Close Encounters

"How's my favorite detective?"

The softness in his voice tugged Kate gently back to consciousness, and she opened her eyes to see Castle standing just inside the doorway, leaning against the wall. Still in that ragged suit, bruises and cuts on his face, but his eyes so blue in the dim light of the infirmary.

Kate grinned slowly at him, blinked to clear her vision. "Okay. Tired." He was still just standing there, watching her. "How's my favorite spy?"

He straightened up, a smile creasing his lips. "Not as much a spy anymore, Beckett."

Kate licked her lips and squinted at him in the dark, warm room, tried to figure out what the words meant. But she was lost, and the significance evaporated into mere sound. "You already debriefed?"

"I am. And-"

"So come crawl up with me," she murmured, slipping a hand out from under the scratchy army blanket and wriggling her fingers at him. "Hurry. 'Fore I fall back asleep."

He came closer but only stood over her for a moment more, studying her. All she could do was wait, feeling herself slip in and out of a leaden consciousness.

And then Castle was sliding into bed with her, carefully easing his arm around her waist and pressing his lips to the back of her neck. It felt like a moment, like a decision was being made that she knew nothing about, and she stroked her fingers down his forearm, felt the ripple of muscle and sinew and tendon under the soft sheath of his skin.

"Castle?" she murmured, turned her head to look at him.

He lifted slightly over her, pressed another kiss to her neck, the side of her jaw, the corner of her mouth. "I need sleep before we. . .I need sleep. And so do you."

She settled back into the pillow, covered his hand with hers at her stomach and drew his arm up against her sternum. She brushed her fingers over the back of his, found herself perversely coming back from the dark edge of sleep towards a sharp awareness.

She felt a knot under her questing fingers, pressed gently at the ridge along his wrist. "What's this?" she murmured.

He huffed at the back of her neck and drew his arm tighter around her. "Scar."

"From what?"

"A scimitar."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I wish. Long story."

"I got time," she smiled, stroking her thumb and fingers over the raised knot. "Did it break your wrist?"

"Yeah. I was being punished for stealing; he tried to lop my hand off. Blade was old and just dull enough to not cleave-"

"Jeez," she muttered, twisted her fingers through his and squeezed. "A sword. You nearly got your hand chopped off by a sword. Where was this?"

"Uh. I can't tell you that."

"Castle."

"I really can't. I mean, most stuff I've done, I really could explain a little, but not that."

She sighed and melted back into his chest, felt his fingers flex as if in remembered pain, his touch so close to her collarbone. "I have a story," she murmured.

"We comparing scars now?"

She grinned softly in the darkness and guided his fingers to her collarbone just inside her shirt, felt with him the puckered scar at her skin, sensed the tension that crept into his body as he realized.

"You were shot?"

She murmured something in agreement, traced the edges of the bullet wound at her clavicle. "I was shot."

"You gonna tell me the story?"

"Yes," she laughed, stroked her thumb against the back of his hand and smiled to herself. "I got shot over a purse."

He chuckled in her ear, eased his body half over hers as his hand angled her mouth to meet his. A soft kiss, a trail of them down her jaw, and then his teeth nipped at her collarbone, his tongue soothed the thick edge of her scar.

She ran a hand through his hair and rolled to her back, let him touch, let him press his mouth to it until he drew back finally and stroked his thumb under her eye.

"A purse."

"Complicated, but a smuggler was hunting down copies of this purse that had accidentally been sold with his fake passports inside. He had killed the guy who sold the purse, kept killing as he went after it - that's how I caught the case. I was at the apartment of a young woman who had bought one and-"

"He came looking for it."

She nodded against the pillow, watched the flare of interest in his eyes. "He did. Shot me in the kitchen while she was in the back bedroom packing a bag. I pulled my weapon-"

"You were shot."

