Chapter 26

In the morning, Beckett called in to take a personal day, in order to take Petra to Dr Maine. Castle could, of course, have done it, but Beckett felt that her daughter might prefer Beckett's brisk semi-sympathy to Castle's cotton-wool swaddling over-protectiveness.

She wasn't wrong. Petra saw her mother with a sigh of relief when she finally woke and creaked painfully down the stairs.

Beckett shoved the coffee pot under Petra's nose, remembered her bruises, and poured her a large mugful. "Breakfast?"

"Coffee," Petra muzzed. Beckett left the latest caffeine-addicted member of the family communing with the coffee which would start her brain cells up, and found the tube of Icy Hot. Petra was still in her robe, which argued that dressing had been either too painful or, pre-coffee, too complicated to attempt.

"Here," Beckett said. "David's at school, Dad's writing, I'm taking you to Dr Maine in an hour or so."

"Thanks."

"Food?"

"No, thanks."

Beckett left her to it, and worked through some e-mails on her laptop without demanding anything from Petra. The clatter of dishes on the counter told her that her daughter was done. "Leave it," she said. "You go put on some Icy Hot and then get dressed."

"'Kay." Petra trudged to the stairs and slowly ascended.

Beckett breathed slowly and deliberately in and out. Petra was clearly in a great deal of pain, but Beckett didn't want to give her anything before Dr Maine saw her – and could prescribe something a lot stronger. Petra, interestingly, hadn't asked – and also hadn't eaten. Clear thinking, for seventeen and in pain. Beckett checked her watch. Plenty of time to drive smoothly to Dr Maine's.

"I booked you with the car service," Castle said from behind her. "So you don't need to waste time parking. Call them when you're done and they'll collect you. She'll be fine once Dr Maine's fixed her up," he added hopefully.

"Thanks, babe," Beckett said, and stood up to hug him, leaning on his broad frame, drawing strength from his relentless optimism.

Petra creaked back down the stairs. "I feel like I'm ninety," she complained. "Everything hurts."

"It's always worse a couple of days afterwards – all the internal bruising."

"I'd rather neither of you got beaten up," Castle muttered. "You can take following in your mom's footsteps too far, you know." Beckett scowled at him. That was neither helpful nor true. Well, mostly not true. A bit not true. She scowled harder. His comments weren't helpful.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" Beckett asked. "I don't need to, obviously."

Petra looked woebegonely at her. "Please? I won't remember everything." She sighed. "I wanna be a cat."

"It won't hurt any less," Beckett sympathised, "but at least you can curl up on a cushion and sleep. And you won't be carted off to a vet without notice and given shots and" – she stopped.

"And?" Petra asked, scenting a story that she didn't know.

"Nothing," Beckett said firmly. Petra did not need to know about the microchip.

"But, Mom" –

"Nothing."

Petra pouted. Beckett gave her back a bland face. Fortunately, before Petra could interrogate further, Dr Maine called them in.

"Kate?" Dr Maine queried.

"Petra wanted me here to remember all the things she won't."

Petra nodded, cautiously.

"Okay, Petra, what happened?"

Petra relayed the full story. Dr Maine asked a few questions, and made some notes.

"Okay. Could you take off your t-shirt and pants, so I can do a proper examination, and I think we'll have that cast off in a few minutes – I'll take a new X-ray first, and then we'll get a proper one on."

Petra cast Beckett a please-help glance. Beckett carefully took off the t-shirt, before Petra struggled to her feet and slid the sweatpants down one-handed.

"Okay. Lie down."

Dr Maine's cool, competent hands conducted a gentle but thorough examination, pausing at Petra's ribs. "Hmmm," she said. "Does it hurt if you breathe deeply?"

"Bit."

"You might have a cracked rib. We'll have a better look with the X-rays."

Petra groaned. Beckett made a face. Broken or cracked ribs were a major pain.

"Okay. Kate, you go outside while I X-ray – minimise your own exposure."

Beckett went. A few moments later, she was invited back in. Petra was dressed again.

"Petra," Dr Maine said, "here are the X-rays. Arm first."

