Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
Beckett figures that she has about fifteen seconds, max, before she has to respond. Is there any possible recovery from this? She'll have to grit it out. Which is worse, the psychic pain or the physical? Definitely the first, even though her right foot is screaming at her. In her personal Hall of Humiliation, this moment may get the highest—and thus the lowest—ranking ever. Might as well just tell the truth. God knows there's no other explanation for what she was doing on top of the Whirlpool. Could have been worse, she could have been shlicking on a Siemens or a Speed Queen. The adolescent side of Castle, which is never far away, wouldn't have been able to let that juicy detail go. Oh, God, time's up.
"You're right, Castle, I was getting off on the dryer," Beckett says through clenched teeth. "But now, thanks to you, I'm just off it."
Castle wonders if he's delirious, given what he thinks he just saw and what he thinks he just heard. Beckett hasn't moved, except to turn her head away from him. What he wouldn't give to make her look the way she did a minute ago, on top of the formerly uninteresting household appliance that he'll be dreaming about for the rest of his life. She's scarily quiet. Maybe he should say something. "Uh, Beckett, can I get you anything?"
"My dignity would be nice, but that's clearly shot." She tries to push herself up from the floor, but shrieks and sits back down.
"You're hurt, Beckett." He extends his hand, but stops short of touching her. "Can you straighten out your leg?"
"It's not my leg, it's my foot."
"Oh, thank God."
"What do you mean, thank God?"
"Because I love your legs. I mean, because your legs are what, you know, hold you up."
"As opposed to my feet?"
Oh, he's in trouble. She's looking at him with her plutonium death-ray glare. "Sorry, sorry. Let me help you," he says, as he leans over. "Put your arm around my shoulder and we'll get you to the sofa, okay?" She nods, and together they manage to hoist her up and move to the living room. "I'm going to round up some ice." He beetles to the kitchen and opens the freezer, where he finds two trays of desiccated ice cubes, a pint of slightly furry coconut sorbet, and, wow, four gel cold packs. He wraps two of them in the dishtowel that's hanging by the sink, and takes them to Beckett, who's sitting with her back against the arm of the sofa and her legs stretched out.
The silence that's ricocheting around them is making him nervous. "Beckett, could I put a cushion under your foot? Elevate it? Here's some ice, oh, you can't reach, can you, I'll put it here on your foot, the part that's red, okay? It's not broken, is it? Should we go to the E.R.? Do you need something for the pain?"
She doesn't know whether to put an end to this misery by shooting herself or him, but she can't do either since her gun is locked in the safe and she can't get there on her own. It's agonizing, and not because of her foot. It's also confusing. Why isn't he crowing or gloating or teasing her mercilessly? Why isn't every word out of his mouth infused with innuendo? Why is he fluttering and flustered? Hmm.
"Castle?"
"Yes?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Just, um, trying to make you more comfortable."
"That's nice, the cold pack is helping."
"Oh, good. That's good."
"But, seriously, do I look comfortable right now? And how about you? I'd have thought that you'd be very comfortable. Are you feeling comfortable?"
"No, not really. No."
"You think maybe it's because of the elephant in the room?"
"The elephant?"
"The mastodon. The Tyrannosaurus rex. The two-hundred-ton blue whale. The biggest goddamn animal in the world. It seems to have taken up residence here." She hasn't taken her eyes off Castle, who's looking uneasy, maybe even gaining fast on panicky. "But before we get to the animal, tell me what you're really doing here. Why did you come? I thought that you were spending the night with Nikki Heattttt."
Man, she sounds like she just set fire to that T, or detonated it. Gotta suck it up. "To apologize."
Huh? The Queen of Self-Control apparently can't control her jaw, which has fallen open. "Apologize?"
"I know that I was behaving like some embarrassing star-struck fan and then she kissed me and I kissed her back right in the precinct elevator which I shouldn't have and then I saw you saw us."
"You saw me see you?"
"Yes."
She hopes her voice is steadier than it feels. "So?"
"And you looked jealous." Holy fuck, he said it. He hadn't meant to say it. He's still thinking about her on the dryer and can't be responsible for what he says, especially since she's right in front of him with those bare legs and she still has nothing but on those panties. Those panties! And his shirt.
Her face is instantly and uncontrollably red, redder than her foot. She hasn't blushed like this since high school. You know what? The hell with it. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. She told him the truth about what she was doing on the dryer and she might as well tell him the truth about why. Maybe it's time.
"Before you came over here I was doing the laundry."
"I'll say. Especially the dryer." Her look stops him from saying more.
"When I get mad, I wash the floor, dust, vacuum, polish. Do the laundry."
"So you were cleaning."
"I was furious at you. So yes, I was cleaning. I was cleaning and having dirty thoughts."
"Dirty thoughts? About?"
"About you."
"Uh, Beckett. I guess—" He runs his hands over his face, three times. "I guess I'll ask you why, make sure I'm not wrong about why."
"You're not wrong, Castle. I was jealous. That should have been me you were kissing, not her, although preferably not in front of the entire precinct." Yup, the cat's out of the bag. There's a whole menagerie in the room now and they're about to make a lot of noise. Roaring, caterwauling, bleating.
TBC
A/N: Thank you for all the support. My apologies for the TBC: I thought that this would be a two-shot, but there's one more cartridge in the starter's pistol. It seemed appropriate, since these two are finally starting something.
