A/N: Thank you. I say it a lot but I really mean it, for reading, reviewing, alerting, tweeting, favoriting, glaring at the name in passing...Whatever way you have interacted with me or this story :) thank you!
"Castle?"
He turns slowly, it was already taking everything in him to walk away but her voice reaches out across the precinct floor and anchors him to the spot.
She takes a shallow breath, holds his eyes in the most meaningful way, "Thank you."
"For what?" He asks, trying to keep the surprise from his voice even as his own eyes widen and he wonders why - given everything, given how useless he has felt these last few days - she feels the need to thank him.
She smiles, the tiniest of things, like a fledgling bird seeking freedom for the first time, the soft curl of her lips and slow dip of her head makes his heart soar.
"For not pushing and for giving me the space to get through this."
He smiles, a heavy weight lifting from his chest and relief floods through him. Maybe, just maybe, he was useful after all. Maybe he did help her in some small way.
He can do that, will do that, whatever she needs.
"Always." He replies softly, in answer to Beckett and to himself.
Whatever she needs. Always.
He smiles again and forces himself to give her that valued space, his feet carrying him heavily as the last two days of sleepless nights start to catch up to him. He sighs, the weight of watching her agonise and suffer still resting on his shoulders. Castle glances at her as he walks away, watches the way her head drops again, but he sees her cheeks lift the smallest bit, taking comfort in the word -always - in the truth of what he said.
He hopes so anyway.
He's spent the last forty eight hours worrying about her, watching her fall apart and knowing the best way to help her was to take a step back. He ushered others in where he could not tread, where he had no right to step and he did so clinging to the belief that in the end it was the right thing.
He's drained from battling his urges to charge in and try to fix it, from holding himself at arms length and he said she owed him one hundred coffees when what he meant was she owes him a hundred smiles.
He's missed her smile so much.
Her sadness is overwhelming and paralyzing and painful and he wants back the woman who laughs loudly and smiles brightly because he's alive and his jokes are stupid but they are still a spark of light in the darkness that cheer her up.
And he's so lost in his own head, in his own desires and wants for her that he doesn't hear her voice when she calls him, in fact he doesn't even realize she's coming after him until her hand closes over his wrist and he looks down in surprise.
"Castle."
His eyes flick up and she's looking at him tentatively, the black of her pupil shining too brightly in the way he hates, the way that means she was crying not that long ago.
"About tonight." Her fingers press against his wrist and his eyes drop down.
"What?" Castle stares unblinking at the line of red blood on the bandage covering her wrist, her sleeve has ridden up in reaching for him and it's the first proper glimpse he's had since he caught sight of it this morning.
Her eyes follow his, but this time she doesn't immediately drag the leather jacket down to cover the marks. "My apartment's a mess." She confesses quietly, like she might be ashamed and he opens his mouth, already expecting the dismissal but she's shaking her head so he doesn't speak. "And I don't want to cook."
It's the last thing he expects, their dinner plans the furthest thing from his mind. "Beckett, we don't have-"
"I have an appointment."
He nods, they can do it another time, and he truly is okay with it, with waiting and letting her tug the tattered edges back together.
"But afterwards, company would be...I could come- I could bring pizza?" She looks up slowly, sounding so unlike herself with that stuttered gasp of conversation, the plea and her eyes still wide, still bloodshot.
He can't deny her a damn thing, but when she looks like this ... He knows she's been struggling through and crying somewhere by herself and the thought of her suffering alone tears at his insides. It rips little pieces of him to shreds and he hates how it feels, hates knowing that without a doubt his suffering is nothing compared to Beckett's.
Her voice is the smallest sound, cracking through each and every word as she clings on, her strength is astounding. "I'll bring pizza...if you'll have me?"
Her hand is still gripping his arm and he reaches out, tangling their fingers together and squeezing back. He feels her flinch slightly at the contact, noting that she's still jumpy, but he doesn't let go. He repeats the word that made her smile a few moments ago, the word that says everything he can't. The only word that encompasses the enormity and the truth of what he feels.
"Always."
They part with the agreement that she'll come to him, later, afterwards, and Castle really tries not to watch the clock.
He goes home, showers and makes coffee to keep himself going even though he knows the moment he sits down and actually gives his body a second to decompress he will fall asleep, no matter how much caffeine is in his system.
Weirdly, waiting for her seems to be the only stimulant his body needs and he huffs under his breath at that, waiting for her, smiling to himself and he goes back to not watching the clock.
His heart flutters with each minute that passes and he tries not to expect her. Given the days they have had, the agony she has lived through, even though she made the plans, he wouldn't hold it against her if she didn't show up. He would worry the night away and have to call her first thing in the morning, but he wouldn't judge her for it.
The clock creeps past seven, their usual dinner time - the fact that they have one of those makes the ache in his chest all the more prevalent - and it leaps towards eight, taking his hope with it.
Castle settles in anyway, his eyes tormenting him slowly as they dart from his phone to see if she called, to the clock to determine the time and then to the door in anticipation of a knock he's no longer sure will be coming.