Petra looked like she was about to say rudely I can see that, but refrained. "Ugh," she said. Beckett whistled softly. "That's a bit of a mess."

"Having to travel didn't help. I think you'll need to be properly put back together – though luckily you won't need a pin or plate, I don't think. We will need to speak to a specialist orthopaedist. I don't want to speculate on whether a pin would change with you, so best to avoid it." She switched the X-ray. "Now, your ribs. Plural, young lady. Two cracked and one broken – would you care to explain a little better?"

"Likely it was the boots," Petra admitted. "I changed, but they took a few kicks at the cat."

Beckett winced. She remembered what boots to the ribs felt like. Not enjoyable at all.

"So, we don't tape your ribs up these days – haven't for years – but you should be very careful. No gym, no running, no strenuous exercise of any sort. You won't feel like it, anyway." Petra nodded. "The bruising will take a week or two to fade. You won't be wanting any photos for at least that long."

"That'll keep Matilda off our backs," Petra said sardonically.

Dr Maine ignored that comment. During her eighteen years' experience of the collective Beckett-Castles, she had generally found it better not to inquire into their more cryptic pronouncements. It kept her mind at ease.

"I'll prescribe you some more effective pain relief than Advil," she advised. "They'll knock you out, so don't take them till you're ready to sleep. That means after you've eaten, too. You're a good bit underweight. Try to put on a few pounds. No skipping meals," she ordered. "Even if you don't eat much, three meals a day. And snacks."

Beckett snickered. Dr Maine had occasionally dished out wincingly blunt advice to her too, usually after one of her more, um, robust arrests. It was nice to see it happening to someone else, though Petra's sucked lemon expression didn't indicate appreciation.

"Luckily, there's no other damage." Dr Maine sighed. "I'd like it if your family stayed out of trouble – meaning injuries – for a few months. Or years. Try peacefulness. It's really good for you. All of you," she emphasised, looking straight at Beckett, who made a little moue back at her over Petra's head. "Anyway, Petra, you can change to a cat but probably leave the panther for a week or so. Rest a lot, drink plenty of water, and eat well. I'll put a temporary, better cast on now, and call the orthopaedist today. I'll let you know when she can see you." Dr Maine smiled. "I hope it'll only be a day or two."

"Thanks," Petra said, echoed by her mother.

"Shall we get dim sum for lunch?" Beckett asked, wanting to give Petra something nice to think about despite her horrible bruising.

"Yes. I'm hungry – I think," Petra said. "And gallons of tea?"

"Sure."

"Wash down these painkillers," Petra noted, looking at the large pills disgruntledly. "I'm not a horse."

"Should you take them now? You don't want to fall asleep in your lunch."

"I hurt. I'll take one, and another when we get home."

While Petra struggled to swallow the pill, Beckett ordered all their favourite dim sum, and an enormous pot of jasmine tea. She was relieved that Petra was left-handed, since it was her right arm that she'd broken. Petra could use chopsticks just as well as ever.

And she did. Once she started eating, the dim sum disappeared. Then the second round did. Then a third. Just when Beckett half expected her daughter to explode, she stopped.

"That's better," she said. "Can we go home, though? I think I'm going to fall asleep in my tea."

Beckett, through a massive effort of will, didn't say I told you so. From her expression, Petra heard it all the same, but her jaw-breaking yawn prevented commentary. "We'll get a cab," Beckett said, and settled the check with some haste. Even so, by the time they got home, Petra was holding her eyelids open by main force and matchsticks, stumbled upstairs and was, Beckett thought, out cold in less time than it took for Beckett to take her coat off and hang it up. She herself went to find Castle.

"Hey," she murmured to his back, noting the frantically typing hands. He didn't hear her, which she'd expected. She converted herself to Onyx, and leapt into his lap, curling up and purring quietly. Castle in the grip of inspiration was impervious to everything up to and including a small nuclear device. Eventually, she knew, he'd come back to the real world. For now, she'd just doze, comfortably cat-shaped, on his lap.

"Oh, hey, love," Castle said, picking Onyx up and cuddling her against his shoulder. "How long have you been there?" He carried her out to the main room, and sat down on the couch. Onyx became Beckett. "Since after lunchtime," she said.

