Enjoy the Silence

A/N: Thank you for waiting this long for an update. Its not about abandoning this story, its about life happening and too little time in a day. I hope you will understand. Meg, best beta job (does that equal worst chapter to edit) so far!

Chapter 11

He's warm. Huh. That's new. Warm and surprisingly…comfortable. Cozy. Must be another dream, but he won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

He doesn't dare to move, afraid that the dream will dissolve and he will again be left with the chill of the concrete slowly seeping into his bones, the sparse hay scattered under him scratching the dry and cracked skin of his ass. So little of his dignity remains, if any, but he stopped caring about that a long time ago.

But damn, his arm is killing him, falling numb. He needs to move, he thinks, even as he tries to resist the discomfort that only grows more intense by the moment, morphing into prickling pain now and fuck, fuck…he has no other choice but to move so he does, slowly, inch by inch. He's just so desperate to cling to the tentative grasp of his dream; to stay here, under the surface, a little while longer.

And then his arm is free and he's ready to face the cold, lonely darkness once more, but the feeling never comes. He's still warm and comfortable, melting further into his position even as blood pours back into his numb limb.

Okay, so it must be the drugs again. Just as well. Whatever keeps him in this reality is probably worth the way he'll feel later. But something is tugging at his consciousness, relentless and obnoxious, despite his best efforts to stay in this wonderful world of some strange limbo, this warm, mindless oblivion.

The obtrusive thing won't leave him alone; there it is again, crawling up his arms and over his head, brushing his ear, and he wonders for a moment whether this is some new kind of torture. Maybe Tyson got himself a pet tarantula, or a python, or some other disgusting creepy-crawly to keep his guest some company. But then…then he recognizes the touch, and it's not a couple pairs of hairy spidery legs, but the feel of hands; of warm, gentle fingers that are brushing the side of his face, his ear, so softly, so carefully.

Okay, so new strategy. If he just lies still like this, lets this happen, allowing that bitch to touch him in such an intimate way, then maybe he can pretend that those hands belong to another. Just a moment longer, please. Just one more moment in this drug-induced state of bliss where he can pretend he's somewhere else, with someone else.

A waft of perfume hits his nose, just the tiniest hint, and fuck, he could swear it's Kate, because it smells like the scent she typically wears. He could cry because his exhausted mind must be deceiving him again, to the point that he could swear- but no. No, it's Kelly fucking Nieman and her medicinal cocktails that are playing tricks on him. He worries that he might not survive the crushing disappointment when he opens his eyes only to be greeted by the icy green of that redheaded bitch's calculating eyes, the reality of his situation hitting him once more with the force of a ton of bricks.

The warm hand moves from the shell of his ear to cup his jaw, and the air – oh, that sweet perfume – shifts and God, that touch, so soft, combined with that wonderful scent. If he didn't know better, he could swear, he could almost swear that it's—

"Castle."

His eyes snap open because he didn't imagine that, he didn't imagine her voice, and indeed, there she is, her soft hazel eyes full of warmth; nothing like the cold, calculating darkness lurking in Nieman's that he was forced to grow accustomed to over the past couple of months. Castle can't believe his luck, because yes, God yes, he just might be home. This might actually be his reality now, instead of the cruel, heart-crushing joke he's been forced to live over and over again. It might finally be over.

He stares at her, at Kate, and opens his mouth fruitlessly, only to close it again a moment later.

"Hey," she whispers soothingly, the stark features of her face bathed in the soft light of the lamp as she waits him out, stroking her thumb over his cheek in calming circles.

His hand shoots up then, tangling in her hair as he touches her, as he makes sure—

She smiles at him brightly, her face stretching into that bright, joyous expression she wears for him alone, and he acts on pure instinct and relief as he pulls her down to him, instantly crashing their lips together in a desperate, sloppy kiss.

There's no weight to her, only the soft pressure of her warm lips and just a little bit of tongue, the gentle grip of her fingers playing at the nape of his neck. That's when he realizes she's bracing herself above him, her arms pushing against the cushions of the sinfully comfortable couch. Oh wait. This is his couch.

He ends the kiss then, slowly blinking and peeking around her. He takes in his loft, the dim, familiar glow of the fireplace, the quiet serenity that always has the power to calm him.

Oh, and there's his daughter, just coming down the stairs, smirking at the two of them knowingly as they lay still entangled in each others' embrace. Alexis has one eyebrow raised but there's genuine laughter dancing in her eyes, and oh, he's still got one hand in Kate's hair and the other under the hem of her shirt. Wait, when did that happen? He's surprised at the sudden warmth in his cheeks; of the two of them, he's never been the shy one, and he releases her then.