He'll drive himself slowly crazy if needs be, but he's not moving. He's not giving up on her.
Her tentative tap breeches the silence of the loft a little after half past eight and Castle rockets to his feet. It's ridiculous, it's not as if in the ten seconds it will take him to traverse the wooden floors of his home she will change her mind, yet he can't seem to slow himself down.
He puffs out his cheeks, pulls himself together as best he can and opens the door slowly, catching sight of her retreating hand.
She looks better.
He can't believe it, so much better than she looked when they parted ways at the precinct, no where near whole but still, she looks like Kate again.
"You're supposed to let a girl finish knocking before you open the door, Castle." She tilts her head, a small smile lifting her cheeks and he wants to hug her, pull her into him and crush her against his chest. The relief that floods through him is immense and sudden and overwhelming in it's intensity.
Gone are the heels and the binding leather, replaced by simple flat ballet pumps and the deep plum colored shirt that lifts the paleness of her skin. It gives her cheeks a rosy hue and makes her look softer, younger and less pained.
The tight, restrictive and severe - now he thinks about it - bun has been tossed aside and her hair falls in light twists either side of her face, a little pulled back adding to her youthful expression.
But it's her eyes that draw him in, speaking volumes for her mental state and fragility. Gone is the panic and beaten down expression of confusion, frustration, sadness. The whites are no longer marred by red lines or stained with the brutal evidence of her recent tears. Her pupils are bright in the best way and the green shines with something he hasn't seen in days. Hope.
He can't stop staring. She's beautiful, breathtaking, and whatever appointment she has had has done her the world of good.
But it's not a miracle cure and she clears her throat, wavers on the spot and it takes him a second, but Castle sees it then, sees that even though she is better than she was before, lighter brighter, happier maybe, Beckett is still exhausted. She's still recovering from the case, still healing and still standing in his doorway.
His voice is low, almost a sigh when he steps back and gestures for her to move past him. "Come in, Kate."
Her eyes flit to him briefly before she ducks her head and steps into his home, smiling in a way that makes his heart race.
"I'm late." She scrunches in apology, turning on the spot as he quietly closes the door behind them, and offers him the pizza box, "Forgiven?"
Half the word falls away on a long yawn and Castle reaches for the box, pulls it from her hands and points to the couch.
"Go."
She narrows her eyes and for a brief moment he wants her to argue with him, to press the issue, to be completely Beckett about him ordering her around. Instead she shakes her head, "So bossy." She walks towards the couch, casting him a sly glance over her shoulder as she does, "Don't think this will fly tomorrow, Castle."
He collects utensils and things he's not really sure they need to eat pizza, buying himself a few seconds and letting Beckett get comfortable. "Wouldn't dream of attempting it again."
"Why are you attempting it now?" Her voice gives more weight to the words than she means to, he can read it in the quizzical expression on her face and he shrugs, going for levity.
"I want Pizza, you were too slow." He gestures with the pizza cutter, "And late."
Under the guise of finding plates and glasses Castle watches her closely. He smiles when Beckett rolls her ankles and finally gives in, slipping off her shoes and pulling her knees up underneath her.
Her voice is quiet when she replies, "I did say I was sorry." She meets his eyes, blinking slowly.
"And, depending on what toppings we have, you will be forgiven." He smiles widely when she laughs and forgoes the plates and the waiting around in his kitchen.
With the pizza box balanced in the palm of one hand and a bottle of sparkling water in the other Castle makes his way to where he has wanted to be all day, every second for the last few days in fact. He drops down at Kate's side and lets out another sigh of relief, peeling back the lid.
He feels her watching him over the steam that rises from the box and without looking up he nudges her knee with his own, "Let's eat."
She takes no prisoners when it comes to pizza. There are mushrooms, red and green peppers, onion, sausage and extra cheese. It is not a pizza conducive to kissing he thinks, as his eyes follow the movement of her lips, unless they've both eaten a lot of it. It delicious, so that's not going to be a problem. Moving might be.
There is no way his pants will be staying buttoned after this meal and he cough-chokes on the mental image of her face if he starts fiddling with his fly.
She has one slice in hand, the crust in the tips of her fingers and the end of the triangular tip just pressing at her lips when she glances over at him.
She raises an eyebrow before taking a bite, and though she chews thoughtfully watching him, there is something in her eyes that make him think she can read his mind, it might be the light smirk that plays over her lips, might be the flicker of amusement in her eyes, whatever it is it makes him cough harder.
Without breaking eye contact Beckett leans forward and uncaps the bottle, pouring him some water and sliding it towards him with one finger.
He nods, coughs and pulls the water up to his mouth catching the quick roll of her eyes and the dart of her tongue as she licks at the pizza sauce trapped at the edge of her mouth.
His breathing stutters in response.
She may take no prisoners when it comes to pizza, but she's definitely had his heart under lock and key for a while now.
They meander through the meal, she's quiet and he lets her be, after all she requested company and he can be that, will be that if that's what she needs. Together they steadily avoid bringing up her reaction to the sniper case and Castle watches her slow down after two slices of pizza. The third she picks at, peeling away the peppers and popping mushrooms into her mouth slowly.
