Close Encounters 12

When Castle found consciousness again, he was no longer drowning. But his chest was in a vise, tight bands that wrapped along his ribs and made it hard to breathe. His lids were heavy, fingers numb. Everything ached.

"Rick?"

His eyes slid open and her face appeared like sunrise.

"Hey there," she whispered. Her smile was brittle and she leaned in, her fingers brushing his forehead.

A mask was over his mouth; he couldn't lift his hand to brush it off. She shook her head.

"Don't, leave it. It's helping you breathe."

Breathe.

"You have walking pneumonia, sweetheart," she murmured. Her eyes were tight with pain but she caught his hand and pressed it against her chest. "I had to call for an ambulance."

He couldn't - wasn't supposed to be here. Not a good idea after... she should be somewhere safe. At the Office. She should-

"Stop it," she said softly. "Leave the mask on."

He grunted but the sound was dampened by the rattle in his lungs.

"Don't make disapproving noises at me," she muttered at him. She looked tired. "You have a chest tube draining fluid out of your lungs, Castle. You're getting breathing treatments and oxygen. People die from this, leaving it untreated."

He tried to wave it off, tried to show her he was going to be fine, but she let out a shaky breath and pressed the back of his hand into her forehead, bowed over him.

"Kate," he garbled.

She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed him, her lashes lifting. She looked so tired that it made his chest ache even more.

"Kate," he mouthed.

"I should've..." She shook her head and closed her eyes again, and whatever she thought she should have done, she didn't say. Instead she moved right along. "I sent Mitchell back to the house to get Sasha. She's going to stay with Carrie until you're better, since I don't know when I can... I won't leave you here alone."

She dropped into silence, though she still wouldn't look at him. Her hand clasped in his was pressed into her collarbone and he could feel the rise of her skeletal structure under that too-thin skin.

Castle studied her for a long time, unable to get his sluggish brain to move much past the curve of her jaw and the dark shadow under her cheekbone. She looked so beautiful that it hurt, and he didn't know if the hurt was due to that removal from him right now or her slow build back from emaciated. But he didn't like her being over there and him unable to do anything.

"With me," he rasped, tugging on her hand. She opened her eyes slowly, apologies swimming in those dark irises. He tugged again and tried to make her understand, and she seemed to get it finally.

Kate leaned forward to press her knee into the mattress near his thigh, and then she crawled into the tight space left between him and the edge of the bed.

"Here," he husked, drawing her hand to his chest, trying to get her closer.

"Can't," she said, shaking her head. "You need to breathe."

He stared at her, hoped she saw his mournfulness, but she curled her body up like she wasn't going to give in. Her fingers trailed through his bangs and her thumb traced his eyebrow.

"Just keep breathing," she whispered. "You're on some heavy drugs, and you should sleep. I won't let anything happen to you this time. I promise."

It was the commotion in the hallway that warned her, and then - as if she needed it - the squeak of a host of shoes coming through ICU was enough to have her jerking off the bed and down to the floor, swaying on her feet.

"You can't do this. He's not stable enough to be moved," the nurse was saying.

Kate met the phalanx of men as they jerked aside the privacy curtain, but it was Mitchell at the fore, the nurse trailing another five guys with a gurney between them.

"Mitch?"

"He can't be out here," Mitchell grimaced.

"No," she said, pushing him back, trying to protect Castle's unconscious form from the hands of the men who were trying to lift him. "Stop. Mitchell. No. He can't be moved. He nearly died."

"You want to risk leaving him - and you - exposed like this?"

"What are you doing?" Kate hissed, elbowing him aside. But she couldn't stop the agents who were unhooking his machines, transferring the tubes and IV and the oxygen. "Wait. He's on breathing treatments. You can't-"

"I'm calling the doctor," the nurse announced shakily, scurrying off.

"We have everything right here, Agent Beckett. You need to let me do this."

"No. He needs to be in a hospital, not the CIA's damn underground clinic."