"Oh. How'd it go with Dr Maine?"

"In order of severity: the arm will need put back together properly by an orthopaedist – she'll call with details – two cracked ribs and one broken; and a lot of bruising. Nothing to be done for the ribs but time, the bruising will heal – and the arm shouldn't need a pin."

Castle had paled. "She really got worked over."

"The cat got kicked around."

"Where is she?"

"Took a pain pill before lunch – we went to Red Farm." Castle pouted. He loved dim sum. "And nearly fell asleep in her tea. I told her so," Beckett said smugly. "So she went straight to bed as soon as we got home and I came in and curled up on you."

"And slept."

"I didn't sleep well last night."

Castle curled his arm around her shoulders. "Worrier," he said affectionately, and then more seriously, "with good cause. She really shouldn't follow in your footsteps like that."

"I hope she won't," Beckett said forcefully, and then more slowly, "but whatever she wants to do, we won't be able to stop her."

"No. Just like your parents couldn't stop you."

Beckett took his hand. "Just as well. We might never have met."

"No, no. The universe would have ensured we met. It was fated. It would always have happened," Castle said happily. "In every possible universe you'd have succumbed to my ruggedly handsome charm. And the coffee."

"Oh, well. Now you mention the coffee," Beckett trailed mischievously. "That was the real reason. How about some?"

"Sure," Castle replied, and bounced up to make it. Beckett followed, still trying to spot the magic that made Castle's coffee so much better than everyone else's coffee. Castle insisted that it was simply made with love. Beckett publicly rolled her eyes, privately adored his sappiness, and continued looking for the mystery ingredient. In over twenty years, she hadn't found it yet.

David came bounding home from school, looked around, raided the fridge, and, still munching, ambled over to his parents. "Where's Petra?" he asked.

"Sleeping. Don't wake her."

"I'm awake," Petra said from the top of the stairs. She came down with care, wobbled over to the couch, sat down and promptly became a cat. The cast magically altered to fit her right fore-leg, much to everyone's amazement. Not to anyone's amazement, David converted to cat form and curled around his twin, stroking her gently with the massive plume of his tail before both of them shut their eyes.

The afternoon passed quietly. The twins dozed in cat form, Castle returned to writing, and Beckett curled up with a coffee and a good book.

A little after five, Beckett's phone rang.

"Beckett?"

"Kate, it's Alison Maine. I've spoken to the orthopaedist, and she can see Petra tomorrow at nine. Can you get her to Mount Sinai Beth Israel then? No breakfast, because if they need to operate they'll do it straight away. No food or anything other than water after nine tonight, please, but she can take a pain pill straight after dinner."

"Give me a moment? I'll just tell Petra." Beckett did. Petra agreed with a nod of her still-furry head. "Okay, that's fine. See you then – well, probably it'll be Castle." She had to go to work. She couldn't take a second unplanned day. Well, she could – but it would be bad for morale if she pulled too many favours. Not a good look at all. Still, she'd finish strictly at shift end and make sure her phone was on full charge in case of difficulties.

"Okay," Dr Maine said, relayed all the details, noted that she'd also e-mail them, and cut the call.

"We'd better have dinner quite soon," Beckett suggested, "so you can take a painkiller if you want to."

Petra's black head nodded, and then went back to resting on her paws, eyes shut. David, conversely, unwound himself from his comforting of his sister, jumped down, and then changed back to himself. "What's for dinner?" he asked.

"Chilli," Castle said. "Come and learn how to make it."

David followed his father to the kitchen. Petra stayed on the couch, Beckett stroking her lightly: comfort without hurting her. Petra managed a shallow purr, but nothing more.

"Dinner will be ready at six," Castle said cheerfully. Petra managed a twitch of ears and a tiny wave of her tail, and then relapsed into her imitation of a pure black puddle. Beckett continued to stroke gently. Petra would never ask for affection, but that didn't mean she didn't want some, or that Beckett wouldn't offer it.

