OK so it took me a little longer than I'd hoped to nurture my seedling of an idea for this chapter into something that I hope is worth your time.
"…n-no, No! Hold on… …you have to…please…don't go… …Rick…NOoooo." Castle was awakened by her moans, her head tossing on his shoulder. Nightmare. Damn.
"Kate, it's ok," he said softly. He stroked her back, trying to calm her. In the dim light of the alarm clock he could see her brows furrowed in pain. "C'mon, honey, wake up now. You're ok, I'm ok." He made his voice a little louder, squeezed her arm. "Beckett. Please, come out of this."
Kate cried out as she launched upright, as if physically wresting herself from the grip of the dream. She wiped her eyes with shaking hands. When she rested her palms back on the sheets, the smoothness of them caught her attention. Confused, she swiveled her head around, coming to meet his gaze. Relief flooded through her, and in its wake, euphoria. She leaned into him and kissed him feverishly. He returned her fervor, propping himself upright with his good arm. Eventually it tired and he eased backward onto the pillows, coaxing her with him.
At that point she remembered his restrictions. "Sorry," she whispered, guilt lacing her tone.
He eased away from her and twisted to touch the lamp on his bedside table. Soft light threw shadows around the room. He turned back to study her face, his brow furrowing. "What?" she asked, growing self-conscious under his scrutiny.
"I'm trying to figure out if you're apologizing for the nightmare or your… enthusiastic display of affection. Either way, you're being ridiculous." She blushed, avoiding his eyes.
"Do you want to talk about the dream?" he asked. She shrugged, so he continued. "I heard enough to make a pretty good guess. It was the apartment all over again, only this time it wasn't a flesh wound?"
"There was so much blood. I tried, I just couldn't…you got so pale. White, like the paper in your books, and then it was like you just blended in and disappeared." She looked so stricken, his heart twisted for her. When she opened her mouth to continue, he started to reach for her, before the sling halted his movements. He stroked her back soothingly with his other hand instead.
"Shhh. No more. I'm sorry I said anything." He cursed himself for making her relive it, damned his thirst for the story. She sniffled quietly against his shoulder, and he mentally cast about for something, anything, to get her out of this frame of mind. Distraction seemed his best bet. "I don't think I can sleep right now…Oh, I know. Let me show you this awesome web series I've been following. It's a spoof on reality shows, you'll love it." She retrieved his laptop and, with his guidance, logged into the site. At first she scoffed at the ridiculousness of the premise, but eventually he called her out on her quiet snickering, evidence that she was actually enjoying herself.
"We should get some sleep," she said around a yawn. "Can I get one of your pain meds for you so that you're comfortable?" she asked.
He nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes. He marveled at this woman that was willing to tend to him, when twelve hours ago he wasn't certain if he'd ever see her again.
A week after the incident, Castle followed up with his regular doctor. "This hip looks pretty good. I can take the stitches out, but you should still avoid…vigorous activity for another week. " Dr. Hannigan gave him a calculating look. "Rick. I know it kills you. I've seen your girlfriend, she's a beauty, and right now, you're thinking, the pain would be worth it. But trust me. You'll be sorry."
The author subtly pouted until the doctor changed the subject. "Now, for your other injury, it should be no surprise that I'm ordering Physical Therapy. We'll have that arm comfortably working the typing fingers again in a few weeks."
The physical therapy sessions were, to say the least, not fun. Castle amused himself by finding a new synonym for 'miserable' every day to share with Alexis and Mother. He didn't dare share his vocabularic musings with Kate. She'd been there, done that, and far worse.
They'd fallen into a new rhythm during his recovery. She'd work, he would text her mid-day and get her thoughts about dinner, and it would be prepared by the time she arrived at the loft. One night a traffic delay had him meeting her in the lobby rather than at the loft door, so she volunteered to help cook the meal. Thoughtlessly he went on about the 'sadist' that was helping him recondition his arm. When he realized what he was saying he flinched, waiting to be cuffed upside the head and told to 'man-up'. When no such attitude adjustment was forthcoming, he sought her gaze. What he found tore at him. She had that haunted look again, and he could see everything she was thinking. 'You're only in this position because you put yourself in harms' way for me.'
He turned the burners down to low, then crossed to stand behind her, pinning her between the wall of his body and the cabinets. He began to drop kisses on the side of her neck, vowing to himself that he would do whatever it took to get that look off her face.
Here's your fair warning, the next chapter goes to M. Review, pretty please?