John Doe
Esposito calls her while she's still standing in front of Castle's bookshelf, trying not to watch him read his own novel. She answers, but finds her fingers fumbling with her phone. "Beckett."
"Yo. Dropped your unit with Forensics, and then me and Ryan went back to that intersection just down from Hubbard Security."
She lifts her head. "Yeah? What'd you get, Espo?"
"Nothing. Big fat zero, Beckett. There's maybe some paint on a fire hydrant on that corner, and yeah, the curb and that office building you said you plowed into? They could have some vehicular damage, but it's hard to say."
"But the automatic weapons fire, the-"
"I know. Nothing. No shell casings. Nobody on the street lot of warehouses there, empty for lease buildings so no witnesses. All we got is your car."
"There can't have been nothing." The ambush and attempted abduction has left such an indelible impression on her that she's not sure she'll ever forget it. The way those hands felt trying to pull her out of the car, the movie that replays behind her eyes of the SUV slamming into Castle's door, his body wrenching, his head smashing against the glass-
"Beckett."
"Yeah. I'm here."
"Got Manny and Victor on the street to watch over the loft. All right?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Esposito."
She ends the call, her thumb pressing the screen, and then feels it wash over her in a wave everything, the exhaustion, the blood loss, the whole day's trauma. She got a call from the hospital at five this morning saying Castle was in the ER, and then she just hasn't stopped since then.
"Castle," she gets out, then lifts her head to look at him.
His eyes are already on her, wary and worried and tender.
"Can I use your shower?" she asks, reaching out a hand to his desk to keep herself upright.
"Of course. Right through there," he says, his hand out as if to guide her.
Right through-
"In yours?" she murmurs, then frowns. Why not? She's not sure she can navigate stairs at the moment and she doesn't want him going very far. Just in case. She just has to get out of this shirt, wash the blood off her neck, out of her hair.
"Kate," he says softly, as if admonishing her. She nods and waves him off. Fine, fine.
"You read," she says. "I'll be quick."
"Take your time. Want clothes? I can find something."
She glances down at her shirt and sighs. "Yeah. Alexis won't mind?"
"Not a bit."
And she can't even hold back the surge of relief that comes when he speaks of his daughter so naturally, so easily. The books might be gone, but his daughter isn't.
And neither is Kate.
Castle changes his own clothes while she's in the shower, pulling on soft pajama pants and a tshirt. He finds stuff for Kate upstairs, then heads back down to leave it in the bathroom. Cracking the door open, feeling the wonderful steam billowing around him, he tosses a pair of yoga pants and a tshirt on the counter.
"Kate," he calls out.
"Yeah?" She talks over the shower, her voice rich and strong, and it reassures him a little. She looked ready to fall over earlier.
"Stuff for you on the counter."
"Thanks."
He closes the door and backs away, then turns and spots the book on his bed where he left it. His book. About Kate.
Castle tugs down the comforter and slides between the sheets, grabbing the book. He scoots over to his side, props up his pillows behind his back, and dives into Heat Wave.
When the door clicks open, he's already sixty pages in and fascinated, but of course, Kate Beckett will always draw his attention. He glances up at her, wet hair already curling around her face, her frame thin-boned and angled sharply in his daughter's clothes.
The smell of her wafts in from the bathroom, lovely and heavy, and he watches her as she stares at him.
"Castle?"
"This is good!"
She laughs, a hand up to her mouth, and comes forward. As he hoped. She puts a knee on the bed and glances at where he is in the chapter.
"What's happening to Nikki now?"
He gives her a shy smile. "Okay so. This guy Pochenko? In interrogation he just made some filthy comments to you and I-"
"To Nikki," she says, rolling her eyes and taking that next step, sitting back against her heel, one leg still off the bed. Closer.
"To Nikki, right. But this stuff is good. I mean, it's tense. Did this ever happen? Some guy getting all disgusting?"
"It happens," she hedges, frowning at him. "But I can handle it. Nikki can handle it, as she so clearly points out to Rook."
"Yeah," he grins. "Also? He basically asks her what a nice girl like her is doing in a job like this, and she tells him she'll kick him in the balls and show him how nice she can be."
Kate huffs a laugh and draws her other leg up onto the bed, leaning in to glance at the page. She laughs again as she reads it. "Okay. Yeah."
"You ever kick me in the balls?"
"No!" She laughs harder at that and leans against his arm. "No, never. I promise."
"I didn't think so." He grins. "I gotta say, this is fun stuff. I like this."
"You wrote it," she says, and now she's tucking her feet up under the covers.
"I know! Even better."
She leans her head at his shoulder, and her eyes flicker shut. She looks exhausted. "Do you remember any of it?"
