Close Encounters 23

Castle left the room when she was asleep so that he could procure the maid's master key from the little hook downstairs. He made a dummy of it with silly putty and a fast set compound, and then he slipped the key back on its hook.

When Hunt showed up outside in the hall, drenched in rain and making puddles on the hardwood, he had Black in tow. Castle's father definitely looked worse for wear, which had been the point; hopefully, he'd be too exhausted to make mischief for them.

Black was ushered inside to the connecting room, both him and Hunt dripping rain to the carpet. Black cast a sidelong look at Beckett asleep in the bed, but Castle pushed him inside the attached room and locked the door after him - with Hunt inside.

Castle sank to his ass in the chair near the door and closed his eyes, relief pouring over him. He was supposed to text Mitch when they were settled, but it was three in the morning and Castle was wiped, utterly and completely drained.

It wasn't physical; no he was too super for that right now. It was only mental, the stress of this untenable situation. But he had no choice, no recourse. This was just what had to be done.

After a moment with his head back and his eyes closed and his body beginning to cycle down, Castle finally pulled his phone out of his pocket.

There was a message from Mitch. I'm enroute. Expect me around fifteen hundred Thursday.

Good. Finally - back-up he could count on. Castle texted Mitch the confirmation of their location and then he struggled to his feet. He left the phone on the bedside table and reached down to strip off his shirt. It came in a clump, damp with sweat and rain. He left it on the floor, began unbuttoning his jeans to take them off.

He ought to shower. She needed to shower too, and her hair - shit - he should have done something before now. They just hadn't had the facilities for it, not with Black right there and the bathroom so tiny.

He had a list a mile long of things he should see to, but Castle was done. For now, anyway, he was finished. He needed four hours of sleep, at least, to recover from these last few days - he'd had no sleep at all, maybe he'd passed out once on accident - and he just needed a couple hours. Just a handful and then he'd be back, good as new, ready to protect her.

He slid into the bed wearing only his boxer briefs, his legs stretching to the end of the bed. Kate had curled on her side, the catheter bag attached to the bedframe at the foot, the IV bag hanging from the newel post at the top of the headboard.

Settled, at least, and the blue light of the alarm clock washed her face in forgiving shadows, made her look merely tired.

His head hit his own pillow and tension unwound, began to seep out of him. He drew the blanket up to her chin, smoothed it down her hip, left his hand there, needing the curve of her under his palm, just for tonight, just to reassure himself.

She was placid in her sleep. Her breath lightly stirred the air between them, and he leaned in just enough to dust a kiss to the end of her nose. She felt warm, this close, warm and less likely to disappear.

The heart monitor was hooked up; the alarm had been set to its highest volume and would alert him, wake him immediately if something changed. And he could do what was necessary to save her. Though Logan had warned him that repeated use of atropine wasn't ideal, it was all they had from their last supply run. Tomorrow, Hunt would go out and search for a few other drugs that Logan had texted Castle about.

Nothing to do until morning dawned - a few hours from now.

His fingers trailed up her ribs to hook around her bicep. She was breathing, her heart was beating, she was close to him in the bed. He skimmed his hand down to her elbow and held on.

Closed his eyes. Let sleep take him.

She wasn't sure why she was awake, only that she was, that she'd been sleeping or unconscious for the last handful of hours or days, and maybe it was the itch of the IV port in her arm.

She tried not to scratch at it; she had to think about not scratching.

Kate managed to recall that she was no longer on the army cot, that the softness under her cheek was a hotel pillow, the sheets warm and laundry-scented, and across the mattress was her husband, deeply asleep.

Well, likely not too deep. He never did get far under when he was on the serum, and never when he was in the middle of a mission. She didn't touch him; she wanted him to sleep, plus she was too tired to move. After a while she could see him in the clouded-moon darkness, the darker relief of his profile.

His jaw was shadowed with stubble, dark patches where the scruff was growing in thicker. She found with her eyes that spot where it didn't grow, the scar from the point of a knife digging under his chin. She usually liked to put her tongue there, touch that smooth spot, her teeth catching the rough places.

She missed it. Missed the ease of sliding into his side and touching him. She couldn't touch if her life depended on it right now. Just too tired, too wrung out. She was a wreck, and he wouldn't want her touching him anyway, not like this.

They had a couple days here in Lontzen, recovery and recuperation, while they waited for Mitchell. Mitch was coming all the way from New York, collecting pieces of one of his German identities, and it was no wonder it would take-

Oh, shit. Shit.

