Enjoy the Silence


A/N: My awesome beta told me this was so far her favorite chapter. I must admit, I am rather fond of it too. Am curious to know what you guys will say. :) Have a good read.


Chapter 7

"C'mon dad, just write down what you want. I promise to get you literally anything you want, you just have to let me know what it is."

Castle grows tense hearing Alexis' words, the impatient tone of voice, and he grips the pencil his daughter has pushed into his hands so tightly, his knuckles blanch under the pressure.

Grant was right, Kate thinks as she observes the scene gloomily from her post at the window. There's something about writing that he's resisting; she can see it in the rigid set of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw. Whatever it is, she would bet her right arm he won't write a single line, for some reason won't write any more than he'll speak.

The light from the window illuminating her is slightly dimmed by the half-drawn shades – his eyes still haven't completely adjusted – and with her arms crossed in front of her, she tries everything in her power to look as casual as possible, in spite of feeling anything but. She feels like she can't intervene, can't really walk that fine line between father and daughter acting as a judge or as a defender, because neither is her role.

She sees the agony in Castle's eyes, sees that this is more than just an inexplicable stubborn streak dictating his behavior, despite his attempts to sell it as such to his mother and daughter. She's been on the verge of interrupting them twice, her fingers itching with an urge to help, to shield, protect and nurture, all on Castle's behalf, but this is his daughter, and she has the same right, if not more, to approach him – his condition – in any way she sees fit.

The fierce redhead had thought it a good idea, a shot worth trying. Kate didn't, not really. But she couldn't exactly say no; she felt that she had no right to make those kinds of sweeping decisions for him. And as recent weeks have painfully proven to her, Alexis's direct approach can be so much more effective than her own sometimes. They are more alike, father and daughter, than either of them even realize. So if Alexis thinks that Castle might need a more forceful push-

The pencil snaps into pieces then, the wood unable to withstand the strength of Castle's thumbs.

"Dad!" Alexis cries with poorly disguised reproach. She's more surprised than upset, but the sadness and shame written all over Castle's face as he mutely looks at his daughter are enough to break Kate from her forced stupor, unwilling to be a bystander to this any longer.

"Alexis," she cuts in, her voice unnaturally high and more tense than she would like, probably louder than the situation requires too. "Why don't you just go and grab a couple of things you know your father likes and surprise him. Then he can choose for himself, how does that sound?"

It comes out as a casual suggestion, but they both know that's not really the point here, and Castle is too smart for his own good not to realize it, too. Beckett and Alexis exchange a long, loaded look, and to Beckett's great relief, Alexis quickly relents, giving a tiny nod without any further argument.

"Okay," she says meekly. "Anything for the two of you? Kate, Gram?" Such a sweet girl.

Beckett's about to decline, her stomach still in knots after having to watch Castle squirm and sweat for the last few minutes, trying to weasel his way out of having to write down his order. But then she remembers the bout of weakness she experienced only an hour ago in the hall, and she throws Alexis a grateful look for thinking of her.

"Actually, yeah. Could you bring me something to eat? I haven't had lunch yet." She winces at her choice of words, instantly wishing she could take them back. She deliberately doesn't look at Castle, aware of the disapproval that she would probably find there since it's already after four in the afternoon. "Oh, and coffee would be great, too," she adds.

"You'll need a hand with all of that, darling. I'll come with you," offers Martha, taking Alexis by the shoulders and steering the still slightly dejected girl towards the door.

Finally alone, the room quickly falls into a less strained silence. Castle's shoulders visibly sag in relief even as he won't meet her eyes, a little boy lost, and the sight makes Beckett's heart clench with sorrow.

She walks to his side and lifts her hand to gently scratch across his cropped scalp, hoping the gesture feels just as familiar, just as soothing as it used to be when she gently caressed her fingers through his rich, dark hair. He lets out a shaky breath and leans into her touch as his eyes find hers and there is so much torment and misery in the crisp blue that it guts her.

