A/N: Thank you for reading.

Chapter 14: And I Sleep Like A Baby

Previously…

"You know this is healed, right? I'm all better now," she tells Castle, finding him sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed and his hands pressed between his thighs. He's still dressed.

He looks up, glancing sideways at her where she stands a few feet away from him, gorgeous long legs stretching up from perfect bare feet until they disappear beneath the hem of his shirt.

He nods, but doesn't say anything.

"Rick, say something, please?" she asks, biting her lip.

She thinks he sees her as damaged, with a scar between her breasts and another, larger, uglier one he has still to see cutting a swathe across her ribs.

He thinks he is still partially responsible for her injury, for her almost dying. Both of them are wrong.

"I'm sorry," is all he can summon. He shakes his head, looking at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Kate."

Kate frowns. "Wait a minute. What are you saying? What exactly are you apologizing for?"

He looks up at her again, eyes forlorn, dulled by guilt and sorrow, radiating the apology he's just offered her. Then his gaze slowly drops back down to the partially obscured scar between her breasts.

"This?" asks Kate, coming closer, roughly tugging the shirt down so that her scar is fully visible. "Castle, we've been through this. It's…it's just part of our history," she tries to assure him.

"No…no, we were apart for most of that," he insists, with a flare of such pain in his eyes.

Kate sits down on the edge of the bed beside him and lays a hand on his arm. "You were there for the only part that mattered. I held on because of you. And if I could go back in time and change things, I would. You know that."

"I just…I—" He's floundering.

"Castle, look at me."

He turns his head, but keeps his gaze lowered.

"We can't change the past. Nobody can. We've both made mistakes that have hurt each other. The only way we can stop that happening from now on is to look forward. Believe me, I have spent half a lifetime looking back, wondering what if… It changes nothing. It just leads to frustration and disappointment, and worse than that…looking back makes you miss what's right in front of you."

Castle lays his hand on her bare knee. His large palm and fingers swamp her thigh. He smooths his thumb over her patella, circling round and round the flat ridge of bone, watching the slow, gentle movement as he does so. His touch, the repetition, it's hypnotic.

Kate watches him too – how carefully he touches her, how reverently. And it's such a change, such a departure from the brash, playboy millionaire she met all those years ago. A man she had no idea would become her best friend and the man she would fall in love with, a man she had no idea she would come to trust with her darkest secrets, to trust with her life.

"I don't want to miss out on another second of this, what we can be together if we try. Do you?" she asks, quietly.

Castle finally looks up at her, still a little melancholy around the edges as he nudges her shoulder with his own.

"Get into bed. I'll join you in a minute," he tells her, with a departing squeeze of her hand, before he stands and heads off to the bathroom to perform his own nighttime ritual.

Kate surveys the bed with her hands on her hips. The butt shaped dent Castle made in the comforter is on the right hand side. His watch lies on the nightstand on that side too. So it doesn't take any of her mad Detective skills to figure out which side of the bed she should therefore be climbing into. She looks around for something to read while she waits for him. This is so far beyond awkward – too much talking and not enough action, she suspects. They are where they are, but all the awkward moments are making her antsy, and she needs something to read to take her mind off the man on the other side of the bathroom door.

She finds a copy of Scientific American lying open on the dresser, pages folded back in an untidy curl around the spine. It's a special collectors edition…on Dinosaurs! She grins, looking down at the page her partner has ceased open: 'Wild Beluga Whales Pass Hearing Test'. She shakes her head in amusement as she takes the magazine to bed with her while Castle finishes flossing…or whatever he's currently doing in there.

There's a large candle, a hollow melted into its core, sitting on the nightstand on what will be 'her' side of the bed. Kate stares it down for a second. Firstly, because she's not sure what message she'd be sending out by lighting it, and secondly, because she's suddenly wondering who it was lit for last – what romantic interlude her partner might have engaged in, and with whom, that would require the help of candlelight in his bedroom to stage the scene.

