Aftermath

She wakes slowly, pulling herself up out of sleep. Her mouth feels like it is filled with cotton and her shoulder burns. She swipes at her eyes, blocking out the stream of sunlight from around the blinds before pushing herself up against the pillows. The smell of coffee and bacon waft up the stairs, seeping under the door of the guest room. It lures her away from just burrowing back down into the thick comforter, hiding from the world and pretending she's okay.

Except the beige bag on the bedside table, right next to her cell phone, catches her eye as she swings her legs out of the bed. Two fingers tip the bag toward her, dipping past the tissue paper until she feels a strap of leather.

It's her dad's watch. Sure, the metal around the face of the clock is a little shinier than it had been before the explosion. The face is free of grime. The minute hand doesn't stick in between three and four anymore. But the scuffed leather is the same.

Beckett has to swallow unexpected tears, running her finger over the buckle. He fixed it. Somehow, he had found it in the wreckage and brought it to a repair shop and fixed her dad's watch. Grasping the black leather, she gets up, swaying for a moment on unsteady feet, before heading down toward the kitchen.

"Castle, thank-"

Three pairs of eyes turn to look at her when she pauses on the little landing halfway down the stairs.

"Oh. Everyone's awake."

Martha raises her glass of green juice, smiling up at her from the kitchen counter. "Hello, darling!" she calls. "How're you feeling?"

"Uh, better. Thanks, Martha." She moves the rest of the way down the stairs, finding Castle giving her a small grin. "Hi, Alexis."

The younger woman nods, eyes drifting to the limp sleeve of her shirt; she couldn't bring herself to fight her arm into the sleeve last night. "Hey."

"You want breakfast?" Castle asks, waving the spatula over the frying pans of bacon and eggs.

Beckett stops at the bottom of the steps, suddenly self-conscious. She wants to turn, go back upstairs, and just wrap herself up in the blankets of the bed. But her fingers tighten around the watch as she fights the urge to run. "No, I'm -"

"Nonsense! Join us!" Martha is sliding one of the barstools out, shifting her plate over to the side to make room between her and Alexis. "Richard, get the woman some coffee." When Beckett sits, Martha nudges Beckett with her elbow. "I swear he has manners."

He sets a plate of food in front of Beckett, turning to the fridge. "No coffee for another day. Orange juice or water?"

"Orange juice is fine."

The glass of juice joins the plate and he nudges the fork closer to her fisted hand. "Eat, Beckett." His voice is soft even though his eyes beg her not to resist.

And she nearly does. Her mouth opens to tell him that she doesn't need someone to tell her to eat, that she's a grown adult and can decide when she'll have breakfast. She told him not to baby her, but maybe, just maybe, she could let him win this once. She unfurls her fingers, resting the watch on the cool granite before picking up the cloth napkin, folding it over her thighs.

"Thank you," she says, stabbing some of the scrambled eggs with the fork. When all three of the Castles glance at her, she runs her fingers over the face of the watch when she sets it on the counter..

"Is there a reason you have a man's watch?" asks Martha, sipping the green concoction.

Beckett swallows, both eggs and the little ball of grief that rises up each time someone asks about the events surrounding the watch. "It was my dad's. Thought I lost it when my apartment… But I guess your son was being sweet." She looks up at the man in question, quirking her lips up in a smile.

"He has his moments," adds Alexis.

Castle shoots his daughter a glare. "Hey," he says, pointing the spatula at Alexis.

"No, she's right," Beckett says, pushing the bacon around on the edge of the plate before picking one and biting into it. "You do have your moments."

"See if I ever make you breakfast again."

"Oh, how will I ever survive?" Beckett teases, finishing off the last of the eggs.

When she slides off the stool, balancing the fork on the plate so she can bring it to the sink, Martha snags it from Beckett. "I've got it, darling."

"Martha, I can -"

"Nonsense. Go shower, get ready for the day."

Castle follows her over to the stairs, touching her elbow before she can take the first step. "You forgot this." He has the watch in his hands, holding it in his palm. "Let me…?" His fingers are gentle as he buckles the black leather around her left wrist, smoothing the bands before pulling away. "Are you going into the precinct today?"

She nods, looking at the glinting silver of the watch instead of him. "Yeah. You tagging along?"

"Duh. No way you're driving with one hand," he says, trying a grin. "Let me know when you're ready to go, okay?"

Beckett thought changing into her pajamas last night was hard.

Showering made that look like the easiest thing in the world.

It takes five minutes to wrestle the clothes off, unceremoniously tossing them onto the bed. What should have been a fifteen minute shower turns into a half hour affair. She fights to keep the sling out of the spray as she tries to wash her hair. She's thankful for the roar of the shower for those few times her elbow hits the wall and she can't bite back the whimpers.

Hitching the towel around her torso, Beckett realizes, with hair dripping down her back and over her shoulders, that she doesn't have work-appropriate clothes. Pulling on the yoga pants and too-large t-shirt she grabbed from Lanie's, she tries to squeeze as much of the excess water from her hair before slipping into the ballet flats.

Alexis is missing when she goes back downstairs. But Martha and Castle are at the dining room table. She has a script spread out in front of her, a highlighter in one hand. He has his laptop out, keys clicking as he types. He looks up when she pauses at the counter, watching him.

"Ready to go?" he asks quietly, fingers slowing.

"Almost. I just…" Her fingers skim over her hair, twisting the ends until droplets of water trail along her knuckles.

Martha is on her feet, highlighter abandoned as it falls from the table, and snapping the hair elastic around her wrist. "Here. What do you normally do with it?"

"Just whatever, but you don't need to…"

The older woman's fingers comb through her hair, quickly French braiding it without really waiting for permission. "There. You look beautiful, Kate," she says, brushing a hand over Beckett's shoulder. "Be careful. We both know my son isn't the best at protecting."

Her heart clenches when Castle frowns over Martha's shoulder as he shuts the laptop down.

Martha pats Beckett's hand before sweeping off toward the stairs. "Stay safe. Both of you."

When Castle meets her at the front door, Beckett catches his jacket. "It wasn't your fault." He looks unconvinced, starting forward while shaking his head. So she grabs his wrist, tugging him to face her. "It wasn't your job to protect me. I'm the cop."

"And I'm just the writer," he mutters, opening the door and moving into the hall.

"No." He keeps walking down the hallway toward the elevator. But the car isn't on their floor and it takes long enough to arrive so that Beckett reaches his side. Her fingers touch his wrist, sliding along his palm. "You're not 'just the writer'. You're my partner, Castle." She feels his hand tighten around her fingertips. "And you're good, okay? You're a good partner."

For the first time since the day before, she sees him really smile as they step into the elevator.