The sniper case," he said, staring at her in concern.
She nodded, blushing, ducking her head and looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I was diagnosed with PTSD. I've been seeing a therapist ever since I got back to the city."
"That long?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
She dropped her eyes. "I just wanted to put in the work, be better."
He stepped closer, into her personal space, reaching a hand out to sweep a curl behind her ear, his sudden touch enough to startle her into meeting his eyes once again. "Why, Kate? You haven't flinched in months. What are you still working toward?"
She felt a rush of warmth rise up within her as she stared up into his eyes – so warm and blue and full of the love that had been missing for weeks. His scent, his presence, surrounded her completely, and she felt a rush of freedom – of hope – as she took her courage in both hands and stepped off the precipice, trusting him to catch her.
Burke's voice echoed in her mind once more, and this time she was able to find the words to answer him.
What do you want, Kate?
"You," she choked out on a whisper. "I wanted to be better – for you."
He cupped her cheek so tenderly she could cry, his eyes full, brimming with hope and love. "You're already the most remarkable person I've ever met," he breathed, his face splitting into a blinding smile.
She leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his fingertips sweeping across her skin, setting it on fire. "You deserve everything, Castle."
"The only thing I want is you." His eyes flickered down to her lips before inching toward her, pausing only a breath away from meeting her lips and waiting for her. Always waiting.
Pushing up with her toes, she sealed her mouth to his. His lips were silky and soft, and he teased her mouth open, tasting and tormenting her, and she allowed herself to be carried along, reveling in the joy of being able to claim his mouth after so many months of self-imposed abstinence, leaving her lightheaded and clinging to him for balance.
After several long, slow, drugging kisses, he pulled away. She leaned in to chase him, blinking her eyes open as if waking from a dream, to find him watching her. His gaze was filled with wonder, and he tilted into her, resting his forehead against hers, a breathless smile gracing his kiss-puffed lips, and she slid her fingers up the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart matching the rhythm of her own. His exhale danced across the already sensitive nerve endings in her lips, and she felt it all the way down her spine.
"Wow," he whispered.
She grinned up at him. "Wow is right."
He straightened up just enough to press another kiss to her forehead, gathering her into his chest and sliding his arms around her. She burrowed into him, letting her head to fall to the place where his shoulder and neck joined, allowing her to breathe in that indefinable scent that was uniquely her partner that lingered on the collar of his t-shirt. The muscles of his arms banded around her, strong and sure, cradling her with a heart aching tenderness, and he swayed to a gentle, soothing rhythm only he could hear. One of his hands smoothed up her spine so he could run his fingers through her hair in a pleasantly distracting manner, and she hummed in appreciation, her muscles turning to liquid under his touch. The events of the evening were finally catching up with her as she all but drifted off in his arms, stifling a yawn and snuggling into his embrace.
The low rumble of his voice broke the silence, vibrating through his chest and into hers. "Kate? We should go to bed. It's late."
She lifted her head, arching an eyebrow in response, smirking.
He gave an exaggerated gasp at her insinuation. "To sleep!" His face broke out in a grin as he released her, tugging her toward the bed. "It's late, and we have a long drive tomorrow. We have plenty of time for... everything else... when we get back to the city, don't we?"
She brushed another kiss across his lips in reassurance, and because she could. "Of course. I'm not going anywhere, Castle. At least, not without you."
He slowly separated from her, hands sliding, arm stretching to keep hold of her hand until he absolutely couldn't reach her any more, heading back around to his side of the bed, and she paused to watch the distracting play of his muscles under his t-shirt, her cheeks heating as her earlier fantasy played in her mind.
The tiny sample of the real thing had already blown that fantasy out of the water.
She slipped back around to her side, exchanging a shy grin with him as she did. They settled under the covers, his insistent hands tugging her into himself so she was pillowed against his chest and he could once again wrap his arms around her. She coasted her fingers back and forth across his chest, indulging in touching him as she had been dreaming about for years now, until he caught her hands and shifted on top her, pressing her down with his thick body, his forehead to hers, the intensity of his reaction unmistakeable in his eyes and the harsh, hot breath heating her cheek.
"You're killing me here." She heard his struggle for mastery over his body in the groan in his voice. She laughed, breathless, clutching his shirt and pulling him towards her mouth. His lips were eager, his mouth inviting, and she dove in again, prizing the seam of his mouth open. She was addicted already to the taste of him, their kisses escalating into stroking, exploring tongues and wandering hands, setting her skin on fire and making her toes curl. He broke free of her mouth to scatter kisses across her face before bending down to nibble his way down her neck, his teeth scraping and nipping at the paper-thin skin over her pulse. She threw her head back, gasping for air as he scattered her nerve endings with the hot press of his open mouth, gripping at his hair, his t-shirt, the sheets, writhing in his embrace, tangling their legs, seeking friction against his thigh, desperate to alleviate the burn of arousal flooding her system.
He growled, releasing her neck with a final press of lips, gripping her hips with both his hands. "Not that this isn't the most fun I've had in – I'd rather not say how long – but if we're going to get any sleep tonight, we need to slow this down."
She rolled her hips deliberately, making sure to press as much of herself as possible up against him, molding her curves to his iron-cast muscles. She then craned her neck up so she could nip at his earlobe, soothing it with her tongue, before whispering in a husky voice, "You sure about that?"
He groaned. "I'm trying to do the honorable thing here!" he complained, and she laughed, curling into him once more. She pressed a kiss to his chest and yawned, exhaustion from her long drive and the rollercoaster of emotions she had experienced since her arrival all catching up on her at once.
"I think sleep's going to happen whether I want it to or not," she mumbled.
He tightened his arms around her, holding her secure in his embrace as her eyes slipped shut. "Kate? I love you."
She hummed, filled with warmth. "Love you, too. G'night, Castle," she slurred as she drifted off to sleep.