She wakes up to the delicious smell of Chinese food wafting through her apartment. She's still sore, but less than before, the effects of the pain meds – and Castle – still radiating through her body. She can still feel the ghost of his fingers through her hair, the delicate trace of them as they had put her to sleep.
She sits up slowly, trying to avoid moving her head too rapidly, and looks around to spot him in her kitchen preparing plates of takeout for each of them.
"Hey, you're awake," he says, once he's noticed her, and he smiles as she stands up gradually and walks over to the kitchen. It hurts - her body is stiff from the sleep - but she pushes through, her jaw clenched as she moves. "How's the pain?"
"It's... ok. Arm hurts the most right now, but it's better than before, the meds are working." She sits down on a stool and watches him work as he glides around her kitchen with ease. "The food smells good."
"Yeah, I wasn't sure if you were up for eating, but thought I'd order something just in case."
"I'll see if I can manage. I should be able to keep it down, just not sure about getting it in there in the first place." She motions to both her injured appendages with a dissatisfied look.
"Oh. Right." He pauses, she can see him thinking. "Well... I can-"
"Do not think that you will be feeding me, Castle." She glares at him, eyes narrowing, and he looks back at her sheepishly.
"Fine. But don't come complaining to me when you are struggling to eat with your left hand."
She smiles triumphantly - now she has to do this without his help.
They eat mostly in silence, Castle sitting close on her left, can feel him itching to help as she struggles through the meal. Her left hand proves much more dysfunctional than she anticipated and the addition of the throbbing in her wrist is not helping. She can barely twist it, has to keep it level and rather move her whole arm to lift the fork. Her stubbornness gets the better of her though, she will not ask for help at all. She manages to swallow down about a third of the meal, but her hunger dissipates quickly as the aches and discomfort start crawling back into her bones.
She places her plate on the coffee table with a sigh, and leans back into the couch. She hates being in pain, hates being incapacitated, being weak. She's always struggled with asking for help, relying on people.
You rely on Castle.
Uncertainty swims in her stomach, because she did rely on Castle; her was her partner. And then he left. But she took him back, because she likes relying on him, likes having him as her back up. She clenches her teeth, frustrated with her own feelings, wanting Castle in her life but still having the back of her brain hitting her with doubt, with anger, towards him. Anger that probably isn't even completely justified, because she was with Demming, and he didn't know they had broken up. She can't help the hurt though, because they were so close, and the anticipation and excitement of the weekend in the Hamptons still creeps into her veins if she thinks too hard about it.
He's here though, and he doesn't have to be. He's here looking after her and caring for her, and that has to mean something?
"Whatcha thinking about so hard over there?" Castle says, and she flops her head to her left to look at him, realizes he's been watching her throughout her mental debate. Her face heats and she turns her whole body to his, knees curling up onto the cushions as she curls in on herself.
"Uh- nothing. Just, frustrated about the limitations on work I'll have for the next six weeks," she lies, pursing her lips.
"Ah, well don't worry, we can still catch killers in the precinct. We'll get all the evidence, figure out who the killer is, and then we'll make Ryan and Espo do all the grunt work," he jokes. He's trying to get a smile out of her and it works, her eyes creasing as her lips turn up.
"You'll still come into work with me even though I can't do much of the exciting stuff?" she asks, almost cringing from how desperate she sounds.
"Of course, Detective, you're still my muse after all." He smiles, but his eyes are serious and sure.
She rolls her eyes at the term, but laughs softly, her heart lifting as his words and his face suppress her worries. He's not leaving her.
Her lips are still curved as she watches him finish his meal, studying his face, his movements like he so often does to her. He keeps flicking his eyes to the side, watching her watch him, and she should probably look away but she can't. It's intense, the eye contact, and she bites her lip, blaming the pain meds for how obvious she is being right now.
She wants to say something, thank you, or please never leave me again, but no way does she have the courage for that, so she settles for this, hoping that her eyes do the talking.
He finishes his dinner, places his plate next to hers, his is far more empty in comparison, and shifts to face her, mimicking her position. His shin brushes her feet, and she points her toes to graze his leg, the small contact making her heart feel huge, so she leaves her feet there, savors in the odd warmth she's drawing from the connection. His eyes get serious, and he places his hand on her ankle, rubbing his thumb back and forth against her bone. It's not supposed to be a romantic gesture, supposed to soothe, to comfort. And it does. But even the simplest touch makes her body feel like it's vibrating, like his hand is conducting electricity surging it through her. It's ridiculous, really, how affected she is, she needs to stop it before she combusts.
"Castle?"
"Hmm?"
"Um, my gauze, it uh- needs changing." She gestures to her head wound. "I would do it myself but uh-"
"Say no more, Beckett, I'll be happy to do it. That's what I'm here for." He stands up, and she follows suit. She's slow to rise, like usual, unable to use her arms, her ribs and hip bones still ache with every movement. She sees the hurt in his eyes as he watches; his arms twitch, as if to help her, but he stops, and she's grateful for him letting her do this on her own.
Once she's moving, Kate gestures for him to follow her, leads him through her bedroom, into her bathroom. She can practically sense the excitement radiating out of him, from getting to see such a private area of her life. He's probably itching to explore, to examine every inch of her room, but he stays close behind her, his arm hovering over her lower back as if he fears she's going to collapse any second. She finds that she doesn't mind.
