Author's Note: The last two chapters veered a bit from my original intention: Castle and Beckett were sick without a reason that made their incapacitation significant. So, we're going back on track. This chapter makes being sick more "bummer-ish" than the last two.

I have to say, the response/flood of emails I received after the last chapter was overwhelming. Seriously, SO many of you added this to your favorite and/or story subscription list and every single email made me smile. Thank you, thank you, and thank you! I'm inexplicably honored.

In Sickness and in Health
Comfort Food Poisoning: The Gift that Keeps On Giving

A date. She had actually agreed to go out to dinner with him, and for her birthday no less. Well, maybe it wasn't a date, he reasoned, but he certainly was going to treat it as such. Kate Beckett had agreed to celebrate her birthday with him and the teenage-aged Bieber fan in him was doing a happy dance and squealing.

That was a common occurrence, the surge of excitement and teenage nerves, throughout the week leading up to the non-date-but-totally-a-date-date.

The day before, she had sent him home early, unable to take his bouncing knee, constantly twitching fingers, excited but restless sighs, and frequent inquiries of what time it was. He tried to convince her to leave early as well, to start her weekend a few hours before closing time, but she had simply shoved him away and continued to fill out paperwork.

As they all had the next day, Saturday, off, Beckett allowed Ryan and Esposito accompany her to the comfort food truck and wish her an early Happy Birthday. The hot meal had reminded her of family-cooked dinners, warming her full belly with tasty food and fond memories.

… Until it wasn't all that fond.

Food poisoning, if she had to guess. Never had she experienced troubles with the food truck, but she certainly did later that evening. She woke up in a cold sweat around three in the morning, her stomach gurgling, and bolted to the bathroom. Struggling to pull her hair back, she leaned over the cold porcelain bowl and repeatedly expelled the remnants of dinner (and then some).

Once she thought she finally felt the lightness in her head fade, she moved to stand up, only for another immense wave of nausea to hit her. That decided her fate: she'd be spending the night on the bathroom rug, a towel as her only blanket.

Luckily, she did mange to doze off a few times, but a better part of the night was spent awake, dry heaving over the toilet and throwing up any liquids she did manage to drink from the faucet.

Somewhere around 9:00am she was able to make it to the kitchen. Her knees and lower back were sore from spending the night on the cold, hard floor, and the rest of her body ached from her immune system's battle.

Eyes closed, her hands felt around her kitchen to retrieve a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a teabag. Waiting for the kettle's shrill whistle, she leaned her forehead and arms against the chilled countertop. The water sloshed as she poured it, some spilling and creating a pool of water around where the mug sat. Too weak and tired to care, she dropped the teabag in the mug and left the water to dry itself.

With a cup of tea, her crackers, and an emergency barf bowl, Beckett made it back to her bedroom. The warmth of the tea and salt of the crackers seemed to help ease her stomach enough for her to fall back asleep for a few hours.

If it hadn't been for the gentle nudges of her shoulder, the deep, warm-toned voice would not have woken her from her slumber. Quite the contrary, the floating voice on the edge of her consciousness conjured up images of her and—

"Castle," she grumbled, rolling from her side to her back, uncurling her body in the process. Still groggy from the sleep, and the overall exhausted and sick feeling controlling her body, her voice came out rushed and breathy when she asked, "What are you doing here?" Then she opened her eyes and noted his appearance. Suddenly, the reason didn't seem as important as the how. "How did you get in?" she deadpanned, slightly more alert.

Without answering her question, Castle touched her clammy forehead. "What are your symptoms?" he asked. "Headache? Stomachache? Vomiting?"

"The last two," she answered, scrubbing her eyes with the base of her palms. "I think I got food poisoning."

Castle nodded in response before peeling the moist blankets from her skin. His concerned eyes scanned over her body, scrutinizing every unkempt detail. It made Kate squirm, but not because she feared he would replicate her situation in a novel. Instead, the expression in his eyes betrayed his practiced, unfazed mask. Clearly she looked a lot worse than she thought. She hadn't noticed the dried bile in her hair or the stains on her camisole like he did.

Plenty mortified, Kate was glad that he verbally noted nothing, instead only offering a, "Let's get you cleaned up."

She, of course, protested. When he cupped her elbow in his palm, she pulled her wrist to her chest and insisted that she could maneuver on her own. She sat up without help, albeit cautiously, but once she tried to stand her knees wobbled and his hand came once more to rest at her elbow.

