Author's Note: Fair warning that this chapter might be rated a strong-T. I hope no one minds….

Nothing Lost

Chapter 49

Kate lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. By this point, she had memorized the look of it, could find unerringly the faint small crack in the paint by the corner, knew the way the shadows played along the ceiling from the way the moonlight outside filtered through the curtains.

She supposed it was irrational but she swore the house seemed quieter than it had been on previous nights—bigger even. Oh fine, no, she knew she was imagining that part of it. It was only the consciousness that she and Castle were alone in the house now that made the house seem bigger, as if the silence echoed.

Alexis and Martha had left to return to the City a week ago so Alexis could spend the last few weeks before Ashley left for Stanford with him and Martha had cited obligations at her acting school. They had promised to return to the Hamptons in another couple weeks, once Ashley had left, but for the moment at least, they were once again settled in the City (much to Castle's dismay, making a show of pouting when they'd announced the plan and then moping for at least a day after Alexis had left.)

And then yesterday, her dad had left to return to the City too since the leave he'd obtained to take care of her was about to end. He had offered to see about getting his leave extended and staying longer but Kate had assured him he had already given up more than enough of his summer to cater to her and she no longer needed such constant care anyway. Her dad had, after some reluctance, agreed, noting with a meaningful smile that he was sure he was leaving her in good hands with Castle anyway. Kate had tried unsuccessfully not to blush but had to agree.

She'd had two weeks of physical therapy so far. The first week had been grueling and each session had left her sore and spent and even on the days in between sessions, she'd been exhausted, feeling about as limp as a rag that had been wrung out. But fortunately, the second week had been a little easier. Each session still left her achy and not able to do much else for the remainder of the day but she felt better on the days in between sessions, was able to do more and feeling almost like her usual self. And the weekends provided a two-day respite in between sessions, giving her more recovery time.

She hadn't heard from Agent Shaw yet and the silence, the wait, the helplessness was grating on her. It had always been hard for her to relinquish control, to let anyone else act in her place, and when it came to her mom's case, it was torturous being so helpless and left so much in the dark. But she knew, had grudgingly accepted that she had to—if only because she knew her mom's case was too personal for her, clouded her mind and her judgment—and she sternly resisted every urge she had to call Agent Shaw to ask what was going on and how much longer it would be. She refused to sound like some whiny child asking 'are we there yet?' She'd been a cop for long enough that she knew that investigations, especially ones as complicated and wide-ranging as this one was, rarely happened according to a set timetable and she could appreciate that Agent Shaw was putting in the time and the work to ensure an air-tight case. Jordan Shaw was a good Agent, probably one of the best out there.

And Kate reminded herself for approximately the millionth time, as Agent Shaw had mentioned, the evidence of the cassette tied Bracken to her mother's murder but not necessarily to the others and those other victims—Diane Cavanaugh, Scott Murray, Jennifer Stewart and their families—deserved justice too. And so she would wait.

It seemed like all she did these days was wait.

She blew out a breath, shifting on her bed as if changing the angle at which she stared up at the ceiling would somehow change things.

Waiting for Agent Shaw to contact her and—at the moment what was nagging at her more—waiting for Castle.

She accepted and understood that the inhibiting presences of his daughter, his mother, and her dad—to say nothing of her own physical condition—had meant that he could hardly grab her and kiss her until she was breathless or touch her in any way other than the most chaste caresses.

But all that had been before. Before his daughter and his mother and then her dad left, leaving the two of them alone. Before she'd recovered as much as she had.

She wasn't fighting fit or ready to be cleared for active duty yet but her physical therapist had assured her on Friday that she would be fine if she essentially let her body be her guide, or in brief, if something hurt, she should stop, but otherwise, she could largely resume the everyday activities of normal life.

It wasn't exactly clearance to have sex again but it would do, especially since even Kate didn't quite feel up to asking her physical therapist outright if she could have sex again.

She hadn't told Castle but once her dad had left, she had thought, expected, that he would be more… affectionate, eager even.

She had joined him in the pool for the first time today—and she had to say, the sight of Castle in swim trunks was very… stimulating. (The first time she'd seen him swim she'd been very thankful for her sunglasses hiding the direction of her gaze as she stared and tried not to drool, a task made easier by the presence of Alexis, Martha, and her dad. Knowing she could only look and not touch had made her reluctant to stare too much, not being a fan of self-torture.)

Joining him in the pool today was supposed to have been a sign to him, if not an explicit invitation. Her dad had left, they were alone, and she was almost recovered. And he was Richard Castle after all, the man who'd been making innuendos since the day they'd met, who'd kissed her more times than she could count in the last couple months.