She squares her shoulders, blows out a breath and reaches for the small box of restaurant matches lying beside the candle. They both have pasts. There is no getting around that fact when you reach their age and stage in life. They've pretty much lived out their lives in front of one another for the last four years anyway, so it's not as if there are many surprises left lurking beneath the surface. She had just assumed Castle had remained single since he broke up with Gina. But he's a desirable guy in so many ways – fun to be with, handsome, sexy, a good conversationalist, well-informed, kind, and rich; a real catch if you're most women. A stab of jealous burns in her chest as she strikes the match and it flares to life. She holds it to the charred wick of the candle until it catches and then she blows out the match, carefully placing it on the dish the candle sits in.

She left Castle to assume she spent all those weeks of her recovery, all that time that she abandoned him, alone with Josh. He assumed that she chose Josh over him. If the roles had been reversed, would she have forgiven him so easily? She knows the answer, she just doesn't want to confront it right now. So she goes to the dresser and she brings the two glasses of sweet wine over, along with the bottles of water, and then she prepares to get into bed.

The comforter is thick and heavy, and she folds it down along with the sheet below, and slides beneath both, feeling the cool, sinful, luxurious glide of fine linen against her bare legs as she slides them all the way down the bed. The mattress is firm, the pillows plentiful, and she settles in comfortably to wait for him.

The issue of her scar was a little uncomfortable. But she's known for a long time that it would be a source of fascination for him. He never got a chance to see it after she was shot, and if the magazine she's currently holding proves anything, her partner is a man of many fascinations, mostly for the weird, the strange and the absurd. So a healed bullet wound, no matter that this is her body we're talking about, would always be a source of curiosity to him. She's pretty comfortable in her own skin, always has been, secure in her physical strength and her ability to turn the head of any man she chose to target, so she quickly lets it go.

Kate is halfway down a 'Fact or Fiction' article entitled: 'People Swallow 8 Spiders A Year While They Sleep', when she finally hears the bathroom light click off and the door creak open.

Castle emerges from the en suite still wearing his jeans and the pale blue cashmere sweater from earlier. The shirt he intends sleeping in lies folded at the bottom of the bed, ensuring a floorshow of a kind is about to take place for which Kate has a front row seat. She squirms slightly, trying to look casual and relaxed in her partner's bed, wondering why she hadn't just grabbed him and kissed him senseless earlier when she had the chance to ease some of the uncomfortable tension that's been building between them ever since.

Castle stops just inside the bedroom to admire Kate Beckett in his bed; one of his shirts falling off her shoulder, her hair loose, her knees drawn up to her chest as she pretends to read something.

It's a magnificent sight, and he stands there taking mental snapshots of the scene, while wondering how something so awful as finding out that she lied to him for months could have ended up leading to a conclusion so wonderful, even if he is feeling more than a little out of his depth after that speech about her scar. He feels like an insensitive idiot for drawing attention to it at all. Not his smoothest moment ever, and with the one woman he's literally been trying to seduce for years. He could smack himself. Time to make amends.

Castle clears his throat and Kate's head flies up. "You know, when Alexis was a little girl she had eczema and it used to keep her up at night…not so much the scratching, as her fear that it made her different from her friends."

Kate arches one perfectly plucked eyebrow and sets the magazine aside. "Is that your idea of a bedtime story, Castle, because if it is, I can understand why your daughter couldn't sleep?"

Castle chuckles at Kate's humorous, yet acerbic, remark. "It's my clumsy way of saying I'm sorry if I made you feel anything less than beautiful. Even for a second. These scars…they're a part of you that I'm sure we both wish weren't there. Not because of how they make you look…you're…well, you look perfect to me. But because of the trauma you went through when they happened."

He sits down on the bed beside her, still dressed, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back against the headboard.

Kate looks down at her hands, twisted in the sheets. Until he said it, she didn't think it was important if he saw her differently. Now she knows she was kidding herself if she thought his opinion of her didn't matter more than that of everyone else. "Do you really mean that?" she asks, giving him a shy, sideways glance.

"Well, it's not as if I had to spin you a line to get you into bed," he points out, playfully nudging her shoulder.

Kate lets out a loud guffaw at that, her shoulders shaking, and Castle joins in too when he sees how well she takes the humorous remark. "For that I should get up and go home," she tells him, still laughing.

"Oh, no, please don't," begs Castle, putting on his best little-boy pout.