It was Mitchell's team on their son's security. They were pulling Mitch from the very most important job he had.

"Castle," she hissed, arm jerking out. She hit his side and he yelped, came awake in an instant.

"Kate," he rasped, rolling over and practically into her. "Kate - what-"

"James," she urged. "He-"

"Not here, he's home. He's safe," Castle sighed, petting her hair back, hand heavy as if stroking away a nightmare.

But she was awake; this wasn't a nightmare. She knocked his hand away. "Castle. Wake up. James. You pulled Mitchell off his security-"

"No, no," he said hastily, getting up on one elbow. "No, promise. He's safe. Mitchell's team is still on him."

"But Mitch is coming here," she hissed.

"But Reynolds and Esposito both are in contact with the team. Espo said he'd take night shift too. And your dad is out at the cabin with him, so there are guard units around the woods."

"Oh," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"I promise you - I would never leave him unprotected."

"I know," she said weakly.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he whispered, sliding closer. His hand was still on her jaw, fingers twined in her hair. "I'm sorry. It's okay."

"It's okay," she murmured back. She wasn't at all sleepy, but the exhaustion was heavy over her. That surge of protection for her son was abating, leaving her wrecked.

"Hey, I'm sorry. He's safe. He's very safe. And Black is here, so..."

"Yeah," she stuttered, laughing a little.

"You okay? Too hot, too cold-"

"Kinda hot," she mumured, nudging her chin into his hand like a kiss. "Sweatshirt is uncomfortable. Took the pants off."

"You kicked the sweatpants off?" he laughed, was laughing, his hand skimming her bare hip, skirting over the catheter. God, she wanted to be done with that; she wanted to be done. She was decided - she'd get up in the morning, walk, she'd prove the bag could go.

"Was hot," she answered. "Help me with the hoodie?"

"Of course," he said. Already his fingers were on the zipper, easing it off. The IV line was still in, so he couldn't take it all the way off, and the sleeve hung there, trapped by the tube.

"You could unhook-"

"No. Saline during the night. Logan said." He made a little noise. "I'll bunch it up on the pillow if you can keep from moving."

"Yeah," she sighed.

"You're doing good, Kate."

"Don't be patronizing."

He laughed then, and damn, did that sound good, his laugh this time. Much better. She smiled in the darkness and his fingers came and traced her lips.

"I see that," he murmured.

"I made you laugh," she whispered, brushing her lips against the rough pads of his fingers. Calloused from all that training, from handling his weapon, or the pull-up bar in the Office gym, the kettlebells, the general harsh treatment. She loved those hands, these fingers that knew her so well.

"You made me laugh," he echoed on a sigh. His touch extended out along her jaw and back to her ear. "If you can - and only if I'm sure you can - tomorrow we could try to wash your hair."

"Oh," she murmured. "That would be so nice."

"Then sleep, Kate, honey. You're going to need it."

Castle opened the door to the attached room and saw first that Black was up and showered and bushy-tailed, the bastard, and that Hunt was neither. The man had probably not wanted to turn his back on Black all night; Hunt was sitting in the lone chair in the bedroom, rigid and waiting.

Castle wondered if he'd been there all night. That wasn't good. If Hunt hadn't gotten any sleep, he did them absolutely no good as a guard. But...

"Hunt, you're with me," he said briskly, ignoring his father. Black was apparently attempting conciliatory efforts to get past their defenses, Castle had no doubt, but he wasn't going to be fooled by the subdued, eager-to-please demeanor. He knew his father much too well for that.

Hunt looked ragged when he stood up, but he had two guns in his hand - one Castle recognized. Black's knife was in Castle's possession, and it looked like Hunt had gained Black's only other weapon sometime during the night.

"This is his. Show of good faith, he says." Hunt held it up, finger in the trigger guard, and Castle took it from him.

"Into the other room. Go." He covered Hunt's retreat, and cast a measuring look at his father. Black was sitting on the only bed that looked slept in. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

Black opened his mouth but Castle ignored him. He went back through the connecting door and closed it, turned the key in the lock with a satisfied thunk.

Hunt was swaying on his feet, casting Beckett these wary looks; he even had a hand against the wall for support.

"Get in the chair," Castle muttered. "Sleep. He's in there; I'm in here. You can get some rest."