Kate disentangles from him with a little cute cough, throws him a secretive smile while silent mirth shines in her eyes, before she sits back onto her haunches at the other end of the couch.

"You okay there, Castle?" she teases and it's not fair, it's so not fair when she speaks to him in such a silken, throaty bedroom voice and he's not in a position to do anything about it. He's slightly dazed, still stuck in the cobwebs of sleep and the taste and smell of Kate, in a land between what he expected upon waking up and the stark, wonderful contrasts of the actual reality.

So it wasn't a dream after all. He just took a nap. A deep, deep nap. At home. Hmm…felt nice. He hasn't really slept in months. Not like that.

"Hey, you okay?" asks Kate again, this time more seriously, thinly-veiled concern coloring her voice as she touches his forearm carefully, and Rick realizes he must have zoned out for a little while there.

He gives her a small, tight-lipped smile and a nod, pushing himself up to a sitting position, momentarily forgetting his tender ribs and silently wincing as his torso instantly burns with vicious pain. It brings the crushing reality back to him, and it's a double-edged sword. It's so wonderful, the fact that this isn't a dream, that he's finally home, but it's also terrifying, the fact that Tyson and his sick torture wasn't a dream either, that he still has to face the consequences when so much of him remains broken.

He squeezes his eyes closed for a moment, tries to find his equilibrium; a compromise between his memories, his hopes, and the crushing reality of what truly is.

Reality is the last thing he wants to dwell on though, so he forces himself to concentrate on something, anything else as he looks around sleepily, his eyes falling on the blue-lit TV screen. Oh, right. Whatever they'd been watching must have ended a long time ago. He shakes his head like a dog trying to get rid of an obnoxious fly, focusing his eyes on his companions instead. Tapping his bare wrist, he raises his eyebrows at the two of them in silent question.

"Just after seven," says Beckett quietly, and hell, he was must have been out for quite some time. He can't remember the last time when he slept so long in a single stretch.

"You need anything, dad?" asks Alexis. "Something to eat, or a drink?"

He shakes his head but then reconsiders, lifting his hand absentmindedly and pretending to be drinking from an imaginary glass before abruptly stopping upon realizing how ridiculous he must look. He's turned into a fucking mime.

But Alexis doesn't even bat an eye, just nods and disappears into the kitchen for a moment, quickly returning with a bottle of water. He takes a few gulps, enjoying the slide of the cool liquid down his throat, contemplating how nice it feels to have cold, clean water on demand, just because he feels like it.

"Wanna go to bed?" comes another question, this time from Kate. He wants to say no, because it's his first day home and he's already slept through the majority of it, and surely they could spend the time in some better way than sleeping. But he looks first at his daughter and then to Beckett, noticing the dark circles under their eyes and he instantly caves, nodding his assent.

Kate offers him a hand, helping him to stand when a shrill, unfamiliar sound rings out somewhere close by; it makes him startle so badly that he falls right back into the couch. Kate shoots him an alarmed look even as she grabs for the device, pushing the answer button as he shuts his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, willing the suddenly heavy thump of his heart to settle down. Jesus, Rick. It's just a fucking phone. Get your shit together. It just...it just startled him, that's all.

"Beckett," barks Kate, all of the softness gone from her features, looking fierce and determined. "Hey Espo, what's up?" Her voice is tight and Castle's eyes focus on her again, his heart suddenly in his throat.

The testimony. It's gotta be about his testimony.

Her eyes are locked with his as she listens quietly, but he can't read anything from her expression beyond the burning intensity in her stormy eyes. He can't tell whether she's hearing good or bad news, and it unsettles him, throws him completely off his game.

She nods once, then twice, her shoulders slumping in relief at last and she's speaking then, thanking Espo, her eyes overflowing with relief and gratitude. Castle slumps against the couch, his own relief flooding his veins like a tranquilizer.

It must occur to Kate then, the fact that he can't hear anything that's being said on the other end of the line, because she quickly pulls the phone away from her ear and hits the speaker button. Esposito's deep voice fills the silence, surprisingly loud in the vast space of the living room.

"…no way he's getting out anytime soon. Not before the trial, that's for sure, and Keller has already dug his claws into it, working his ass off with the prosecutor as we speak. I gotta admit Beckett, the guy has balls."

A relieved sigh leaves Beckett's lips then. "Thank you so much, Espo. Truly."