He led her no further than the bathroom door, however. He wasn't stupid—he knew the independent Detective wouldn't want help in any aspect of that realm, so he didn't even bother to offer.

As she filled the bathtub with numbingly hot water, Castle raided her kitchen, searching for items to make soup. She didn't even have broth. She did have coffee, sugar, a stale loaf of bread, and plenty of takeout containers, but the only helpful item he could find was white rice.

He could work with rice, he reasoned. But only with a few supplemental items. Not wanting to disturb his daughter for help, Castle grabbed his keys, wallet, and jacket, and headed to the store himself.

"Knock knock." Castle's voice was muted by the bathroom door. Kate rolled her eyes under closed lids. "How's it going in there?"

On the other side of the threshold, the writer heard the swishing and splashing of water and the squeak of her body in the tub. Then it was silent. He pressed his ear against the door, listening for more evidence of his partner on the other side.

The door suddenly opened and Castle stumbled forward. He just barely caught himself before running into her, but even that embarrassment didn't stop him from scanning her body with his eyes.

Small drops of water clung to her skin, some still, others dripping from the tips of her hair and slowly rolling down her chest. A rosy blush graced her cheeks from the heat of the water, and her lips were wet and full. The rush of cold air from outside the bathroom caused a single shiver to shake her frame. Goosebumps ran over her skin, tiny little pimples spreading upwards from beneath her towel to the hollow dip at the base of her neck.

His eyes met hers and he cleared his throat. Oh, how jealous he was of those drops of water and those goosebumps. "Dinner's ready."

She blinked. "I'm not sure I can keep anything down."

He shrugged before outstretching his arm, directing her to her bedroom. Previously leaning against the doorframe, Kate pushed herself forward. Again, she swayed. Castle steadied her with an arm on her shoulder blades, his thick fingers brushing the warm, damp skin above the edge of the rose-pink towel.

Her skin tingled and she shivered once more, leaning back into his touch when it felt like too far a distance to walk on weak legs.

She couldn't explain the feeling of exhaustion that had encapsulated her body. It seemed like there was no rational cause, that a long few hours of intermittent puking shouldn't cause such a weakness.

Just as the thought of being lucky by not expelling her stomach contents in front of her partner came to mind, her stomach churned. She moved as quickly as she could to close the distance between her and the bed. Pressing her fingers into her towel-covered stomach, she flung herself on her back over the comforter. Deep breaths helped her to calm down, keep control.

Castle watched her from the doorway before springing into action. "I'll get your clothes," he offered, making his way over to her drawers. He found a battered NYPD T-shirt, hoodie, and sweat pants with ease. He hadn't even encountered the fun stuff. Then he realized he'd have to find her underwear, too, and he wasn't sure he was prepared to open Pandora's box, even if it meant a possible glimpse of lace and exciting colors.

A hand on his forearm spared him the inevitable. "I got it from here, hotshot."

"Uh," he muttered, his eyes uncomfortably shifting side to side before focusing on the door. He uncurled his hand from the drawer's handle and took a step away from trouble. "Yeah. I'll, uh, go—be right back. With something for you to eat."

"And Castle?" Using all the strength she could as she leaned into the dresser for support, Beckett purposefully hooded her eyes and quietly said, "Tonight was a red and lace kind of night."

After her bland dinner of plain white rice, unseasoned chicken breast, and ginger ale, Kate curled up on her side and closed her eyes. She willed her mind to focus on everything but her increasingly upset stomach as Castle cleaned up in the kitchen.

He had served her dinner in bed. Pillows propped her up so she could eat from the bowl he had placed on her lap. Next to her was a purple orchid that separated her from him.

"It's to help set the restaurant ambience," he had claimed.

It was all very sweet, she had to admit. From getting her groceries, to trying to act normal for her benefit, and even eating the same tasteless food as her, he was being truly kind.

And it didn't stop there. When he was done in her kitchen, he snuck into her room and turned off the light. The silver box was tucked under his arm again as he shielded the candle in a poppy seed muffin with a cupped hand. He refrained from singing, but when he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her hips, he did insist she make a wish.

Her eyes rose to his face. A small, happy grin teased his lips, the small flame reflected in his eyes. With each other's wholly happy faces engrained in their minds, they both closed their eyes and wished, unknowingly for the same thing, before she lightly blew out the flame.