Hot air. A blast lifting her hair, taking her off her feet. Land became sky became land, rushing up to stop her progress permanently, only she sank down into it, like through warm chocolate, past worms and coffins and bones ...
They'd had an interesting afternoon and evening, filling the murder board over and over again with variations on a theme, all mapped out like an inebriated spider's web around the single word VESTS. He'd made sandwiches while Kate went for a walk to clear her head, but when she came back neither of them had been very hungry as they continued to expound theory after theory, each one becoming more ludicrous than the one before, and all with just one thing in common – that Hackett had called someone more or less the moment Ryan and Esposito had left the Archives building.
"And it killed him," Rick had said, tapping the red marker pen on the board.
"Well, as soon as the warrant's through we can find out exactly who that was." Kate sighed, then was overtaken by a huge yawn. "Oh, sorry," she muttered, getting her jaw back under control.
"I think we both need some sleep." He glanced at the clock, the single figures on it suggesting that the late night turned into very early morning, and they were honestly not that much further forwards.
"Mmn."
"So."
"So."
"So ... you're heading on up?"
"Mmn. You're right – I am tired." Kate suited word to the deed and got to her feet. "Must be all that theorising ..."
"Yes, well, it takes it out of a person." He gave a half smile. "And all the good clean air."
"Must be." She stretched then winced, reminding herself not to do that again, and definitely not in front of him.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine. I'm just trying to do without the painkillers."
"Don't," he said, tossing the marker towards the table but ignoring it when it rolled to the floor. "Josh gave them to you for a reason, and you should take them."
"I don't want to get dependent on them," she explained.
She didn't have to say she was scared because of her dad losing himself in the bottle when her mother died – she didn't have to.
"You won't," he assured her, his voice low, gentle. "I won't let you. But right now, you need them."
"What I need is some decent rest. In my own bed."
He nodded, just once. "That might not be for a while, but ... okay. Just promise you'll take one when you go up."
She was about to argue some more, but saw the look on his face. "Fine. Just tonight."
"Then you can see how you are tomorrow."
Her lips thinned slightly in exasperation. "Since when were you the reasonable one?" she asked. "I thought that was supposed to be my job?"
The smile came back. "I can be unreasonable if you want. I can play the TV really loudly, stop you from sleeping."
"You're not ..." She indicated the stairs.
"No. I don't think that would be a good idea, do you?"
"Castle ... Rick ..."
"Don't worry. I'll sleep down here." He glanced at the sofa. "I'm sure I can make it more comfy than last time. Probably put all the cushions on the floor. Pretend I'm camping out."
She gazed at him. "If you're waiting for me to tell you not to, I'm not going to."
Again that little smile. "I know. You need some space – I understand."
"It isn't that I don't ... I just can't."
"Kate. I get it. And I'll be fine." He almost believed it himself.
"What about your back?"
"Yes, well, if I need it walked on in the morning I'm sure I can persuade you to do that. Even if it doesn't ache, my masochistic side would probably enjoy it." The smile widened to something resembling a grin.
She smiled in return. "Okay. Goodnight, Rick."
"'Night, Kate."
She'd surprised him by bending over and kissing him lightly on the cheek, just a brush of her lips that burned long after she'd vanished up the stairs.
Not that he'd been able to do anything more than doze anyway, and in the end he gave up and began to read, masking his own overactive imagination with somebody else's, at least until he heard it.
Someone was making a noise. Not loud, not angry, more like a whimpering. He looked up from his book and listened.
It was cold, and as she glanced down she realised her feet and legs were bare, and she was dressed in a hospital gown, open all down the back, exposing her spine. Still, at least it meant he hadn't seen her tattoo, wasn't going to, and she was smug as something warm dripped down her side ...
Getting to his feet from the makeshift cushion bed, Rick padded to the bottom of the staircase. Yes, definitely louder here. And there was only one other person in the cabin.
She was moving, although she was pretty sure she was standing still. Ahead of her were double doors, mist slipping from between them. She didn't want to go inside, but they opened as she reached them, a wall of fog falling to slither about her ankles. With it came fear, coiling in her chest, and she tried to call out, to ask for help, but the words died in her throat.