"Don't thank me. Thank your boy over there. It's his statement that did the trick."

It's then that Castle sees it. He might have completely missed it, if he weren't observing her quite so closely, the wince that Kate tries to hide upon hearing Esposito's words, the clenching in her jaw. And surely, he must be imagining the flash of hurt glistening in her eyes. But no, it's not imagination on his part, because she turns her side to him, letting the curtain of her silky hair hide her expression, an evasive maneuver he knows only too well.

"Okay Javi. I'll let him know." she replies after a beat, her voice an octave too high.

Oh, his testimony. Right.

He didn't allow her to be in the room when he talked to the boys; he just couldn't do that to her, to them. To himself too, if he's being honest. It was excruciating enough having to tell…well, type, in front of the boys. He can't imagine…it would be too much. Just-

But he sees it now. It's like a fresh wound, the things he's holding back, the things he's not saying. Secrets she believes he's keeping from her. Actually, secret is too mild a word for what this is: it's more like hidden atrocities, humiliation, and pain.

He's nowhere close to being able to tell her – to tell anybody – the whole truth yet, but…but he knows he has to start somewhere. He already has. Just not with Kate. And it's killing her.

And maybe, Castle thinks as he contemplates her talking quietly on the phone, shielding her from reality is bringing her more distress and suffering than the truth would. Or at least, the portion of it that he's willing to share right now. She'll eventually find out, anyway. And deep down…deep down he hopes there will come a day when she knows the whole truth, a day where he will be in a state to share what was done to him. Everything that was done to him.

That day is not today, but wouldn't it be better to let her know something? Won't it be easier, on the both of them, to let her have this piece of it? Give her something solid instead of condemning her to guess and speculate?

He remembers the Elena case, still fresh and vivid in his mind. How painful it was to hear her recount the things that were done to her in that faint, detached tone, but it still felt better to hear them from her cold, trembling lips than not knowing at all and being left to wonder.

So maybe, just maybe, this is the place to start. This might be his only opportunity for a while.

"No, Espo. I don't plan to," she says into the receiver. Oh, she must have taken the phone off the speaker while he was zoning out. "No really, thank you. You did well. Ryan, too. Don't forget to let him know." She gives a low chuckle at his answer, before replying, "You too. See you soon-"

She stops when Castle starts frantically waving his hands at her, successfully gaining her attention. "Espo, wait a sec," she says, coming closer towards him, one beautiful eyebrow arched in question.

He quickly looks around, but there's no smart device within reach, damn it, and he really needs to get a new phone, but this isn't the time. A hand lands on his shoulder, settling him and when he looks up, Kate is gazing at him, mouthing a nearly inaudible yet soothing, "Hey babe, what's up?" She's still holding the phone, but is in no hurry to end to call now, and something inside of him eases.

Another hand miraculously appears before him holding out a smartphone, and thank God, thank God for his quick-witted daughter. He shoots Alexis a grateful look, snatching the device from her fingers and quickly starting to type.

Tell Espo to e-mail me a copy of the testimony. My private account. He knows which one.

Kate reads as he types, her eyebrows rising with each word, before she looks at him, a mix of apprehension and confusion. He gives her a tiny, brave nod, waiting until she reads his request aloud for Esposito to hear. Today. Right away, he continues before he can change his mind, because God, he wants to. Every moment, he's engaged in a struggle not to withdraw from this, but that would only succeed in confusing and worrying Kate and Alexis even further. Tell him thanks, he adds on an afterthought, trying not to listen to the undisguised discomfort in Kate's voice. She nods into the phone once, then again, even though Espo can't see her before ending the call.

"He says he's already on it," she murmurs aloud, but she evades his eyes, and his next breath catches in his throat. He waits, sees the questions she doesn't dare ask simmering under the surface of her tense frame, but she doesn't voice them aloud. And somehow, that feels even worse. She simply stands there, lonely and lost and so insecure, a sight that just doesn't connect with her, not with the perception he has of her – strong, calm, ferocious, unbreakable.

None of that can be seen now, her shoulders hunched and eyes shying away. She doesn't even ask why he asked Esposito for the document, she just looks defeated as she quietly mutters, "Let's go to bed, Castle." Tiredness suddenly drips from her every word and she pulls the lose sweater she is wearing tighter around her frame and…Oh, Kate.

He stretches out his hand towards her, wordlessly beckoning her closer, grasping her hand tight in his when she nears. Her face is open and vulnerable as she observes him tentatively, like a frightened child, and he hates it, hates seeing her like this and knowing it's his own doing, this insecurity she's harboring around him.