"This is Dr. Saber. He's on Castle's team. He'll take care of everything."

She was being handed off to the older man in the sharpest-looking suit, but even while she opened her mouth to seriously start busting some balls, the doctor's hand closed around hers in a fierce grip.

"I have been looking out for Richard nearly all his life," Dr Saber smoothed over.

Kate's head whipped back to the man, eyes narrowing.

"I will take good care of him."

"No," she grit out, wrenching her hand from his and sidestepping into Mitchell, blocking his way. "Stop. You can't do this. You're his friend. He needs-"

"-expert care," Dr Saber said, trying to slide between them again.

She turned her back on him and reached out, snagged Castle's limp hand as if that could hold him here. "This is one of the best medical-"

"I can't leave him here," Mitchell said softly, his eyes sympathetic. "Orders from the Director."

The Director.

And then the rush of dizziness fell over her in a great wave, and she felt herself tilting forward, blackness crawling into her vision even as Mitchell caught her.

"You could do with some time in a clinic too," he said quietly, holding her up.

"No," she grunted, but everything was slow, everything weighing her down.

"Make sure you check the machine. The oxygen levels should match what he's on right now," Saber was saying over her head. She couldn't get her knees to lock, couldn't see past the narrow field of black.

Black.

Oh, God.

Was this his doing?

Beckett held her elbows into her sides to keep her fury from erupting. She wanted - most of all - to knock Saber out cold, but she couldn't.

He was monitoring Castle's heart as they sped away from the hospital in the back of an ambulance. The driver was a man she'd seen before but couldn't quite place until he'd introduced him self as Ed Caldwell. He'd been with them before, but last time it was driving the ambulance on its way to Stone Farm, and even though it should be comforting to see another friendly face, she couldn't help but see Black's touch everywhere.

"He's not doing well," Saber intoned.

She could fucking murder him, but he was keeping her husband alive right now.

"I told you," she hissed at Mitchell again. His face was deathly white as he stared down at Castle, the four of them cramped into the back. Dr Saber had elevated Castle's head so that he was propped up at least, but the fluid was building again and his breath sounds were terrible.

Kate gripped Castle's arm harder; he'd woken up at some point during the transfer but he didn't seem to be entirely cognizant. His eyes met hers now, burning bright, and she reached up to touch the back of her hand to his forehead.

"He's burning up," she gritted out. "He didn't have a fever when we left."

"It's a response to the fluid on his lungs," Saber said automatically. He was opening the hospital gown and checking the bandage where the line into Castle's chest had been attached to a bag. The chest tube had been removed for transport.

Caldwell injected something into the IV and Kate felt her lungs catching. She had no idea what they were doing to him, and they'd refused to answer her questions, refused to explain because it would 'take too long.'

Castle's hand around hers squeezed harder and she met his eyes again, saw the panic crawling inside his gaze.

"He can't breathe," she said urgently, crowding as close as she could get to him. "Saber. He can't breathe. You have to do something."

"Agent Beckett, kindly do not shout at me."

She growled but felt Castle's fingers gripping hers so hard that she cried out and glanced back at him. The desperation in his eyes made her feel weak. His lungs labored in his chest, but she could tell he wasn't getting much air; he sounded like he was drowning on dry land.

"Please do something. He can't breathe."

"I am doing what I can. Agent Caldwell, the catheter, if you please."

Castle made a noise from under the oxygen mask and she laced his fingers with hers, trying to ease his grip but also trying to reaffirm his presence, his connection to her. She could do nothing else.

"His arm," Saber said tersely, and Caldwell lifted Castle's other arm up over his head. The white flesh of his chest was exposed, and Saber fingered the dip between Castle's ribs where the cut had been made.

When they pierced his side with the scalpel again and threaded the new chest tube into the pleural space, Castle groaned and passed out.

But within moments, the new bag was in place and filling slowly with fluid.

Still, Castle didn't come around again.