She gets out the needed equipment from her cupboard to replace her dressing, and then sits on a wooden stool she keeps in her bathroom that she usually uses for clothes storage.
"Do you know what to do?" she asks as he sets himself up and washes his hands.
"Yep. Changed a few cuts and scrapes for Alexis in my time." He grins, and she's comforted by his confidence, his self-assured movements putting her at ease.
All of a sudden he's close, very close, and his hands skate over the gauze, looking for the best place to peel it off. His breath washes over her forehead and he rests his other hand lightly on the side of her head as he slowly peels off the dressing.
She's pretty sure her pulse has stopped. Or is it so fast she can't feel it anymore?
She closes her eyes, gives herself a minute to revel in his touch, his proximity. He's killing her, she's sure of it, but death by the touch of Richard Castle is probably not the worst way to go.
The pain brings her back as he peels the gauze over her cut, and she scrunches her brow, digs her nails of her non-plastered hand into her knee.
"Sorry," he says, and soothes her with his other hand, his fingers dusting circles on her scalp. It helps, and she focuses on that as he peels the last of the gauze off. It mustn't look good because he sucks in a breath, runs his fingers above the wound, as if he can heal it with his touch. He's probably not far off, she thinks, because she feels like she's floating, stuck in a limbo of pain and pleasure. His fingers leaving a trail of warmth as they soothe and relieve, and she could drift into his embrace and stay there forever.
He's still tracing her gash absentmindedly and it's getting too much - again - the air in the room is suffocating, and she clears her throat. It startles him, his hands dropping from her skin as if burned, and he moves over to the sink to wet a washcloth to clean the wound.
God, this was a bad idea. Any feelings of hurt and anger from the summer are gone, or at least overshadowed by this moment, the comfort from him washing away everything else. His actions feel more affectionate, more intimate than they should, every organ pulsing wildly when he's near. But she wants more, wants to feel him everywhere, to get lost in his hands, his fingers and never return.
He has a girlfriend, she reminds herself, breaking her trance, and swallows around the lump of disappointment in her throat.
He's back again, so close she could graze his thighs, his waist, if she just reached up. He looks nervous himself, his shoulders tense, strained to be so near to her. She closes her eyes as he begins to clean the cut. She shivers, goosebumps rising, and she pretends it's from the unexpected wetness of the cloth.
He continues his process, cleaning, disinfecting, and redressing, going too quickly and not quickly enough. She needs some space, it's getting hot, her body alive and thrumming, and she curses Castle in her head for making her feel this way.
He announces his completion, and she jumps up, forgetting that she is injured for a second. But her cast knocks against the counter and the force of the motion was too much for her head, her body and everything screams in pain, the bruises, breaks, and sprains fighting to make themselves known. Her knees give way, and she falls forward into his body as she gasps, almost whimpering from the pain her body is in. He catches her, his hands wrapping around her back, strong and safe, as she buries her head into his shoulder. Her left hand grips his shirt hard, hurting her wrist even more but she needs something to hold onto. She breathes through her teeth, letting out a groan, frustrated in herself and her body.
"Hey, shh, it's ok. You're ok, Kate," he soothes as he rubs his hand in circles around her back, the pain slowly melting from the motion.
She feels tears in the back of her eyes, which frustrates her even more, because she does not want to cry in front of him. She sniffs, and pulls out of his embrace, her body has calmed enough, and turns around to start cleaning up the medical supplies. She feels his hand on her back, and she quickly swipes under her eye to check that no tears have fallen.
"Kate-"
"Thank you, Castle," she cuts him off before it gets too serious and forces herself to smile. "I think I'm going to have a shower now. I still smell like hospital and my hair is gross," she jokes, trying to lighten the mood, yet giving him a reason to leave.
He nods, and she sees the disappointment seep into his features. He turns to exit but spins back when he gets to the door. "You can't shower with your cast."
She looks down at the plaster.
"Shit."
She didn't even think of that.
"Also, how are you going to wash your hair when you barely have a working hand."
"I- uh-" She sighs. "I guess I'll just wait until Lanie comes round tomorrow," she decides, gives up on the hope of feeling clean tonight.
"Or… I could- help?"
She flushes. "I'm not showering in front of you, Castle."
His eyes darken at that and she's pretty sure their minds went to the same place.
"No- uh- I mean- you could have a bath. And I could wash your hair?" He's so nervous, it's almost cute, but his solution doesn't really solve their problems.
"I still can't get my cast wet. And I'm still gonna be naked in the bath."
He coughs, chokes, and she suppresses a laugh. "Well," he squeaks out, "we can wrap your cast in Saran wrap, and keep it out of the water just in case, rest it on the edge with a towel. And you can just... wear your underwear? I promise I won't look Beckett."
She scoffs.
"Or I'll try my best," he teases, eyebrows raised, but turns serious as he speaks again. "I just want you to feel relaxed and clean, and that way you don't have to go to bed still smelling like hospital…"
She narrows her eyes. He's definitely not convincing her. Probably not. Maybe? But… she does want to be clean. And her hair is an oily, knotty mess. She sighs.
"Fine."