"You going to sleep like that?" she asks, looking down at his jeans, pale, neatly manicured feet sticking out from the ankles.

"Mm. I'll just get changed," he agrees, easing himself back out of bed, while Kate watches him through lowered lashes; a little revenge after enduring years of his creepy staring.

He chats to her as he unbuttons his jeans, something funny and inconsequential about his mother, a Bloody Mary and the maître d' at Balthazar, though Kate's too distracted to pay attention properly. She's trying to walk the fine line of watching her partner undress while appearing as if she's not watching her partner undress.

Her game face fails utterly when she hears his jeans hit the bedroom floor in a jarring tinkle of belt buckle, designer denim and loose change. There's nothing she can do to prevent herself from looking up, and he catches her at it, a slightly surprised grin creeping across his face.

"Like what you see, Beckett?" he all but crows, lifting his jeans off the floor to fold them.

Kate rolls her eyes and slowly shakes her head, an unbidden smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Thought as much," Castle adds, making her snigger helplessly. She just can't seem to help herself now her secret is out; no point pretending she doesn't like him anymore. He always could see right through her anyway.

He's wearing sharp navy boxer shorts with a little gold bee motive scattered all over. Kate fights the urge to smile at his underwear by biting the inside of her cheek, giving her face a lopsided look.

"Taking my sweater off now," he warns her, turning away to face the wall, as if modesty were his default position. Modesty has never been a word in Richard Castle's lexicon; it's all for show…or not for show, as it turns out.

"You're an idiot," Kate tell him, shaking her head again, dragging her eyes back down to focus on the magazine, while uncomfortably aware that her partner is shirtless just feet in front of her and all she really, really wants do to is stare until her eyes water and go blurry.

"Last chance, Kate," he sings, lifting the t-shirt off the bed and slowly shaking it loose.

Kate dumps the magazine on the bed and boldly looks up at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"There. I'm looking," she tells him, her mouth suddenly watering as she takes in the full magnificence of his muscular torso, his broad shoulders and well-defined biceps. She attempts to be brazen about looking, as if seeing him half-naked does nothing for her. But she fails miserably, because that would mean another lie and they're past that, if they know what's good for them. "Very nice," she adds quietly, giving him a bashful smile of satisfaction.

"There. That wasn't so bad," crows Castle, pulling a Green Lantern t-shirt over his head and finally, sadly, covering up his spectacular body.

"I thought you were tired," hums Kate, smoothing down the pages of the magazine, suddenly not tired in the slightest herself.

"I was thinking of you," he tells her, giving her a long, pointed look, killing it with the quirk of his eyebrow and the twisted smirk of his mouth.

She should wipe that smirk right off his face. "So chivalrous" she purrs instead.

The snipe, snark and tease of this back and forth is welcomingly familiar, and somehow it's helping, even if the things they're joking about go beyond their usual boundaries.

Castle pads closer to the bed and Kate tries to force her body to relax again. They're spending the night together because he asked her to stay with him, because life is moving on for them, because this is who they are now, even if they are the only two people in on the joke at this point, even if it's still taking a lot of getting used to. She loves him. They'll get there eventually.

He eases back the covers and Kate waits for him, her hands clasped in her lap as the mattress dips when he lowers himself down beside her.

She waits until he's settled, a good thirty seconds of bouncing and fussing and pillow thumping, before she swivels towards him – and how are they even in bed together, like this is some kind of NYPD sponsored sleepover.

"This guy Smith—"

"Oh, come on, Kate!" groans Castle, dropping his head into his hands.

"What? I just want to know how much you know about him and when he last contacted you."

Castle turns away from her, the muscles in his back flexing and bunching beneath his t-shirt. He reaches over to turn out the lamp, thumps his pillows hard and then flops onto his side with his back turned to her. "Good night, Beckett. Try to get some sleep."

"You're ignoring me now?" she asks the unmoving curve of his spine, the breadth of his shoulders.

"Trying to."

"But I'm…I mean, we're—"

"What?" he snaps in utter frustration.

"I lit a candle," she offers, feebly, trying to make peace.

"To whom? The patron saint of lost causes?"

Kate winces. "Don't be like that."

"Like what? Pissed that the first time we share a bed together the only think you can think to ask me is about the case? Hard to not feel used, Beckett."

