Chapter 2
When Castle next awoke it was morning. The sun shining through the small gap in the curtains hurt his eyes and he reached up a hand to shield them.
As he did so someone stepped into the path of the offending beam of light, casting a shadow over him, and he slowly opened his eyes again. Beckett was looking down at him – a faint flicker of something akin to concern upon her face.
"Morning sweetheart." She smiled.
"Morning." He croaked. His sore throat had evidently progressed since the previous evening – it felt swollen, and there were now two large marbles on either side of his neck where his glands should have been. He grimaced.
"I've made breakfast if you want any?" She offered him.
"And why wouldn't I want any?" He asked her.
She looked him up and down critically and sighed – the corners of her lips curling in an incredulous but short lived laugh. She stroked a few stray strands of hair away from his face.
"Don't think I haven't noticed you're sick." She told him. "You don't have to hide it from me you know."
He looked up at her – at the beautiful, feisty, independent, intelligent, strong and generous woman he was in love with – and he knew that he couldn't lie to her.
He shook his head.
"Am I really that see through?" He asked her.
"No." She reassured him. "But you'd have to be blind and deaf not to have noticed it, and you are marrying a cop. I could hear the fluid bubbling on your lungs like a peculator as soon as I woke up."
Castle caught a whiff of strong coffee. It smelt close by, and as he looked around he noticed the tray of food perched on the edge of the bed. The sight of the warm banana and syrup squeezed over pancakes made his stomach turn, and he swallowed hard.
"You don't have to eat anything if you don't want to." She assured him.
His throat hurt too much for him to immediately respond but he looked up at her gratefully and seeing how uncomfortable the presence of the food seemed to be making him she covered it over and took it away, returning with a damp wash cloth in her hand.
Perching down beside him and placing her warm palm to his forehead she grimaced.
"You're burning up." She observed.
Despite the chill in his bones Castle leaned into the cold cloth as it was pressed against his forehead.
"What time is it?" He asked her.
"The clock is right beside you Rick." She chuckled at his apparent laziness as she pointed out its position, cupping his rosy cheeks in her hands.
"My neck's stiff. It hurts when I move." He explained, and as he spoke the air caught in his lungs. It made him cough – turning into a wet and chesty rattle. Beckett rubbed his back in a soothing circular motion. It was only when the fit had passed that she was finally able to answer his question.
"It's just gone nine-thirty." She told him once she'd established that he'd sufficiently recovered and was breathing normally again. He frowned – sitting up a little further in the bed.
"We're late for work!" He exclaimed – choking on his own words.
"Hey, easy there tiger." She immediately put a hand on his chest to try and steady him. He looked so pale, his skin the colour of recently turned milk. "We're not going to work today. I called in sick."
"Sick? You're not sick." His frown deepened.
"No, but you are," She explained. "and I would only have been worrying myself sick thinking about you all day if I hadn't."
He smiled.
"If you don't want any breakfast you should go back to sleep." She told him.
"Typical." He laughed. "The one and only time you decide to play hookie and I'm too sick to enjoy it.
"You need to rest." She told him.
He sighed.
"I'll be in the living room if you need anything." She said as she got to her feet, but as she turned to go he reached out to grab her – stopping her in her tracks. His skin had taken on a greenish-grey hew.
He looked at her apologetically, and licked his dry lips.
"I think I'm going to be sick." He gulped.