Chapter Fourteen

A/N: Sorry for the delay...I'm back from vacation and finally have the right headspace where I can write. Thanks again for the wonderful words and for putting up with the wait.

"You know, Castle, you could go home. Get some proper rest. I don't like thinking that you're letting yourself go on my account," Beckett murmured sleepily from her bed. Castle, who had been sitting quietly next to-but not touching-her, shook his head.

"I'm not letting myself go. In fact, the stubble is just making me look even more ruggedly handsome, don't you think?" He smiled softly at her and she couldn't stop the corners of her lips from drifting upwards ever so slightly. It was the first time she'd looked even somewhat happy all day. Her room had been swarmed with doctors and nurses for many of her waking hours, each one checking her vitals, giving her more pain medication, scrawling notes on starch paper. To them, she was a case, not a person. The fact that Castle could still provide a modicum of comfort to her following all that was truly a miracle.

"I've been here like three days. You've been here three days. The difference is that I'm the patient and you're, well..." Partner? Significant other? Castle waited for her to finish the sentence but she let it dissipate into the air. He felt a lump grow in his throat and metastasize into his heart.

He had been patient these past three days. Beckett had shown no signs of wanting physical nor emotional contact with him and he had respected her wishes. The hospital psychologist had met with her once but had left the room incredibly disgruntled and had noted to the attending physician that he didn't feel "the patient" and he would "cooperate well together." Bullshit, Castle had thought. Kate's seen therapists before and been fine. It must be you. She certainly needed someone professional to talk to, someone that didn't have expectations for her.

Talk was maybe the operative word, though. Her urgings that he should go home were some of her first words in nearly twenty four hours. The rest of the time, she simply lay in bed, her eyes either closed or gazing at some far-off place. It broke Castle, really gnawed at him, that she was probably right back in those woods, six feet under, waiting for life, waiting for death. And what further did him in was that there was nothing he could do to help her. Except be there.

He was there.

When night fell, he made sure that he stayed awake as long as possible, just in case Kate had a nightmare. Surprisingly, though, she slept peacefully the whole time. A doctor had told him that maybe the bad dreams wouldn't start until much later, until she began to truly process what had happened. Still though, he kept his vigil.

He had failed her once. He wasn't about to do it again.

"You aren't mad at me, are you?" Beckett asked suddenly, bringing Castle back to earth. He frowned, not quite sure as to why she would ask such a question. Her eyes were shining...was that a tear on her lash?

"What? Kate, no. No. I'm not mad at you. Why would you think such a thing?" He leaned over and wiped the stray tear away. She twitched slightly at the contact and he pulled his hand away.

"I don't know, Castle, I don't know. But you just sit here all day and you don't say anything and normally you're talking all the time and now you're not." Her words came out rushed, as though the dam had finally burst and all her thoughts flowed freely from her mouth.

"I didn't think you wanted me to talk. I want you to have your space. But I'm here, you know, in case you do want to talk. Or if you want a hug. Kate, you know that I would rather be with you than be anywhere else. And now that you're back with me...I can't be apart from you for too long." Beckett gazed into his eyes, haunted, loving, and home. But then she blinked a few times and pulled herself from their depths.

"You don't have to change yourself just because all this happened," she muttered, casting her own eyes downward. "I don't want you to be different."

"I'm not different!" Castle blurted out, the stickiness of the lie coating his tongue. "I just thought the quiet would be best for you, you know? Because of all that's happened."

"I know what's happened!" Beckett exclaimed. "But don't change, Castle. Talk my ear off. Okay? Just talk." Anything to keep the demons away, anything to stop the memories of the dirt smothering her body, of the knife running through her flesh, of his body in hers. Anything, Castle. Anything. Just talk. Please, stay the same because everything's different and I'm different.

But she didn't say all that. She just asked him to talk. About anything-not that-but everything else.

He talked about their case with the dead magician. If only Zalman Drake could come back from the ether and cast all of this into his disappearing box, he found himself wishing.

Alakazam, feelings.

Sometime later, two FBI agents filed into Beckett's room, relatively unannounced. Neither one appeared particularly friendly. Noticeably missing was Agent Jordan Shaw. Castle had figured that if anyone were to handle this case, it would be her or even Will Sorenson, but apparently the Bureau didn't really give a damn about personal connections its agents had to victims. Victims? Had he truly thought that in his head? Kate's not a victim. She's not.

"We're here to get your statement," the taller agent said briskly to Beckett, who seemed troubled at the sudden appearance of strangers in her room.

"Excuse you? I don't know if she's ready to talk about this," Castle stated, standing up and facing the feds. "Can her statement not wait until she's had more time?"

"We're going to need an account from you too, Mr. Castle. Jerry Tyson and Connor Doran were found dead in the woods and you were the last person who saw them alive. I know you told the officers that Doran was killed by Tyson and then you offed Tyson in self-defense, but we're still going to need a statement, all right?" The other agent was no kinder, no less harsh.

"Yeah, you can have my statement, but I don't think Kate should give hers now," Castle asserted, moving to position himself in front of Beckett's bed, as though he was protecting her from the agents, from what had happened to her, from everything.

"It's not really up to you, is it though, Mr. Castle?" The first agent sighed. "Look, we need these statements. We aren't insensitive to Detective Beckett's situation, but as she is herself a law enforcement officer, she should know better than most that the longer we hold off on this, the worse off we all are. She's been here three days, so we're already a tad behind the eight-ball."

"But how is it worse for everyone if we wait? Tyson is dead, Doran is dead."

"We still have to document all this. We have to make sure that neither of you are accomplices in anything. It's only because there was a mix-up with files that we didn't get your statement earlier, Mr. Castle. We have to make sure you weren't part of her abduction." There. Finally. At least someone had said the word.

"I would never hurt her," Castle promised the agents. "You can be sure of that."

"Good. Prove that when we talk to you. But first, we need to talk to Detective Beckett. Please wait outside her room. We don't want you to influence her answers." Still grumbling, the writer left his post. He stood resolutely by her door, listening to the murmurs of the agents. Their hushed voices clearly indicated to him that they knew he would be eavesdropping. Douchebags, he scowled inwardly.

And then he heard Kate scream. It was loud, piercing, crescendoing into a zenith of sheer pain, of naked torment. Panic filling him, he rushed into the room.

She was sitting in the middle of her bed. And she was crying. Tears were creating an oasis in the center of her sheets. A pool of bad memories, of bloodstains and scars and thrusts and breaths that wouldn't come.

"What the hell is going on in here?!" Castle bellowed, rushing to Kate's side.

"Someone asked the wrong question." The shorter agent glared at his partner. "You were right. She's not ready." But Castle couldn't be happy that he was right.

"Shhh, shhh, Kate. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay." It was all he could think to say. His hand tucked some errant strands of hair behind her hair. She didn't jerk away from his touch this time.

"C-Castle...come here," she whispered, her voice broken and tortured. Somberly, Castle climbed into her bed. He kept his body completely still as she approached him and laid her head on his shoulder. When she seemed comfortable, he dared to wrap his arms around her, doing it slowly so she had enough time to tell him to stop. But she didn't.

"It's okay," he assured her again, even though it wasn't, it wasn't okay at all. "You don't have to talk about it yet." He kissed her hair.

"I...I can't," she breathed. Castle felt her tears leaking into his shirt. "I can't."

"Someday. Someday maybe you can."

"Maybe." The doubt lingered in her tone.

"Do you want me to talk? Like I did before?"

"Words aren't enough this time."

They sat in silence. A silence as loud as screams.