7. Man Cold
Castle moaned as another cough wracked his lungs. His nose was bright red and a steady stream of snot dribbled out onto his pillow. "Kate?" he called out weakly.
Kate popped her head in the doorway, "Yes?"
"Can you call my mom?" Castle asked, his voice muffled by the pillow covering his head.
Kate rolled her eyes, "Don't be so dramatic, Castle. You're not dying."
"Sure feels like it," he mumbled.
"I'll be right back, ok? Your soup is going to burn," Kate said, leaving the room.
"No, don't go. I need you to write my obituary," Castle groaned loudly. His head pounded, each beat drumming on the inside of his skull. Shivering, Castle pulled the covers up under his chin. He tossed and turned, aiming to get comfortable and didn't notice Kate coming back into the room.
She carried a tray filled with Castle's lunch. A steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, a large glass of water and a vase full of pencils.
"Thank you, thank you, and what are these for?" Castle asked, referring to the pencils.
Kate climbed into bed beside him and pulled out a notepad. She handed it to him, "For your obituary."
Castle pushed her hand away, "You write it."
Kate watched Castle trying to spoon the hot soup into his mouth without spilling. Plucking a pencil from the collection on the tray, she began to write.
"Read it out loud," Castle sniffed. "Ugh, how is it even possible for a nose to feel stuffy but be runny at the same time?"
"Richard Castle was known to the public as a writer extraordinaire," Kate started reading what she had written. "But to those who knew him well, he was anything but."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Castle whined.
"Castle hated to write. His real talent was storytelling, but he wasn't always patient enough to get his stories onto the printed page."
Castle shrugged in reluctant agreement.
"Richard Castle was a father, a son," she paused as she continued to write, "And a real pain in the ass sometimes."
Castle grabbed the pencil and notebook out of Kate's hand, "You're terrible at this." He began writing with a flourish, "Richard Castle was a ruggedly handsome, talented man with a joke for every situation."
Kate rolled her eyes.
Castle gave her a look, "He put up with his overly sarcastic girlfriend even though she tore at his heart strings every time she rolled those pretty green eyes."
Kate slapped his arm, stealing the notebook back. "Eat your soup, it's getting cold."
"I'm seriously concerned about what's going in my obituary now," Castle slurped. He swallowed the warm liquid with a wince at his sore throat before continuing. "Before, I just assumed it would be a beautiful homage to my existence," Castle mused, "But now... I'm not so sure."
"Good thing we don't have to worry about it for a long time," Kate rolled out of bed. "Do you want anything else?"
"No," Castle said, "I think I'm going to have a nap."
"Ok, sleep well," Kate said quietly, beginning to close the door.
"Kate?" Castle called.
"Yeah?" she asked, pushing the door open a little further.
"Seriously, would you write me a nice obituary if I died?" Castle asked.
"Of course," Kate grinned, "But you're not dying, Castle." She closed the door and heard him whine dramatically.
"But it's a possibility!"
"Don't worry, Castle. It's just a man cold."
A/N: So that was more of a short and sweet chapter while I decide where this story is going. The response to it is steadily dropping, so I'm trying to figure out if this is a good time to start wrapping it up? Feel free to let me know what you're thinking, and whether or not you think it should continue. It would be great to get some suggestions as to what could make it better. I'm always trying to improve in my writing! There will be a couple more chapters for sure, I'm just not sure exactly how many more.
Thank you to my reviewers - you guys rock!
Chapter 8 Preview: Castle and Beckett go out for dinner. Guess who they run into? That's right, Captain Gates.