"No. But to be honest, it sounds like me. I mean, this feels right. Natural. I read it and it's like how I would want it to be written. If that makes sense."
She rotates her head, looking up at him with a half-amused, faint smile. "It actually does."
"The plot is a total surprise, but the lines feel like stuff I've said before. Maybe with you?"
"Not really," she says. "Nikki is more bad-ass than I am. Kicking Rook's balls and stuff."
"I doubt it," he grunts, lifts his arm to slide it around her shoulders.
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Castle," she grumbles.
"Me? What am I doing?" But he tugs her against his chest, settles back a little more.
"Uh-huh," she mutters, and he sees her eyes closing. "I'm too tired to fight you. Or kick you in the balls."
"Good," he hums. "Cause all I'm doing is reading my own book, innocent as a-"
"Hush and read, Castle." She's now tilting all the way into him, so he slides down in the sheets until they're both reclining. She startles when she gets horizontal, her eyes popping open, but he props the book on his chest, his neck tilted forward by the pillows, and keeps his arm around her.
After a moment, she relaxes into him and he has to work to hide the grin. Still her hand reaches up to flick at his ear, then drops heavily to his chest. The warmth of her against him is so right, so very right, that he has to lift his eyes to the ceiling and battle back the wash of relief.
If she would just stay like this. With him.
He might have a chance at getting his life back.
She's falling asleep on him. She totally is.
Kate battles it as hard as she can, tries to blink the heaviness away; she fists her hand on his shirt to give herself an anchor, something to hold on to. She wants to know; she wants to hear his reactions, be there if something strikes him and triggers more memories.
But oh, she's so tired.
The shower felt amazing, the delicious, pounding heat on her weary limbs, the wonderful steam, the smell of Castle's shampoo in her hair; it's mellowed her, made her into this boneless, sleepy thing.
She gives up and closes her eyes, just for a moment, lulled by the even sound of his heartbeat, the warmth of him against her.
She's not sure how long she's been drowsing, but the next thing to drag her out of it is a sharp intake of breath that she feels all the way to her wrist. Her eyelids flutter, her mind hazy and reaching.
Castle is very still at her side; her hand has been resting on his stomach, and she moves it without thinking, feels the hard line of his abs where it was all soft skin before.
Oh?
She shifts, confused, vaguely concerned about what's got him so tense; he hisses her name, a single syllable of warning, and finally the pieces fall into place. Heat Wave is closed, his fingers clenched on it, knuckles white.
When she looks back at him, props herself on one arm so she can see him better, his eyes are dark in the gentle halo of light. His mouth is open; his breathing is loud.
"You got to 105," she murmurs, not a question. Shit, how can she have forgotten?
He gives her a look that she can't read. "Should've told me," he rasps. "Kate."
She bites her lip, resists the urge to move because god, their bodies are lined up together, and he must feel everything, everything-
"Sorry," she gets out, a little edgy herself now.
He shakes his head, shock and arousal colliding in his eyes. "She licked she licked the salt off his skin, slowly, and then-"
Oh, shit. Shit. Every word he says just makes it worse, makes that scene stand out bright and clear in her mind, the heat pooling low.
Castle suddenly turns a horrified gaze to her. "Did that happen? Kate, is that-"
She's shaking her head no before he can say anymore, all the words forgotten in her throat, and he releases a long sigh, relief or disappointment, she's not sure.
"Okay," he says, swallowing heavily. "Okay."
But his body doesn't relax, doesn't loosen; his abs are still so tight under her palm, all of him contained, held back. The man who loves her.
And this is how much.
How much he wants her, too.
"Castle," she breathes, the weight of it crushing her, strangling her voice.
His eyes find hers, as if reluctant, dragged to her against his will. His lips are still parted and he looks so handsome, so handsome with the shadows painting half his face-
"Kate," he murmurs back, a warning again, almost painful, and then he's leaning in and oh, oh, his mouth is wet and tender and amazing, heat radiating right off his skin.
She keens against his lips, can't help it, her whole being rising towards him and wanting, wanting; Castle pushes his tongue inside her, slow and intense, so good.
He rolls onto his side and presses her into him, very carefully, making her moan with it; he whispers her name, again and again, and his hand slides under her t-shirt, following the edges of her ribs until it reaches the underside of her breast.
His thumb strokes and she arches, gasping, liquid fire pouring through her veins, all this ruthless arousal that makes her hips come up, up, up; he's humming something dirty against her skin, and his other hand slides down, curls around her hipbone.
Oh, oh god.
She should she should stop him-
She doesn't.
He falls asleep with her warm, liquid body over him. He tries to hang on, tries to relish this; he covets this easy, glowing moment, but he can't hang on.
