Maybe it's the six hour time change, maybe it's the remorse that comes with hurting him without even trying, but Kate lies in bed awake for hours after he's shut himself inside his own bedroom, staring at the ceiling and thinking back, retracing the steps of their partnership, soothing the throb of her scar with the weight of her fingertips through the regret that comes with the recollection of how it all fell apart. How she had broken it.
The incision scar on her side tightens, deciding to join in with the pulse of the bullet wound above her heart to constrict her breathing, tugging harshly despite how she lies flat and still in the bed, gritting her teeth through the currents of pain.
They eventually pass, just like always, before she can be dragged into the undertow, and Kate exhales in relief, attempts to swallow past the lump in her throat that has little to do with the physical pain lancing up and down her ribcage, playing the bones like a xylophone.
Her entire body seizes again when the door handle jiggles softly, but then Castle appears, sleepy and bed rumpled in the moonlit darkness of the doorway, and for the first time in the hours since they parted ways, she can take a deep breath without a splice of ache and agony through her chest.
"Beckett, you're still awake?" he whispers, confusion prominent and quite adorable as it twists his expression into a puzzled frown.
"Still on New York time," she lies, easing up onto her elbows, biting her lip at the wince the simple action elicits. She's so damn tired of feeling fragile, of having to premeditate every move before she makes it, but weak muscles and scar tissue have become her normal in the last year and she fears she'll never recover, never know any other way of living. But she fails to accept it, still fights with the hope that one day the ever present ache will somehow dissipate. "What're you doing up?"
"I - bathroom," he explains, hooking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his bedroom, where she knows an en suite exists. Doesn't explain why he's in her room now. "Came to check on you, your scar."
"Oh," she murmurs, a little disappointed, but what had she expected? That he had missed her? Wanted to see her after the unexpected ripple of tension and sorrow a single word that used to offer promise and commitment now elicits? "It's fine, just tugging."
Castle shuffles further into her room at that, slipping through the door and rubbing at the sleep clouding his eyes like a little boy unwillingly awoken. "Need me?"
Her heart stutters. "Yes?"
Castle plops down onto the edge of her bed and lifts his hand to her side, gently splaying the warmth of his palm over her scar and… he meant to repeat the process of soothing her snarled insides with innocent body heat as he had the night before. She knew that.
"Castle, you don't have to sit here with me," she sighs, staring up at him from her pillow as he sits too far away, his eyes drooping with fatigue and his hand heavy on her abdomen.
"Don't want you to hurt," he yawns, brushing his thumb back and forth over the bottom rung of her ribs, waking the treacherous butterflies that tickle along her intestines. "I'll just stay a few minutes."
"Then at least get comfortable before you topple over," she bargains, shifting sideways on the mattress, offering him extra space. He hesitates for only a moment before scooting closer, arranging his back to rest against the headboard while the length of his body borders hers, his hand remaining glued to the line of her scar.
Every part of her gravitates towards him by reflex, her torso and abdomen pressing snug against the firm plane of his thigh, her head rolling sideways to graze the length of his outstretched arm with her nose, one of her hands rising of its own volition to cover the broad palm resting below her ribs. She is bad for him, so bad for him, and it showed, but she needs this.
Kate's eyes flutter closed, her focus zeroing in on the aroma of his scent seeping into her borrowed sheets and the pleasant hum of his presence beside her. Minutes pass like that, quiet and swirling with peaceful appreciation, and Castle must believe she's drifted to sleep, because the hand not draped along the side of her abdomen emerges from its resting place atop his stomach, slips into her hair.
His fingers trail along her scalp, so slow and reverent it has her on the stinging verge of tears behind closed eyes, his thumb scaling her ear, the sensitive flesh behind it that has an involuntarily shudder trickling down her spine. His hand pauses in her hair, but when her eyes remain shut, her breathing steady, his gentle ministrations continue until they grow sluggish before halting all together.
She falls to sleep with his hands anchoring her, one cradling the back of her skull while the other calms the riot beneath her ribcage, taming the beast back to its dull roar.
Castle stretches awake, wincing at the strip of sunlight that blinds his eyes and the crackle and pop that reverberates through his spine, but after sleeping with his shoulder propped against the headboard of the guest bed, he isn't surprised by the stiffness lining his limbs. And the former detective draped at his side must be responsible for the unpleasant tingling sensation zipping up and down his thigh, where Kate has somehow managed to curl.
He remembers how he got here, though he hadn't intended to stay, definitely hadn't intended to fall asleep in her bed. He had merely wanted to check on her, like any good host would, but when he had fought through the grit of sleep clogging his eyes, smearing his vision, and seen the tense set of her bones beneath the sheets, the misery subtle but sharp as it filled the deepened lines of her face, he hadn't been able to just leave.
He doesn't want to leave now, but his leg is asleep beneath her and the tingling has turned to piercing throbs that he won't be able to withstand for much longer.
Castle flexes his toes, hopes to alleviate some of the tension, but ow, no, that only made it worse. Maybe he can just slide from beneath her, smoothly slip from the mattress without waking her – yeah, that could work. And it does work, at first, his body easing without trouble from beneath her, eliciting nothing more than a curl of her fingers at his hip, but she remains immersed in the embrace of slumber.
That is, until he miscalculates and slides right off the bed and onto the floor with a loud thump.
"Castle?" He hears her slur with confusion, the mattress dipping above him just before her head appears over the edge, staring down at him, drenched in sleep and bewilderment. "How did you get there?"
Rick huffs up at her, rubbing his fingers to his throbbing tailbone as he sits up. "Fell off the bed."
"Why didn't you just move me over if you needed more room?" she questions, her voice a lovely rasp that he wouldn't mind hearing more of, shifting backwards, leaving more than enough room for him to lie down comfortably, but sharing a bed with her had never been a good idea in the first place, it had been accidental last night, but this… this would be deliberate.
Kate is already lowering back to her pillow, though, her eyes in slits trained on him as she waits, and he sighs, never really had a chance of making the right choice.
Castle picks himself up off the floor and crawls back into the bed, keeping a safe few inches of empty sheet space between them. Beckett doesn't seem to mind, her lips quirking while her eyes shutter closed.
"Don't let me sleep so late today," she mumbles. "Want to see the city with you."
She isn't looking, so he lets his smile break free, splitting his lips wide and piercing through his cheeks. "It's still early, Beckett. But I'll wake you up in a few hours, don't worry."
"M'kay," she breathes, the hand curled at her chest stretching outwards, towards him, but falling limp before it can reach him. So he meets her halfway, turns on his side and holds her hand, watches her chest rise and fall with the proof of her steady breathing, studying her face at peace without stress or the hints of anguish he's seen far too much of in the last two days.
He studies her for a long time, memorizes her, even dares to graze the tips of his fingers along her skin, caressing the hollows of her cheeks, the curves of her eyebrows. The burn of missing her swells up, but he's able to tamper it down this time, able to subdue the grief with its required remedy. Her, right in front of him.
Kate Beckett had ripped his heart to shreds last summer, but within the time span of 48 hours, she's managed to glue most of the pieces back together, and with her dedication, his anger, his resentment, had been eradicated. They may still need more time to test these new, unexplored waters, but he's ready to dive in when she is.
He's ready to hear her say it back.