She spends almost three weeks in the hospital, between her medically induced coma and recovery, before the doctors allow her to leave. Even then, she practically has to swear up and down that she will never move a damn muscle.
She hates that everyone is suddenly so protective. She understands why, but she still hates it.
Castle is the one who pushes her wheelchair down to the waiting rental car. (He's also the one that sat by her bedside with her father everyday until they were given substantial proof that she would pull through, but Beckett doesn't know that yet.) He helps her into the car, resorting to simply picking her up bridal style and placing her in the back seat. If it was anyone else, Beckett would hate them for being presumptuous enough to actually pick her up and not let her stand up herself. But it's Castle, and he's being sweet and gentle, and Beckett still remembers everything from Montgomery's funeral.
After she's buckled in, Castle moves around to the other side of the car and slides in next to Beckett. "I'm supposed to make sure you get to your dad's house as safely as possible," he says, answering her unasked question. She just nods, silent.
The car lurches away from the curb, and pulls into traffic.
(You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.)
Castle won't look at her. Instead, he keeps his gaze out the window, staring at the buildings that shimmer in the heat of the New York day. Beckett assumes he does this because it's the easiest option (she's right), but she's also pretty sure that Castle can see her in the reflection of the glass (she's right about this as well).
(And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired.)
Beckett watches him, and waits. Castle's fist has a vice-like grip on his seat, and Beckett can see his knuckles turning white. She's afraid that he might think she's forgotten what he said to her when they were on the ground at Montgomery's funeral, hopelessly tangled in each other and struggling to breathe, and he looks so tired. A heart-wrenching tired that makes Beckett feel like the worst person in the world, because she's the reason he's gone through all this, and she's made him wait so long (too long), and because she's very sure she loves him back.
She's tired too.
(You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.)
Castle touches her shoulder.
"You OK, Beckett?"
She bites her lip and turns away from the window, noticing the concerned look on Castle's face. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"OK." He doesn't look the least bit convinced, and slides closer to her.
"Castle." It's supposed to be a reprimand but comes out more like a sigh.
"Yeah?"
Beckett doesn't expect to say thank you for everything, but she blurts it out, and the look on his face just says it all. She takes Castle's hand then, ignores the rapid thump thump in her chest, and looks out the window. New York rushes by, loud and hectic, and suddenly there's a foreign feeling clawing its way up the back of Beckett's throat, flooding her veins with something that tastes like always and I love you.
Castle tightens his grip on her hand.
Beckett can see his smile in the reflection of the window.