Against her will she was through, and the relief she felt at recognising Lanie's morgue was strangled as she saw three covered gurneys, the white sheets stained red. The pathologist was standing by the first, and tweaked the cotton away, and guilt swelled inside her. Kevin Ryan, only half a face, one eye staring accusingly at her. She should have been able to stop this happening, to keep him safe. Lanie picked up a scalpel, bending forward to begin the Y-incision.
She didn't want to see, to watch her friend become nothing but a collection of parts, and something must have heard as she moved on to the second body. The face was already uncovered, and somehow she wasn't surprised to see herself. She looked almost peaceful, sleeping and not dead, if it wasn't for the bullet hole through her forehead, dried blood rimming the edge.
Someone was crying. Two someones, and it was with extreme reluctance that she turned to the third corpse. Thankfully she couldn't tell who it was, although brown hair, stiff with gore, poked from under the edge of the sheet. The crying intensified, and she could see two women ... no, a woman and a girl, huddled together, their red hair echoing that of the tall figure on the gurney.
She tried to say she was sorry, that she would have done anything to stop this, but the sound of their grief was deafening, although she clearly heard Lanie tell them that they needed to make the identification. A slim brown hand reached through her to lift the sheet ...
"Kate."
She was shaking, her vision blurring as her body stopped being under any kind of control, and the voice repeated, even louder in her ears.
"Kate."
She opened her eyes. "Castle?"
He was there, not lying under a shroud, but sitting on the edge of the bed, the nightstand light illuminating his concerned features. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, his hand on her shoulder.
"I ... yes." She swallowed then nodded. "I'm fine."
"You were dreaming."
Managing to lift herself up a little onto her elbows, she said as dismissively as possible, "A nightmare."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really." She peered up at him. "Did I wake you?"
"No. I couldn't sleep, so I was reading. Maggie's latest, as it happens."
"I didn't see her book anywhere." Anything to make things seem normal, to make the dream go away.
"Kindle," he reminded her. "A hundred thousand books at the drop of a hat. Or the press of a button in this case."
"You and your gadgets."
"Hey, anything with an on button and go faster stripes and I've got it or want one." He looked almost sheepish, then went on, "I heard you calling out."
"Did I?"
"Yes. And when I came in you were thrashing about – in fact I'm surprised you didn't pop a stitch."
A pain she'd been ignoring announced itself again and she put her hand on her chest, her eyes widening. "I think maybe I did." She lifted her fingers away, showing him the red stain.
"Okay," he said, lifting her t-shirt. "Let me see."
She stopped him, tugging down on the fabric. "Castle ... Rick ..."
"I need to see, Kate."
"Then I'll do it."
"Fine." He waited until she'd rolled the t-shirt up, modestly keeping her breasts covered. "You know, the sight of a little bare flesh isn't going to inflame me so much that I won't be able to stop myself."
She glared at him. "Just get on with it."
He shook his head, but there was just the faintest hint of a tilt to his lips. Although that died when he saw the dressing over her wound was red with blood at one end. "I'll be as gentle as I can." When she nodded he began to peel it from her skin, trying to ignore the sharp intake of breath she made. At the sight of the long line of neat, tidy stitches, almost two hand widths, he swallowed roughly, his voice tight as he said, "Josh does good work."
"When I don't ruin it," she responded, breathing shallowly. "It's going to scar."
"Battle wounds." He leaned closer. "I don't think it's too bad," he said, almost but not quite touching. "You've torn the skin a little, but I can probably rig something to keep it closed."
"The stuff Josh gave me is in the bathroom."
"Fine." He stood up, going into the small room and turning on the light.
"There's a bag, by the washbasin."
"Found it." There was the sound of running water, then he reappeared, bag in one hand, a bowl in the other. "I'll be as gentle as I can."
From the smell of the steam she could tell he'd added antiseptic to the warm water, and the tiny drops caught in the hairs on the back of his hands suggested he'd washed them too.
"I'll try not to scream," she said dryly.
He smiled briefly then bent to his task. "I used to have nightmares," he said conversationally. "Mainly when Alexis was small. Probably all parents do."