He needs to close his eyes.
She was so tired before; she would have fallen asleep even with the lights still on, even with Castle's murmured comments as he read, just faded out.
But now that the room's dark, now that he's breathing loud and even next to her, palm at her hip, body curled around hers, she's awake.
She's awake and her heart is full; her heart is aching.
What has she done?
The worst thing is that she doesn't regret it, no. Not one bit. It's too beautiful, this thing between them, this delicate, tentative love; and oh, the look in his eyes when he first moved inside her, his stunned, awe-filled sigh of her name... She will cherish that forever; she won't mar those memories with remorse.
Her hand is resting against his chest, above his heart; she brushes her fingers across his skin, over and over, amazed and silent, so very grateful.
So maybe he doesn't remember everything. So what?
They've spent enough time waiting. She was holding them back when he was so clearly ready, and for what? for no reason that makes sense, not now, when he needs her, when she's got to admit it she needs him too.
Kate shifts closer to brush her lips to his chest, lingers there with her eyes closed, her head swimming.
She loves him. God help her, she loves him, she loves him and he loves her and this might be the worst timing in the history of relationships, because he has no memory and they're being hunted and shot at and they both could have died today, but she doesn't even care.
This is right, and she loves him, and she's too tired to fight it anymore.
She hums against his skin, almost dizzy with relief, acceptance flooding her veins like a lovely drug.
Whatever happens happens.
But she and Castle are in this together.
The clamoring, the roar aches. He twists but can't move, can't get free of the tangled mess; somewhere rain is assaulting the earth.
He gasps and lifts up, eyes opening, panic thudding painfully in his chest. His sweat slides down his neck, makes the backs of his knees damp. The sheets are wrapped around his legs.
A hum startles him, an arm snakes low at his waist, fingers skimming his back. He turns and his wife is opening her eyes, regarding him sleepily.
"What is it?"
He shakes his head, feeling out of focus.
Another flash of lightning just outside their window, the rain so heavy it thunders.
"Storm like that," she murmurs. "Kids'll be in here."
But they don't come.
He waits, watches the door, but they don't come.
"Kate," he murmurs and twists to look at her. She's asleep again, her cheek against the pillow. His heart pounds but the lightning flickers brilliantly in his eyes, blinding him.
He's not in bed. He's standing in darkness. His arms are full.
He swivels his head in confusion it's dark, everything is dark. His kids. He needs to find his kids. They'll be terrified, alone in the dark, without the power oh. No, he's got them. They're here. In his arms.
"Kate?"
A whimpering at his neck and he brushes his lips to the girl's forehead. "It's okay. It's okay. Daddy's got you."
Little arms curl around his neck. The boy lifts his head, trying to look around. The girl hides her face at his armpit; they are heavy. So heavy.
He can't see his a thing in front of his face, can't even make out the windows or the furniture. Where is he? The living room now?
The kids. He needs to get the kids safe. Put them somewhere safe. The bed he needs to get them in bed with Kate.
Kate.
He feels the warmth against his chest, the heaviness in his arms and glances down at them again. A little hand brushes his jaw and he kisses the fingers. He needs to get to Kate.
The storm flickers outside, rain pounding against the windows, and he turns slowly in the room, trying to get his bearings. The kids are heavy; he can't drop them.
He shuffles forward slowly, easing towards where he thinks their bedroom is, arms tight around the kids. His heart pounds. He just needs to get them safe.
A murderous roar of thunder breaks open around him, rippling across the sky, staccato, like gunfire; the girl trembles and he presses his mouth to the top of her head. "You're okay. We're okay. It'll be okay."
The thunder echoes on, the storm even more intense, and then the brilliant flare of lightning slices him in half.
He jerks awake on the flash of lightning, arms full, heart pounding, sweat slick and sealing them together.
She stirs against him and he holds his breath, trying to still his heart, trying to bring himself out of the darkness, the storm, back here with her.
With Kate.
He's with Kate.
He remembers. Some.
That night, the bag in his hands, heavy, sporadic gunfire aimed at him but going wide. He thinks he can get away, he thinks they don't know exactly where he is. The blood drying on his shirt, being hunted, the black night, the sound of his harsh breathing, the confusion between reality and fiction is it fiction? Was it fiction?
The safe place. The lightning bolt.
Carefully, he rolls onto his side, gentles Kate into the bed with his hands cradling her cheeks, a press of his lips to hers before he gets out of bed. He pads barefoot into the study and stares at his books. One of these. One of Kate's.
He plucks the third one from the shelf and thumbs through it, knowing without knowing how that he'll find it.
And he does. It's here. In the book.
The same place he went that night.
This is where he hid that file. This is how he saves her life.