"God." Hunt expelled a breath and ran a hand through his hair, pressed the heel of that hand into his eye. "I'm exhausted. I drove across the country with that damn ambulance for you, and then the moment I get a chance to rest, she's arresting in the back of the bus."

"We all know you're a damn hero," Castle said sharply. "So sit down, get some sleep."

Asleep, Kate shifted in bed, looked like she was coming around. He moved to her side even as Hunt collapsed into the wingback chair, and Castle sat on the bed, waiting for her to wake.

"Cas.." she rasped, eyes opening slowly. As if held down with weights. He skimmed two fingers over her brow, pushing back the hair that had fallen in her face.

"Hey, babe."

She smiled and her eyes dropped closed for an instant before opening again. "Feel good."

"Told you the saline would make you feel better."

"Not gonna say it," she murmured. You were right.

"We both know it's true, that's what matters." He cleared his throat, glanced over his shoulder but, shit, Hunt was already dead asleep. "He's in here to get some sleep. It was one-eye-open last night, I think."

"Deserves it. Made his bed," she muttered.

He was surprised; Beckett was usually the merciful one. Probably whatever had gone on with Hunt at the embassy had left a sour taste in her mouth.

"You want to try washing your hair?" he said then. "We can start with sitting you up for a little while. Logan said after the chelation you could try bananas, water, soft foods. Some nuts, he thought."

"Should ask Carrie," she said. "Help me sit?"

"Good call." He pushed his arm under her neck and around her shoulders, carefully guided her upright. His heart was pounding, nervous to have her moving around, but he stacked the pillows behind her and gave her a gradual incline. She wasn't, strictly speaking, actually upright. She was lying on a slant.

"I'm good. Promise."

"You feel dizzy, you tell me."

"I will. Email Carrie. Or text Logan to email her. She helped before. After Russia."

"Yeah, I will. That's smart." He pulled his phone out and sank back against the wooden headboard, watching her in between composing his text message. She looked better even than she had last night, and he was glad to see that the saline was nearly out. He could detach the IV line and close the port, and then if she kept doing well, if she did eat some real food, then they could take out the catheter. Good progress, all of that, if it happened.

He was trying to modify his expectations, but Castle was just naturally a damn optimist. He just expected things to go his way, and half the time he was convinced that they did merely because he had. Projecting doom and gloom felt like asking the Universe to call it down on his head, and so he superstitiously held on to his rosy vision.

Couldn't help it. He really could see this working out now in a way he hadn't been able to 24 hours ago. He understood, viscerally understood, exactly what position Kate had been in after that super virus had nearly killed him, just how desperate it had made her feel.

He was pretty fucking traumatized. He wouldn't be getting over this soon, no matter how bright the future.

"Logan said no."

Kate growled at him and clenched her fists against the mattress. She took a breath and closed her eyes, tilting her head back just so she wouldn't have a tantrum. Not even James had tantrums. Oh, he cried, he cried and he got pathetic and clever and whined, but he didn't lose it like Kate wanted to lose it right now.

"He said no, and I don't think you could do it," Castle went on. "You can't even walk, Kate."

"Can't walk until I start walking," she muttered. She didn't want to talk about this. She wanted the damn catheter out and she didn't want to be peeing into a bag that he had to fucking change. If she had thought having a baby dispelled the mystery, then damn, this was completely busting it up.

"He said leave the catheter and see what happened tomorrow."

Eating bananas and chocolate pudding and drinking gatorade.

"Kate."

"Fine," she got out. She shouldn't be petulant with him; it was her own damn fault. Doubling up on the pills like they were nothing, like they were just more vitamins and not this elite regimen finely-tuned for American super soldiers - of which only her husband had survived.

Damn it.

She was such a fucking idiot.

"Kate," he sighed.

She worked hard to open her eyes, clear it off her face, but when she lifted her head and saw him, he wasn't nearly as upset and sad for her as she'd thought he would be. In fact, he looked like he was holding back a grin.

"What are you smiling about?" she muttered.

His grin absolutely split wide over his face and he nudged her shoulder with his. They'd spent all day side by side in the huge, king-sized bed, and he didn't look like he was leaving any time soon.

"You. Smiling about you. Gotta be feeling pretty good if you're pissed at me."

She huffed at him but dropped her cheek to the top of his shoulder. "Not at you. Myself. I did this to myself. I knew better, but when it comes to my own - I don't know, it's not like I forget that I need to be healthy for you guys. I just didn't..."