Anger flares in Castle as guilt rises in Kate. Then a heavy silence settles between them. Neither of them is up for a fight, but they can't seem to get themselves together long enough to move things forward with any amount of grace or finesse.

Kate turns to her nightstand and reaches for her own glass of sweet wine. The rich, honey-nectar scent has been teasing her senses since she got into bed and she uses it to draw Castle back to a civilized mood again.

"Knowing you, this is something pretty rare and expensive. Shame to see it go to waste," she says, hovering his glass within his eye line.

Castle sighs loudly and flops onto his back. "Only if we drop the other thing until morning?" he bargains, eyeing her suspiciously.

"You have my word. Now drink," she instructs, smiling when he begins to raise himself up again, biceps bulging beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt as he hoists himself back to a sitting position.

This time they do clink glasses, though a quietly muttered 'cheers' is all they come up with by way of a toast. The rich, sticky liquid coats Kate's throat and warms her body from the inside out, quickly making her feel loose and slightly more relaxed. The candle's fast burning wick snaps and crackles by her elbow and the flame shimmers, sending dancing shadows out across the ceiling of the bedroom.

"So…" he begins, with a languorous drawl, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge.

"Don't joke, Castle. I couldn't handle it right now," she warns him, nerves like tiny champagne bubbles rising inside her stomach, making her feel like a terrified teenager, suddenly alone in an upstairs bedroom at a house party with her first crush, unsure how to make the first move.

'Make your mind up', is what he wants to say. "Wouldn't dream of it," is what comes out instead.

"I—" She sighs, dropping her free hand down on the comforter on her side. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" asks Castle, sipping his wine.

"Lots and lots of things."

"Care to be a little more specific?"

"I've probably said enough," she answers, enigmatically.

"Please tell me there isn't more?" asks Castle, a look of concern in his eyes when she happens to glance his way.

"More what?"

"To apologize for."

"There's always more to apologize for," says Kate, taking another long sip of her wine. "Such is life."

"Spoken like a woman who is weary of relationships."

"No. Spoken like a woman who has let herself and other people down one too many times."

"I think you need to cut yourself a little slack."

"Didn't expect to hear that coming from you."

"Why? You don't see me as the forgiving type?"

"No, the opposite actually. I think you can be a little too forgiving at times." She's thinking of herself. Mainly she's thinking of herself - of all the times she kept him hanging, hurt him in little, undermining ways, knowing it wouldn't stop him coming back for more.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Deep-fried Twinkie," she murmurs, with a purse of her lips.

"What?" squawks Castle, angling himself round to face her.

Kate pushes on. "I lit the candle by the bed."

"Yeah, you said. Doesn't seem to be helping the mood any."

"You often light candles when you're…I don't know…reading?" she asks, flicking her eyes over towards the guttering flame.

Castle looks lost, confused, like he knows this is a riddle, but for the life of him cannot work it out. "I…I don't light candles when I'm on my own as a rule, no."

"Oh," utters Kate, softly, another stab of jealousy arrowing through her. When he's on his own.

"In fact, the only reason that candle is even there is because of the blackout a couple of weeks ago. Almost broke a toe in the dark trying to find the damn thing, so I figured it might be safer to keep one handy just in case," he explains, watching her face to see if his truthful explanation is the answer she's looking for.

Kate swallows, relief flooding through her. "In case of what?" she asks mechanically, her mind concentrating on certain other things, like his mouth. Lips she knows are soft and a tongue he proved is talented and hungry when they—

"Of another blackout," replies Castle, as if she is stupid or not listening, and right now there's a chance that it's both.

Kate nods. "Blackout. Right," she smiles, too brightly. "Of course."

"Beckett are you okay? You seem a little—"

"Kiss me?" she blurts, breathlessly, twisting away to put her glass down on the nightstand before he can even think to answer.

When she turns back to face him, her cheeks are stained pink, her breathing short and jerky, pupils dilated. Her heart is hammering in her chest and her partner is staring at her as if…well, as if he maybe wants to kiss her too.

"Are you sure?" asks Castle, setting his own glass aside, his eyes never leaving hers.

Kate nods, hypnotized.

TBC...