David continued to learn how to cook. Despite the cleaning service, Beckett and Castle had insisted that the twins learn to do laundry, wash up (the dishwasher had been taped shut for a week) and keep their rooms moderately tidy. Shouting had ensued, mostly from the twins, but they'd learned. Fast. Neither parent would allow the twins to be useless around the house.

The boys returned to sitting down: chilli cooking slowly on the stove, rice steaming. Petra dozed, with an occasional shift of her tail or ears; Beckett read, and Castle and David played with their phones.

Dinner over, Petra gulped down two painkillers and, cast covered in plastic wrap, took a very brief shower and went straight to bed. David sloped off to communicate with his friends, and Castle opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses.

"There," he said. "I think we need it." His mouth turned down. "I don't like it when one of you is hurt."

"Nor me." She hugged him. "But we'll get through. She'll be fine. And you can look after her tomorrow, and that'll make you feel better. And her," Beckett added, though she was a little unsure how Petra would react to Castle's coddling. Petra, like Beckett herself, was more inclined to run off and recover on her own than allow her parents to fuss over her.

"Yeah. Are you sure I can't buy a boat-load of cotton wool to keep them in?"

"No cotton wool. No over-protecting. The only helicoptering you're allowed to do is play with that toy."

"This is not fair," Castle grumbled. "Alexis didn't say I helicoptered her, and she's just fine."

Beckett, remembering the spectacular fall out from Castle installing a tracker on Alexis's phone, raised an eyebrow, and reminded him.

"That's not fair!" he whined. "I made a mistake, and I 'fessed up."

Beckett grinned. "Yep, so don't do it now. Petra won't be as nice about it as Alexis was." Alexis hadn't exactly been nice. Petra would shred him, and then dance on the bloody gobbets. "Helicoptering is for pilots, not parents."

Castle pouted. Becket plopped a kiss on the pout, and then snuggled in and sipped her wine. "Let's have a nice quiet evening, with no alarums and excursions," she suggested. "I've had enough excitement for this week."

"Yeah," Castle agreed. "Definitely. Some nice wine and quiet snuggling is just what we need."

Beckett could get on board with that, every day of the week. She snuggled happily, and when the wine was finished, turned into Onyx and snuggled some more, with the added benefit of ear-fondling and consequent multiple orgasms. After that, they went to bed, where she returned the favour.

Castle woke with Beckett, and, in an effort to assuage some of his desire to cosset his daughter, made Beckett an excellent breakfast, which, flatteringly, she ate with an excellent appetite.

"Petra's not to eat anything," Beckett reminded him.

"Don't worry. David will finish it all off." Castle made sure that he had a reasonable amount of food, before the ravenous maw appeared.

Said maw bounded cheerfully down the stairs, caught his mother's meaningful glare at her coffee mug, and decided to keep the volume and quantity of cheer to a minimum until Beckett's coffee had started her be-nice-to-your-kids programme. Before he could attempt cheerfulness on Beckett, which never worked, Petra came slowly down the stairs.

"Can I have coffee?" she asked.

"No, sorry. Water only, in case they operate immediately."

Petra looked miserably at David's heaped plate, and more miserably at the coffee pot. "I'm hungry," she said.

"After you're done, I'll take you for food," Castle replied. "Your choice – within reason," he added swiftly, at the glint in her eye. David, unhelpfully, scarfed down another massive helping of breakfast before bounding back upstairs to get ready for school. Petra drooped, her stomach protesting its emptiness.

"I know I have to," she griped, "but I'm starving."

"Lots of food, afterwards," Castle consoled. "C'mon. Let's go."

Beckett gave her daughter a brief hug, and everyone left together, only to go their separate ways.

"How d'you feel?" Castle asked.

"Sore," Petra said, with a distinctly Beckettian flavour of how do you think, idiot? Castle decided not to ask further, just as he'd have backed off from Beckett herself using that tone.

They were directed to the correct consulting room, where the orthopaedist proved to be another in the Dr Maine model of reassuringly mature and sensible doctors.

"Do you need me in here?" Castle asked.

"No – but if I want you I'll ask."

Castle wanted to go in with her, but it wasn't going to happen. He pulled out his notebook and a pen, and prepared to occupy himself for a while.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers. Much appreciated.