"You're pretty blind when it comes to your own needs, Kate. You put me and James and our family first, but not only first - second and third and fifth and four hundredth as well. You're so far down the list that it scares me."

Kate went still, the taste of chocolate pudding still on her tongue. "I don't want to scare you. I scare you?"

"Consider me absolutely terrified," he muttered. "But this - this wasn't exactly your fault. I haven't been paying attention. I didn't want to pay attention. I wanted the whole program to just - go away. Like if I clapped my hands over my ears and closed my eyes real tight, it wouldn't be there. But it's not going away. It's a part of me. Of us."

She carefully moved her arm, the port closed, IV gone, but it felt bruised, the bones ached. She found his wrist and circled it with her fingers, holding on to him. "It is a part of us. Of our family. I know we don't want it that way, but it is."

"I'm not burying my head in the sand anymore. I swear to you. We'll tackle this together, all of it. We get you figured out and I'll take what I need, stop fucking around with it."

She let out a shaky breath, like years' worth of tension had been taken right off her shoulders. Shit, she was so relieved. She hadn't even consciously been aware of how much this had wound her anxiety tighter and tighter.

His fingers bent down and captured hers, drew her hand up so their palms kissed, rested there.

"I'll try not to scare you," she promised back. "I'll push myself up a few numbers on the list, yeah?"

"How about a good couple hundred or so, Beckett? How about at least number three."

She smiled into his shoulder. "You, James, me?"

"Matches my own list," he murmured softly.

She laughed, and even though her eyes were heavy and the dizziness still came when she moved her head too fast, she felt pretty fucking great. She was alive.

Might be a different story tomorrow, but today, this afternoon, she was here with him.

"I can make myself third," she said. "You'll help me."

"Hell yeah I'll help you."

Castle planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the bathroom. He was determined to wash her hair, if only to keep her docile for now, keep her from trying to stand up and make her own way into the bathroom.

She had to be feeling better; she was entirely too pushy.

"I don't know what we can do here," he called back. The ensuite bathroom was nice enough, it really was, but the bathtub was deep, obviously a luxury, and entirely too awkward. "But it's a European shower - the detachable thing, you know?"

"You can make it work. I have faith."

Castle snorted, still studying the set-up. She had to feel pretty good if she was yelling at him from the bed, insisting on washing her hair. Well, why couldn't she sit in the tub? He wished he'd thought to have Hunt get a beach chair while he was out, one of those low-slung seats. Might be hard to find in April though.

"Hey, babe? What if you just sit in the tub?"

There was a moment of silence that stretched on longer than he liked, and Castle jogged back into the room, anxious.

But Kate was on her side in the bed, her cheek against the back of her head, an introspective look on her face. She shifted a knee slowly. "I don't think I can sit up that long," she sighed.

Oh? Wow, he hadn't seen that coming. "Thanks for - being honest," he said. He felt a little choked up. "I think I'm shocked."

"Don't be mean," she muttered.

Probably best that she thought he was being facetious. The truth was a little too pathetic. For both of them, really.

She really needed a shower. Not just the days without washing her hair, but there'd been the mud from the rain that first day, the sickness and sweats, the rough living in a little apartment. He needed to do this for her.

"You know what?" he said suddenly. "Fuck it. We'll dump all the bedding into the bathtub, pile it up behind your back, and just do it."

"What do we sleep on?" Her protest sounded a little half-hearted, and she had this sly smile flashing across her face.

"We can ask downstairs for clean bedding." He didn't care; they already stood out. He'd registered with his invalid wife and her male nurse in the dead of night. That kind of thing would be noted, so might as well have to hang the bedding up to dry.

"Yeah?" she said softly.

"Yeah." He shrugged and came in close to the mattress, snagged the comforter. She laughed like she thought he was kidding, so he pulled the bedding straight down, exposing her bare legs to the air.

Goose bumps erupted but she was grinning at him, still curled half on her side with her hand under her head, not moving much. That was fine, let her conserve her strength. He was heartened just by that smile.

He reached out and tugged on a short hank of her hair and she uncurled her hand, caught his wrist. She hummed, but there weren't any words, just a tired acknowledgment.

Castle dipped the mattress with a fist and kissed the prominent ridge of her cheek. She released his wrist and he bundled the bedding up in his arms, headed back to the bathroom.

He could figure this out.