"About losing her?"
"Oh, yes. Or that she'd eat something she shouldn't. Or try and pet a bear. Or get kidnapped." He was sluicing the blood away.
"Was that ever an issue?" It stung, but not so much she was going to stop him.
"What, Alexis getting kidnapped?" He shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. "Occupational hazard, I guess. I'm rich, well known ... some might say a bad combination. Besides, when she first started school there'd been a couple of recent cases in the press, so much so I seriously considered hiring a bodyguard for her."
"I don't think she'd have put up with that, even at that tender age."
"Probably not. Not that she'd have been able to stop me." He chuckled briefly. "I even thought about moving away from the city."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I reasoned that it would be easier for anyone wanting to take her from me if we were in a quiet town, rather than the big city." He looked up. "I know, crazy."
"Hey, I'm not saying anything."
He went back to his job. "Anyway, I just made sure I was early every day to pick her up, and put up with the nightmares."
She watched him for a moment, his hair slightly mussed from his attempts at sleep, a haze of bristles on his cheeks ...
"I dreamed Ryan was dead. And me. And ... and you." She said it quickly, as if she was afraid otherwise the words would stick.
"I figured it was something like that."
"Occupational hazard."
"Probably."
"It's one of the things my therapist got me to talk about. Before. After my ... my mother."
"It was to be expected." He dried her skin then busied himself with some tiny butterfly steristrips, his fingers brushing her flesh. "Nothing to be worried about."
"I'm not worried."
"Of course not." He made sure the plasters were well stuck. "I'll take you into town in the morning, go to see Doc Warren, make sure you don't need another stitch or two."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, the question suddenly very important.
"Because I love you."
The sheer naturalness of his comment, the way he kept working as he said it, made her gasp.
He looked up into her face. "What, did you think I wouldn't say it? That it had gone away?" He shook his head. "Kate, life's too short to deny ourselves what we want. Admittedly, in my case, that's mostly meant things like top of the line laser tags and a Ferrari I hardly ever drive, but ..." His tongue flicked out, moistening his mobile lips. "I won't stop. I can't. Sometimes I wish I could, that it was just a phase, something I was going to grow out of. But I haven't, and I don't think I can. I love you."
"It's getting easier to say it," she commented, her breath catching in her lungs.
"Easier to say, yes. But somehow I get the feeling it's never going to be easy loving you, Kate. In the worst possible way."
"Worst? Should I be insulted?"
He grinned, and it was as if the sun had come out. "Probably." He pressed the new dressing into place. "There. That should hold until the morning."
"Thanks. It feels better."
"I doubt that, but at least you're not going to bleed onto my sheets."
"Oh, so that's the only reason?"
"Of course." He stood up. "Come on, take that top off. You can't wear it now."
Her naturally suspicious nature took over again. "What?"
"Your top. It's got blood on it."
"It's fine."
"No, it isn't. For a start it's unhygienic." He crossed to the chest of drawers and took out a pale blue t-shirt, soft and worn from multiple washings. "Here. Put this on."
"Rick ..."
He smiled and held it out. "Kate."
She glared at him, but he didn't back down. "Fine. Just ... don't look."
"I didn't in your bathroom."
"That was my territory."
"True." Moving back to the bed he laid the t-shirt very gently onto the sheet and patted it twice. "I won't look." He turned his back.
She waited a long moment, half convinced he was going to spin around and catch her bare breasted, but he didn't move. In the end she swept her top off as quickly as possible and balled it up, bloodied side inwards, before pulling the clean t-shirt on. She felt almost swamped in it, but oddly comforted too, as if wrapped in ... no. Stop that, Katie.
"Done?"
"Done."
He turned back and smiled. "Better." He picked up the discarded top. "We can try and get the blood out tomorrow, or I'll just buy you a new one."
"That won't be necessary."
"I know." He dropped it into the bowl of water then picked up the rest of the detritus, taking it all into the bathroom. Coming back, he clicked off the light behind him but didn't approach the bed. "Goodnight, Kate." He went to leave, but her voice stopped him.
"Rick ..."
He turned back. "Yes?"