He woke alone. The room was grey concrete, the blue light harshly scraping down his face. Halogen, double tube, flickering.

He could breathe, but it was an effort.

Castle opened his mouth and inhaled the faintly metallic taste of oxygen from a canister. He shifted his knee before he knew where all his limbs resided, and found he was propped upright and that his wrists were bound to the railing.

Couldn't be good. He remembered an ambulance ride with Beckett, and the feeling - much worse than now - of drowning. But now his breaths were only faintly gurgling, his side was on fire, and Beckett was missing.

Castle nudged his knee - since it was up - into the edge of the velcro on his wrist. It gave a little and he slowly twisted his wrist, focusing on that one thing, trying to ignore everything else. If he could get up and find Beckett, if he could see her-

The door swung open, inward, which felt strange to his sluggish brain, and four non-descripts walked inside, suits and ties, broad hands, blank faces. He'd worry about a nightmare but one of the guys gave him a nod and began unstrapping his wrists.

"Where's Beckett?" he asked, tried to sound authoritative. But he mostly sounded drugged.

"Right here, Castle."

She was walking through the door with Mitchell right behind her, her hair pulled back into a loose, slipshod bun. She looked tired, but she was peeling back the velcro on his other wrist.

"What's going on?"

"You crashed in the ambulance and we had to - stop here - and stabilize you before we could move on."

"Here? Move on?"

"We're at a military base just outside the city. Your doctor is an asshole, but I at least got the orders changed - we're heading to Stone Farm. At least I know the people there."

Castle blinked at that information and brought his hand up to rub at his face. The mask was in the way but Kate caught his hand before he could knock it askew, shaking her head.

"You're going to be okay. The Director... called Mitchell personally to have you transferred. Dr Saber was his suggestion."

"You're not happy," he said, feeling slow on the uptake. She looked livid, actually, though to his credit, the exhaustion lining her eyes and pinching her mouth had distracted him.

"You could say that," she murmured, a lift of an eyebrow to punctuate the understatement.

The guys had unstrapped him now and the one who had given him that polite nod was lowering the head of the bed.

"No," Beckett said insistently. "We're not doing that. He's got to stay upright."

The polite kid blushed, eyes averted. "Yes, ma'am."

"You giving 'em hell, Becks?"

She shot him a look but wrapped her hand around his wrist and nodded towards the door. "We're taking you back out there and heading for Stone Farm. How do you feel?"

"Rough," he admitted. His chest hurt, lungs burning, but he wasn't sure how to make it stop. He'd never had a cold like this before - pneumonia, she'd said - and the sensation of near-drowning that seemed ever present was disconcerting. He was so tired that it got the best of him and made him panic.

He wondered if maybe he should've told her about it before. Or the doctor she'd made him see at the CIA office a few days ago. Maybe it wasn't supposed to feel like this.

"Hard to breathe," he said then, catching her sleeve. Her sweater so soft against his thumb and forefinger. He wanted, suddenly, for her to lie down over him and keep him warm.

"I know it is," she whispered quickly. Her hand pressed to his forehead and she kissed his cheek. "We'll make this last leg as fast as we can."

"Aren't we waiting for Dr Saber?" the polite kid asked.

"No," Beckett growled. "We're not. He's not coming."

And then Castle found himself being wheeled from the room.

It felt strange being back here, though she couldn't figure out a safer place for them. If the Director wanted Castle off the radar - and she agreed, they were sitting ducks back at Langone Medical - then she could at least see this as feasible.

She could envision Castle getting better here.

Saber? No. That man was an asshole and Beckett didn't want him anywhere near her husband. That comment about having 'watched over' him for his whole life had made her skin crawl, and the look on Mitchell's face had let her know that he hadn't known about that either.

Castle had never mentioned Saber before, so whatever part the man had played in her husband's life - in the regimen - Castle hadn't known him by name. And he didn't seem to know him in the ambulance either. So Saber was out, no matter what the Director said.