"I was but-" She shrugged and saw that he knew. He knew exactly. "I was back behind a butcher's block; he was shooting wildly, all over the place, and I had to wait him out. Let him think he'd gotten me."

"He did get you."

"Well." She shrugged against his hand at her collarbone, tilted her head to kiss the sharp jut of his chin. "He made a break for the back bedroom and I shot him. Center of mass. And then in the neck."

"He didn't stop coming?"

"He didn't stop coming."

His arms wrapped around her and his mouth came down to hers, a soft thing that belied the terrible tension in his body, the haunted look in his eye.

She'd come that close. She knew that feeling.

His fingers stroked lightly over the bruises on her face, too soft to hurt, and she closed her eyes as she felt his mouth come to her ear.

"I was off the coast of Somalia. Pirates. I scuttled their boat and spent two days at sea with a compound wrist fracture before the CIA could pick me up."

"Two days," she murmured, stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, felt that strange combination of horror and pride. He'd survived; he was here.

He was hers.

He jerked into wakefulness the moment the door clicked open. Castle was out of bed and at attention before his father's vision adjusted to the darkness.

"Sir."

"Agent."

Castle lifted a hand towards the door and ushered his father out into the hallway. The concrete blocks of the bunker were harsh under the fluorescents, and when Castle glanced back to Agent Black, his father looked equally pale and florid.

"Agent Castle, your request for six month sabbatical has been approved."

"That was fast," he blurted out, wincing internally at his lack of discipline.

His father's face twisted like he'd stepped in something distasteful, but his customary rebuke didn't come.

"I pushed it through, Richard. You've got your six months."

Castle gave a short breath of relief and nodded. "Thank you, sir." He hadn't expected that.

But even though it felt like the conversation was over, his father stayed at his side, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the middle distance.

Castle waited, as he so often had, until the hard look on his father's face gained some resolve.

"Richard, this. . .woman."

"Detective."

"Detective," his father conceded. "This is the reason for your six month leave?"

He said nothing; he'd learned that it was best to let his father make up his own mind about the things Castle did.

"I had a similar. . .experience with your mother."

He what?

"But I found that it doesn't work for men like us, Richard."

Castle looked away, the bitter taste rising in his throat. Beckett wasn't his flighty and irresponsible mother; Castle wasn't his closed-off and intractable father.

And he hadn't gotten her pregnant either. Jeez, they hadn't even-

"Just keep it in mind," his father said softly. "That's all I'll say."

And then Agent Black - who had never really been much a father at all - departed with that bit of fatherly advice ringing in Castle's ears.

She woke to the sound of an engine and the rhythm of driving rain against the roof of a car. Kate blinked slowly and watched the thunderstorm outside the window, realized after a moment that Castle had tucked that scratchy army blanket around her.

She smiled into the darkness and lifted a hand to her face, gently stroked over the bruised heat of her cheeks. The swelling had gone down, but the scratches were still raw and her skin felt warm to the touch.

Kate turned her head to him, saw the easy grace of his body in the seat, the way he cradled the steering wheel. He felt her looking, apparently, because he cast her a swift glance, a smile that was warm.

She smiled back slowly, even though it hurt, and leaned her head against the passenger side window.

"So this time you drugged me."

"Better than the hood?" he said back, a little grin in the dark interior of the car.

She gave a soft laugh at that and reached out her hand to him over the console, stroked his forearm. "I don't know, Castle. You have such a way with women - kidnapping and drugging-"

He choked a little at that and she chuckled, slipped her hand back in her lap as she watched the storm.

"Almost to your place," he murmured then, and she leaned into the side of the door as he turned onto her street.

Of course, there weren't any spots close, so he ended up double parked at the front of her building. "Hopefully you won't get too soaked."

Kate glanced towards the doors and then back to the man in the driver's seat. She didn't want this to be over. She studied the quiet on his face, the depth in those blue-dark eyes. "Want to come up?"