She knew she was likely to hate herself for her weakness, but the dream still lingered. "Will you ... stay?"
"Do you want me to sleep in the chair?"
"No." She bit her lip but went on, "Just come to bed."
His jaw dropped comically. "Why, Detective Beckett, are you trying to seduce me?"
"No."
"Pity." Still, he walked back to the bed. "Any particular reason? Or is it just my engaging personality?"
"I just ... don't want to be alone tonight."
He lifted the sheet, smiling at the fact that the admittance seemed to have been dragged from her, and climbed in next to her. "For as long as you want," he said quietly. "Only you stick to your side."
"Oh, shut up," she murmured, moving over and resting her head against his shoulder.
He held his breath as he slipped his arm around her, but she didn't shout, didn't threaten him with her gun, didn't even bite him. Instead he felt her relax, heard her breathing even out, and in a bare minute she was asleep.
Reaching out slowly, he turned off the light, then lay with her pressed against him, staring into the darkness above, an amazed, wondrous smile playing across his lips until he too joined her in the arms of Morpheus for the remainder of the night.
Ryan leaned on the wall of the elevator and glanced at his watch. Eight thirty-seven. Damn, but it was early. Although, in truth, any time would be too early for the way he was feeling. Aches had reported in all over his body, and he hadn't slept all that well, either, but at least Jenny had listened to him and gone home to her parents for a few days. If it was any longer than that and he knew it would take a lot of arguing to make her stay there.
He sighed. What he wouldn't give for an easy triple homicide around about now.
The doors opened and he straightened up, stepping out into an amount of hustle and bustle that the precinct hadn't seen for over a year. "Wow," he mouthed.
"Should you be here, Detective?" Lt Gabrielle Cleaves had managed to materialise at his elbow. "You look like something my cat used to occasionally bring into the house when I was small. Well, bits of something, anyway."
The facial bruises had come out more fully overnight, and the black eye, while not actually impeding his vision, was impressive. "Thanks."
She smiled at his dry tone. "You were blown up – it's allowed if you want to take a couple of days off."
"I'd rather keep myself busy," Ryan said firmly.
"You're not needed."
He watched a man in a dark suit cross in front of them from the bull pen into the lounge. "The Feds?"
"Yeah." They both stared through the glass into the 'war room'. "They were already here when I arrived this morning," she added. "God knows what time they set up."
The elevator doors opened behind them.
"Wow."
Ryan half turned to look at his partner, who had dropped him off then parked the car. "I just said that."
"Feds?"
"Uh-huh."
Gabrielle gazed at them. "You know why, don't you?"
"Us?" Ryan managed, despite the beaten-up nature of his face, to look innocent.
"You."
"Probably not much more than you, ma'am," Esposito said, trying his Latin charm.
She poked him in the chest with a sharp forefinger. "You call me ma'am again and Ryan won't be the only one with bruises."
"No, Lieutenant."
She shook her head. "Look, guys. I might only be caretaking, and any minute now the new Captain is going to walk in and I'll be out back to the 15th. But I want to help."
The partners glanced at each other, a whole library of unspoken words flowing between them, but it was Esposito who said, "All we know is that Hackett was killed with the same gun that shot Beckett."
Gabrielle's eyebrow lifted, ever so slightly. "How did you –"
"We ... uh ... hung around ballistics yesterday," Ryan admitted.
"Had to do something," Esposito added. "Since we're not on the case."
"Hmmn." She obviously didn't believe them. "Anyway, it's nothing to do with me anymore. I'm not high enough up the food chain to be in charge, so whatever happens next is out of my purview." She smiled, mischief in her eyes. "Although I get the feeling you're not exactly flavour of the month either."
"Oh?"
She nodded towards the stairs.
A familiar figure in high heels had appeared framed in the light. "You two. In here. Now." Jordan Shaw hooked a finger and strode into the break room.
"Think we're in for a spanking?" Ryan asked quietly.
"What do you care?" his partner countered, indicating the bruises and cast. "You've got a 'get out of jail free' card."
Gabrielle grinned. "Better get in there," she advised. "Somehow I don't think she's going to enjoy waiting."