Castle was upstairs in the big stone farmhouse, a section she'd never visited before due to the place's restrictions. The upstairs bedrooms were remodeled hospital rooms, with equipment set up to monitor a host of near-fatal conditions. The doctor here, Dr Boyd, took one look at Castle and immediately hooked him up to a breathing machine, a tube down his throat, and it was Logan who had cleaned his chest tube and inserted a new one.

"He's not great," Logan told her quietly. "But he'll pull through. You've seen him. He's like superman. He's never been here long."

She nodded at the nurse - grateful he was the one assigned to the Farm - and moved deeper into the room. Castle was unconscious again, sedated this time, and the bag at his side was only a third filled with fluid from his lungs.

"You press that button, Kate, and I'll be here in moments. I'm just down the hall at the security station."

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him. "Thank you, Logan."

"Hey, I know the circumstances suck, but it's good to see you, Kate. As always, you look smoking hot." He winked at her and shifted out of the room.

She must look a little like her old self - no longer so broken after Russia - if Logan was teasing her.

She could do this. Castle had needed to stop micro-managing the office from home in order to truly get better, and she could use the time to focus solely on him and his recovery.

No more running around. Just the two of them.

Kate sank down onto the mattress and laid down beside him, keeping clear of the tubes and wires, pressing her hand under her cheek as she watched him.

She'd memorize every breath, know every heartbeat, and she'd be here the next time he needed her.

When the knock sounded against the closed door of Castle's room, Beckett had a feeling she knew exactly who it was on the other side. She let the moment draw out until it felt tenuous and fragile, and then she slipped from Castle's bed and opened the door to Mitchell.

He looked ready to do battle, but it crumbled when he saw her face.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But he told me to do it."

"But you know that Black has the Director-"

"Not the Director," Mitchell interrupted, his shoulders at his ears. "Castle. Rick told me to do it."

"The hell he did."

"No, he did," Mitch insisted. He came inside the room but stopped before he got much farther. He turned steely eyes on her, looking certain of himself. "Last week when you guys got back from your long weekend. He told me that you were trying to get him to go to the doctor, but he said you couldn't."

"I couldn't?"

"After the NSA guys on the street and Robert found dead..."

"Me? He's the one-"

"He made me promise to keep you safe. If your name's in a chart in a medical systems database, Beckett, then I can't keep you safe. Then Bracken's guys know exactly where you both are. Where you both are. Don't you see?"

"I can't believe you went behind my back."

He shook his head and crossed his arms. "I know how you work. If I'd come to you, you'd have found a way to block it. To block me. You're fucking tenacious when it comes to him, and even if I swore up and down that there was a credible threat to your life, you wouldn't have pulled him from the hospital."

"He's not... not in good condition," she said finally. Her throat felt raw. "He has to stay upright to keep fluid from filling his lungs. He can barely breathe; he's on a machine for God's sake."

"I know that."

"He shouldn't have been moved."

"He shouldn't have been in the hospital in the first place," Mitchell said back hotly, his nostrils flaring as he stared her down. "It should never have gotten that far."

She turned her head, shame and grief flooding her guts and rising in her throat. She knew that already, knew she'd dropped the ball when it came to Castle's health; she knew she'd been so busy trying to run the task force on Bracken that she'd let slide all the worrisome things about his cold that had tried to warn her.

"I know," she ground out. "I know he shouldn't-"

"No damn CIA agent is ever supposed to wind up as a name and number in a public hospital. You did the training, Beckett; you should know better. That's what the fucking panic button is for. You call us - not 911."

The panic button. But she - damn it, she couldn't. Just the memory of those men dragging her away from him as he died... she couldn't.

"But once he was there-"

"No. Too many enemies, too vulnerable. I had to take him out of there. And you as well." Mitchell shook his head and turned to leave the room, the tension still sour between them. "I did what he asked me to do. I did the right thing."

"You may have killed him," she whispered, but she knew she was only accusing herself.