"Hey," she whispers, desperately wanting to say the right thing but knowing that words are his forte, and right now, he has none. She leans down and presses a lingering kiss to the top of his head, her hand cradling his skull affectionately against her body. "It's going to be okay."

He shuts his eyes and nuzzles into her belly, either resting there, or maybe hiding; possibly both. It forces her to stand at an odd angle and eventually, she has to pull back, plopping heavily onto the mattress beside his hip.

Her eyes fall on the broken pencil, the pieces still tightly clutched in his hands and she reaches out, gently untangles his fingers, and takes the fragments of wood away from him, replacing them with her hands instead. He intertwines them quickly and she watches as their fingers caress, the gesture intimate and calming.

She feels a deep, desperate need to reassure him, to say something that will ease his mind in some way, even just a little. Anything, really. But she's fresh out of words, and…God, she ought to say something. He needs her to say something.

A memory, a distant one, surfaces in her mind.

"Say something reassuring."

"There are thousands of break-ins in New York City every year."

He always knew what to say to make her feel better, make her feel safe. She needs to be that kind of person for him, too. She wants to be that person.

"You…" she starts, clears her throat before she continues, "You don't have to talk. Or write. Nobody is going to force you anymore, okay? That's a promise."

And thank God, it is the right thing to say, because his entire posture relaxes, his body sinking into the mattress, her words the absolution he seems to have been seeking. It momentarily takes her aback, how so little reassurance could bring so much relief.

"But Castle," she continues, waiting until he meets her eyes again. "Babe, we need to find a way for you to communicate with us, other than just body language. We need to find...something that will allow us to know what's going on in that restless mind of yours," she says, running her fingers over his head again, trying to gentle her words with her touch. "We need to know what's happening here," she says, splaying her hand wide over his chest, right over his heart, before carefully scratching the nails of her other hand over his shaven head and then she lightly tapping a finger to his skull for emphasis, "and here as well." Her fingers trickle lower, seizing the earlobe on the uninjured side of his head, playfully tugging at the flesh. The familiar gesture lures a tiny but genuine smile from him, finally a sign that he sees her attempt for what it is, a way to find a solution to a difficult situation – together – rather than trying to sweet-talk him into submission. She decides to carefully push her advantage.

"Nodding and hand gestures can only take us so far. It's enough for now, but what if something comes up? Something important that can't be communicated through body language alone? What if you need to tell us something and you just don't have a way to accomplish that?" She bites her lip, contemplates him. She doesn't like pushing him any more than she liked watching Alexis doing it, but there must be a way to make him understand. They absolutely have to find a way for him to communicate with them.

"So I'm not saying that you have to do something you don't want to do. Absolutely not. But, we need to come up with a way of communication that's acceptable and comfortable for all of us, alright? I'm not saying right now, not even today or tomorrow, but soon, okay? Soon," she finishes, trying to soften the blow of her words with a lasting kiss against the top of his head, just to reassure him that she is not his enemy here. And it must be working too, because she can already see it in the blue of his eyes when she draws back to look at him again, the cogs and wheels in his head spinning rapidly.

It makes her smile, bright and happy, makes her so unbelievably proud. Because it's enough; it's a result. Her words are sinking in, getting to him. He's listening.

She cradles his jaw, drawing gentle circles over the shadows under his eyes, her fingers mapping his face, painting a line down his nose, re-familiarizing themselves with his shape. Her hand stops just over the strip of gauze covering the hole in his head and it hits her all over again. Holy shit…they drilled a hole into his skull. She just can't wrap her head around this one.

One hand squeezes into a tight fist then, her lips pursing. Of all the people in the world, Castle didn't deserve this. On the other hand, isn't she being a hypocrite? Isn't that exactly what her job is about? Finding justice for those who didn't deserve their fate?

She forces her muscles to relax again and stays silent, content to simply observe him for now. She touches his face, relishing the fact that she has the liberty to do so as much as she pleases now, running her fingers over his features again and again. The action seems to bring the same amount of comfort to her as it does to him.