He uses her hand to help himself up and uses the momentum to wrap himself around her, pulling her close. He presses a kiss against her forehead, feels her body melt against his. Thank God. At least the trust is still there; he can work with that.

He releases her for a moment to draw Alexis close and hug her, the gesture meant to be his silent way of saying goodnight. He waits for her to ascend the stairs before he turns his attention back to Kate. Running his hands down her arms, he intertwines their fingers and pulls slightly, taking one step back, then another, and another until he's leading the way to his office.

He rounds his desk, glad to find his laptop occupying its usual spot. He pulls one hand away to power it up and then sits down in his chair, the silence languidly flowing between them now. Kate stands there, attached by their intertwined fingers, hesitant and a little confused, but with unmistakable interest sparkling in her eyes. He pulls her down, guiding her to sit on his knees. She's reluctant, still too careful around him, and he's tired of it, tired of the way they're tiptoeing around each other.

She gingerly sits down at last, allowing almost none of her weight to rest upon him, so he grips her tightly by the hips and pulls her flush against his body. She gasps in surprise but doesn't resist, until her full weight rests upon his legs. Putting her arms around him then, she caresses his stubbled cheek, and damn, he needs to shave, but the bruise on his jaw is still too raw. Instead he looks at her, taking her in, up close and tender, watching the color in her eyes change from green to brown to something richer and entirely too captivating for him to resist.

The laptop is still booting up so he uses the moment to thoroughly kiss her, because he can't let any more time go to waste, not after the ordeal they've been through. The kiss is long and warm and deep and yes, it's everything he dreamed of for the past two months, and so much more.

The laptop finally comes alive and he pulls back, giving her an apologetic smile before maneuvering around her to get to the laptop. He opens his email account, hoping beyond hope that Espo's made good on his promise.

There are dozens upon dozens of new emails waiting there for him, but he only looks through the most recent ones, his heart doing a little back-flip when he spots the one from Esposito. It doesn't contain any message in the body, just a single PDF attachment. He doesn't open it right away, already knowing what it is without having to look closely, his written words still fresh in his mind, so he merely hits the print button.

Castle feels it, Kate going stiff in his arms, but otherwise she stays silent, just observing his actions. He reaches out when the printer is done, momentarily closing his eyes as his ribs protest the painful movement, but he grits his teeth and breathes through it, snatching the sheets of paper and aligning them into a nice stack. There aren't too many of them, maybe eight to ten pages, tops.

He grasps them in his hand, one last chance to pull back from this course of action, before resolutely offering them to Kate. No more secrets. She takes the pages from him carefully, a furrow between her brows, and yeah, he should probably explain. He opens a new document on the laptop and starts typing.

I'm sorry I didn't let you be there for my testimony.

He stops, flicks his eyes briefly to hers but he finds that he can't hold the intensity of her gaze, so he turns back to his laptop.

I couldn't tell them about these things in front of you, knowing what my words would do to you. But you deserve to know, you need to know. I know I would. You want to know as much as I wanted to know about what happened with Vulcan Simmons, and I understand all too well how one's imagination can sometimes be crueler than the truth.

He stops for a brief moment before resuming his writing. She still hasn't uttered a word, merely looks at the screen, awaiting his next words as impatiently as her next breath. He feels more than a little inadequate, but it will have to do.

It's just the testimony…it's not the whole story. Not even close. There are things I can't yet talk about. To anybody. But I will…I want, wish, hope to get better. And if…no, WHEN, I get there, then I will tell you, Kate. I WILL tell you everything. But until then, this is the only thing I can give you, and I am sorry.

She shakes her head then, eyes sparkling with unshed tears as she presses close to him, pulling him into her, the papers rustling between their bodies as she hugs him, fierce and tight.

"Don't," she whispers right before she presses a kiss to the shell of his ear. "Don't apologize," her mouth brushing against his scratchy cheek this time. "Please, never ever apologize. Not for that," her breath hitching as she kisses his lips. "I just…yes, I want to know," she murmurs, her voice soft and warm. "But only because I want to help. I just want to help. Any way I can."

He wants to tell her that she already is, that she has no idea what her mere presence in his life has already done, but he can't utter a single word and fuck, he just can't do it, no matter how much he wants to. So he does the next best thing, pulling her close, burying his nose into the soft skin just behind her ear, into the sweet, familiar smell of her hair, of home.

A/N: Looking forward to read your thoughts.