"You're-"

"Bruised. And my shoulder. I know." She bit her bottom lip at the flash of carefully controlled lust in his eyes, and shook her head. "Also still drugged. So. . .not tonight. But-"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, I want to come up."

Beckett pressed her lips together and nodded down the street. "So park, Castle."

"You should get out and-"

"A little rain's not gonna hurt me."

Castle gave her a crooked grin. "Not much hurts you."

She didn't know why, but she wasn't proud of that.

Castle took her hand with the intention of dashing through the rain towards her building, but she tugged her hand away, walked at a normal pace, let the rain fall. She was soaked in seconds, her hair dripping in her eyes, shirt plastered to her skin, and he just watched, let himself join her, his leather jacket sticking to him, his shoes uncomfortable.

But he didn't rush her; he let her have this moment, her wide smile and the way she kept tilting her head back like she was sneaking a few drops. He'd sent guys to her apartment to check on things, and he didn't have the best news for her, so he wanted to give them this, wanted to soak up her joy like water.

"Feel good?" he laughed, reaching out to lightly stroke a wet strand back from her bruised cheek. It snarled and she wrinkled her nose, then groaned at the movement, brought her hand up to her face.

Her nose wasn't broken, but she had the two black eyes that usually went with it. The drugs had taken down the swelling and the edge off the pain, he was sure, but he knew from experience she'd be sore for a while. She'd wake with it throbbing, but at least he'd be there tonight to insist on painkillers.

"Come on, Castle." She was moving for her front door, and he was still standing here watching her. So he followed her inside, dripping with rain water, and she led him up the stairs to her floor.

He needed to let her know about her apartment. "Hey, Beckett?"

She half-turned to him, an eyebrow raised.

"I had a couple guys come by while you were still out of it," he said. "Just to check on things."

"Because of those gunmen in the van?" She reached back for his hand again. "Thanks. Did they find anything?"

"They had to replace the door, the locks. I've - uh - I've got the new keys here. You'll need to go through and make certain nothing was stolen, but my guys said it just looked like they searched for us and left."

She had come to a halt on the landing, her eyes dark in the pale half-moon of her face.

"They. . .broke into my place."

He nodded, laced his fingers through hers as he pulled the keys out of his pocket. "Dead bolt, front door," he said, holding them up.

She took a long breath in and closed her fingers around the keys. "Thank you."

He didn't like that blank look in her eyes. "You okay?"

She rolled her shoulders and started forward again. "I'm okay. Never had my space violated like this before. It's. . ."

"Disconcerting."

She huffed a breath at that, gave him a dark look over her shoulder as she led the way down her hall. "Understatement, Castle. Huge understatement."

"Yeah, sorry. I'm used to - well, no, I'm not used to my place being broken into. Honestly, you're the only other person who's ever been inside."

She was shoving the key into the lock but she gave him a swift look, confusion mixed with tenderness, and then she shook her head and pushed open her door.

"Well, here we are. Again. Sorry it's not-" She shrugged, and he knew she was thinking about what they wouldn't be doing tonight. What they both wanted to do. What he so desperately wanted to do.

"I have to say," he murmured, stepping in behind her and sliding his hands at her waist, tugging her hips back into him. "If I spend all night watching you sleep - again - you'll hear no complaints from me."

She turned to look at him, and he couldn't resist the long column of her throat. He pressed his mouth to that papery soft skin and touched his tongue to the flutter of her pulse. He'd never wanted someone like he wanted her.

"Castle," she whispered, her hand coming up to slide around his neck, her head tilted carefully away.

He traced a soft finger at the edge of her bruised eye. "I promise. I won't hurt you, Kate."

"No one can make those kind of promises," she murmured and lifted those rich, unfathomable eyes to his.

"I want to," he answered, stroking his thumb down her neck, not sure if he meant promising her or having her. "I want you."

She lifted her mouth to his, a push of her teeth before she smiled and broke away. "So take me, Castle. See if you can live up to your promises."