He observes her too, his eyes now more alert than she's seen them since he was returned to them– Christ, was it only yesterday?

He lifts his hand, the gesture a mirror of hers. His is shaky and his movements are slightly uncoordinated, his touch a little heavy-handed at first where it lands at her cheek. The skin of his fingers is dry and scratchy, but her response is instinctive as she curls into his touch, her eyes falling shut because it just feels so good.

His index finger traces the shadows circling her own eyes then, a testament of far too many nights spent tossing and turning, or not even attempting to sleep at all. His eyes are so piercing, so perceptive as he searches her face, quickly turning the tables on her visual examination of him as he takes in her appearance now. She can see that he's already figured her out, already knows all of her tells. And still, the intensity in his eyes draws the truth from her.

"Haven't gotten much sleep lately." She gives him a little self-deprecating shrug, a tight smile that never quite reaches her eyes as she tries to downplay it as much as she can.

His hand drops from her face and slides lower, exploring the curve of her shoulder, the length of her arm. It comes to a stop at her wrist, his thumb and forefinger able to completely encircle the thin mass of bone and blood and paper-thin skin and...okay, so she dropped a few pounds. It was probably more than she could have afforded to lose, but it's not like she was purposefully starving herself. The stress, the grief, the frustration and fear, her all-consuming quest to find him and bring him home…it took a toll on her, killing her appetite and keeping her awake at night. But even in spite of her rationalizations, her eyes shy away from him in what feels like shame for not taking better care of herself.

He pulls on her wrist and she lets him have it, starring a hole into his bedding, but he surprises her when he presses a soft kiss there, low on the inside of her palm, his lips dry and chapped yet so tender and warm. They gaze at each other in silence, so much understanding passing between them despite the sea of unknown they find themselves in, and it takes everything in her to put a lid on the emotions that threaten to turn her into a weeping, broken mess.

He releases her hand after a while, fatigue settling over his features, and she is about to tell him to get some rest when suddenly, he's tugging at her sleeve, hunting for her attention again. He lets go of her in order to splay his fingers wide over the covers, pretending to play an invisible piano, his fingers running over the keys and playing some melody only he can hear. But…it's not really a piano, is it? His gestures finally begin to make sense.

She jolts with the realization, energy cracking in the air between them as she jumps to her feet and scurries over to her bag laying forgotten on the recliner. Holy shit, could it be really that simple?

"I don't have your laptop on me, but I've got my iPad. I wanted to do some research and-" her voice trails off her as she rummages impatiently through the bag, the excitement staining her cheeks crimson. Her hands push aside the candy wrappers and used tissues, lip balm and a magazine or two she grabbed from home just in case he had felt like reading. Finally, in the depths of the suddenly bottomless bag, she finds the poor, battered iPad he gave her last Christmas and extracts it from the tangled clutches of her phone's power cord. She blows on the surface in a feeble attempt to clean the crumbs and dust off its screen, and blushes lightly when she turns back and catches the half-amazed, half-amused look on Castle's face. He always told her that when it came to her bag, she was a surprisingly messy packrat. Guess he was right.

She hurries back to him and offers him the device, watching with baited breath as his fingers skillfully unlock the screen and open the notes application. He looks so eager, and she doesn't really understand it, can't fully comprehend why he's willing to type and not write, but she's certainly not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.

She shakes her head. Why hadn't they thought of this before?

The moment the application loads and the keyboard appears, they both freeze for a moment, their breaths held in unison, like they're on the brink of some great discovery. He seems momentary taken aback by the possibilities, all of the choices at his disposal, overwhelmed by everything he could say to her first.

She forces her excitement down a notch and takes a measured breath while she steps closer to the head of the bed, right there with him. She brings an arm around his shoulders, her hand squeezing in encouragement.

He lifts his head, eyes holding hers for a fraction of a second, shiny and oh-so determined, before he finally starts to type, his first words in God knows how long.

I missed you every single day.


A/N: Thoughts? :)