She pulls apart small segments of melted cheese and licks the grease from her fingers, his mouth hanging open and his eyes following the movement.
"Staring's creepy." Beckett mumbles and his jaw snaps shut. Sometimes he forgets he's even doing it.
"Still?" He wipes his fingers on a paper towel and grins in her direction.
She rolls her eyes and forces herself to sit up, reaching for the table, "Especially when I'm eating."
"Playing with your food." He prods, catching the way she flinches when she extends her arm, the white bandage visible on her wrist. Castle reaches out, his thumb skimming the back of her hand and he can't help but ask, "Does it hurt?"
She freezes, for a split second she becomes a statue, unblinking, unmoving and watching his fingers skate over her skin. He can feel her eyes on him the entire time, can feel the hitch in her breath and the faint quiver where they touch.
She's warm under the pads of his fingers, her skin the finest spun silk and he turns her wrist over, cupping her hand in the palms of his own. Castle waits for her to pull back and when she doesn't he gentle sweeps the tips of his fingers across the thin veins in her wrists, pressing for a response, "Kate?"
She swallows, watching the movement of his fingers, "Didn't at the time." She replies honestly when she finally finds her voice, and, though it comes out on a throaty whisper, her eyes cloud over.
He unconsciously soothes the center of her palm, follows her life line with each digit and dips in and out of her finger creases hypnotically. Her skin is so soft, so warm and delicate under his touch and it strikes at the heart of him again, how astounding her strength is, how deeply and truly extraordinary she is.
"Pulls a bit now." Kate whispers harshly, and their shoulders brush. Castle turns his head sideways and finds her leaning into him, the slow blink of enjoyment and tiredness captured firmly in her eyes.
"Stitches?" His thumb skirts the edge of the bandage, the cuff of her sleeve, and he trails the line, watching her intently as he waits for his answer. Her forehead is just shy of his bicep and with the slightest tug she could be leaning against him.
Her head lifts, answering him at last,"No."
He has to ask, "Are you-?"
"I'm fine." It's harsh and brittle and he sees the regret in her eyes almost immediately. She didn't mean it to sound so defensive and Kate drops her head, almost unable to look at him, "I'm - I will be."
He gives her fingers a squeeze and sets her hand down on her knee with a firm bump, smiling at her and tilting his head closer, "Of that, I have no doubt."
Though it takes a few seconds Kate smiles back. And she doesn't let go of his fingers.
He slips out of the room for a few minutes to check in with Alexis and when he returns she's asleep.
He falters in his stride, taken aback by the sight of her curled up on his couch and a lump rises in his throat as the surprise washes over him, thoroughly and entirely undoing him with her sweet vulnerability. He's never seen her sleep before, not like this.
Once, what feels like a million years ago, he watched a different version of this woman break her heart over a missing child. But this isn't that. This isn't her curled up in a chair at the victims house, in the middle of the night, frightened out of her wits for the life she seeks desperately to save.
This isn't Beckett the cop catching a few moments to keep her going on the case.
This is Kate.
Kate surrendering to sleep she desperately needs to heal, Kate relaxed and at peace and breathing deeply on his couch. This is Kate as he has never seen her before and Castle freezes where he stands unable to pull his eyes away.
A wonder alights his chest, new and so thankful that she feels safe here, that she trusts him enough to give in and rest. She's exhausted and after everything they have been through together maybe it's silly, but it swells the hope he has squirreled away. It makes it tangible and bright and almost as beautiful as she is.
She's beautiful.
Flawed and a little broken, but nonetheless, beautiful.
Her eyes are closed and the lines on her forehead have faded, the shadows under her eyes less obvious in her relaxed state, but her lashes don't flutter with dreams as he has often imagined they would.
Her toes are curled into the blanket that has slipped from the back of the couch, it half covers her ankle and as soon as he finds the ability to move, he walks towards her determined to cover her up, wrap her in warmth.
Crossing the room quietly Castle gathers up the blanket and lays it over her, tugging it up across her coiled body. She looks so calm and serene that he can't resist brushing one hand over her head as he does.
He goes completely still - his hand still cradling her head - when he hears her sigh, withdrawing when Kate breathes out long and slow, pulling her hand further under her chin.
He's loathe to wake her, to disturb her or have her leave, so Castle lowers himself back down on the couch next to Kate, the broad width of his thigh just brushing her toes. Castle turns to face her, overwhelmed all over again with how grateful he is for the fact she's here, like this, and letting him in.
He watches her sleep, feels her foot slip closer and his hand falls to rest over her ankle. His head drops back and his breathing evens out until it matches hers. Her sentinel too tired to keep his eyes open a moment longer.
In sync and together Castle gives in.
She feels safe here, he'll keep her that way.
When he wakes she's gone.
He stands, sways slowly on the spot and swallows back the rush of wonder, of delight at what can only be the memory off her whispering in his ear. The tender lilt of her hushed "Goodnight, Castle." And the pressure of her warm palm pressing against the side of his face, threading together and wrapping hotly around his heart.