She was grateful for the way his eyes were intent on her mouth, the way his fingers gripped her hips like he was barely restraining himself. Grateful for the hard press of him and the urgency in his throat that came out in moans, like he couldn't control himself, like she was torturing him.

He rocked his hips against her, her back to the wall, and Kate groaned and sank down onto his thigh. She unfurled her fingers from his shirt, tried to pop his buttons with one hand, kept her other hand close to press her fingers to his bare chest. His mouth landed on hers, teeth at her bottom lip, and she moaned into him, frustrated by the clothes still between them, needing more.

"Kate," he moaned. Castle was panting against her, his heartbeat knocking into her cheek, bruising her, and she hooked her arms around his neck, lifted up into him. He swore on a groan, a ragged sound that echoed in her apartment.

She opened her mouth to his biting kiss, and he knocked her hands away, gripped her thighs. Her muscles knotted at the hard press of his fingers, and he drew her legs around his waist. She hung on to his neck with one arm, her other hand trapped between their chests, let him walk her backwards into her bedroom.

Even if he did hurt her, she wouldn't mind.

They were still clinging together, half-leaning against her headboard, foreheads touching, her breath hot and just beginning to slow. Her pulse beat heavy in her cheeks, her nose, made her eyes ache, but as her heart stopped its mad rush, her body loosened and melted against his.

She stroked the hard edge of his ribs and drew her hand to his spine, his skin warm, sweaty to the touch. He was breathing hard, still coming down, and she knew she'd eventually feel every bruise, every pulled muscle, but she was still drugged. On him.

He scooted them down into her bed, brought her against his side, face to face as he pressed loose kisses to her mouth, her jaw, her neck. She curled her fingers in his hair and appreciated that while he avoided, had avoided, all the injuries, he hadn't said a word about them. He had just gone for it, took what she offered, pushed them both over the edge.

"That was hot," he muttered, a grin sliding his lips wide against the slope of her chest. His five o'clock shadow made her body fizzle. "You're amazing."

"I'm half-high on painkillers. Give me 24 hours and we'll see if we can't add a few more superlatives."

He grunted on a laugh and found her mouth again, but he was settling down, warm and heavy at her side, still carefully avoiding her injured shoulder.

Aware of it again, she kept her arm close and used her other hand to stroke her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, felt his breath slowing against her collarbone.

"By the way," she murmured, tilting her head down to kiss his temple. "You're pretty amazing yourself."

"Mm, I try," he grumbled at her chest, his mouth still entirely too wicked.

She was tired, and he was ready to drop off into sleep, but she knew she'd never get a better chance than now at cracking through all his barriers.

"What does tomorrow look like?" she said softly, fingers still tracing abstract patterns in the bare skin of his neck, his shoulders, down his spine.

"I like the view from here," he laughed, his breath sighing out at the end.

She pressed her lips together on a grin, closed her eyes to revel in that. "Mm, me too. I meant. Are you headed overseas now that the case is closed?"

He was silent to that, and she hastened to reassure him. She didn't need or want to cling to him like a barnacle every day - like he was doing to her now, actually. She just wanted to be able to plan. Maybe take the day off when he did get back in town.

"I'll save New York, while you go off and save the world."

He huffed at that, a humming breath as he nudged his nose into her skin, sighed. "You kick ass. I like that. You're seriously hot."

She grinned. "You could send me postcards from Somalia or China or wherever." She touched her mouth to his forehead on a grin. "All in code. I could spend the time I'm not working a case trying to break the cipher-"

"Naw," he chuckled, his arm suddenly tightening around her waist and his body drawing closer to hers, a press of heavy heat that made her breath catch. "Not going back out for six months. Asked for leave. Gonna stay right here, do this."

And then his body was slumped into hers, his mouth open at her shoulder, entirely, thoroughly asleep.

Do this? He was staying here?

That wasn't the deal.