Instead—well, suffice to say that nothing today had gone as she'd planned or expected. He hadn't so much as touched her while they'd been in the pool, had reverted to behaving like the 9-year-old boy he had apparently never entirely outgrown, splashing water at her playfully until she'd had to retaliate and they'd engaged in a ridiculous, juvenile water war until they were both sputtering and breathless with laughter.

Afterwards, he'd retreated into his office for the few hours before dinner, claiming a need to write. After dinner, he had actually suggested another Temptation Lane marathon, surprising her, and she'd demurred so they'd ended up watching episodes of Star Trek instead.

It had been a good day, a fun day, just not a remotely romantic, let alone sexy, one.

And then when she'd finally felt the tiredness from the day creeping up on her and gone to bed, he had dropped a light kiss on her forehead—her forehead, of all places—as he wished her a good night.

She had been tired but once she was actually in bed, had not been able to sleep. Hence the staring at the ceiling. And wondering at Castle's behavior.

He had kissed her in the past few weeks—of course he had—but his kisses had always been more tender than passionate. She hadn't felt physical passion from him since… the cabin, weeks ago now.

He wasn't—he couldn't be—losing interest in her. Could he? No, she didn't believe that. She couldn't believe that.

But—she remembered again—even when they'd been lying in bed together the night they'd talked about her mom's case, he still didn't appear to have thought about sex at all, had remained focused on her mom's case. How had it come to this, that she was thinking about having sex with Castle when he wasn't?

But really, what more did he need, an engraved invitation to have sex?

Wait. What was she doing, just lying here, simply waiting for Castle to make the first move? She was Kate Beckett; she went after what she wanted, didn't just wait for it to be handed to her. And she wanted Castle.

She got up out of bed, pausing to glance down at herself with a grimace, feeling a twinge of something like doubt. She was really not prepared for a seduction of any kind. She was wearing yoga pants and a loose t-shirt, possibly the least sexy pajamas she had, and she didn't even have any of the sexy underwear or lingerie she owned with her. But then again, her scars were hardly appropriate to be showcased by sexy underwear anyway.

That wasn't a helpful thought either.

She lifted her chin. She didn't think Castle was that shallow and he already knew about her scars.

She spared a moment to be thankful, again, that they had the house to themselves as she quietly padded her way through the dark house, finding her way through the ground floor whose layout she was already very familiar with and up the stairs with the moonlight filtering in through the windows providing enough illumination.

His bedroom door was closed, unsurprisingly, and she didn't allow herself even a moment to question before she gave a quick, perfunctory knock before opening the door and slipping inside.

He wasn't asleep yet, the lights still on, and—oh… Oh yes. If she'd had any doubts about what she was doing, they vanished like a puff of smoke—or rather in a flash of lust—as her eyes found him, sitting upright in bed, a book on his lap. He wasn't wearing a shirt, his delectable chest—oh and his broad shoulders, flat stomach—entirely bare to her gaze.

"Beckett! You—what's wrong? What are you doing here?" He had jerked to bolt upright, his book falling closed on his lap, too surprised for him to even think of marking his place as he stared at her. He reached over unseeingly to place the book on the nightstand. "Do you need something?"

She managed a small smile, her mouth having abruptly gone dry, her pulse suddenly racing with a combination of nerves and lust. "I, um, wanted to ask you something." Oh smooth, Kate, she mentally kicked herself. As openers went, that was not inspired.

He blinked, looking a little confused. "Okay, and it couldn't wait until morning?"

He was adorable when he was confused. "No, it really couldn't. Do you want me?"

He choked on air, his eyes flying wide as he coughed and—she felt her spirits and her confidence lifting—his hands closing around his comforter, tugging it up higher in what appeared to be an unthinking gesture that managed to be both irritating and encouraging. "What?!"

She took a few steps closer to the bed, aware she was not dressed for this kind of scene—some slinky and easy-to-slip-out-of piece of nightwear would have helped—but oh well, needs must. "You heard me."

"I said I wouldn't push you and I won't, I'm not."

She reached his bed and sat on the edge of it, a thrill of confidence and lust rippling through her. "That wasn't what I asked."

"I've wanted you for more than two years, Kate. I can wait a few more weeks."

Oh, this man. Her heart softened as she abruptly understood exactly why he'd been so physically reticent—what she should have figured out sooner. Of course he wasn't about to make the first move. After all that had happened, she should have realized there was no way he ever would. Except she really wasn't used to a man who loved her so much, who cared so much more about her than he did about what he wanted, not just physically but in all aspects of life.

"I don't want you to wait. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You're still going to physical therapy and… I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me. Do you really think I don't know what I can handle?"

He winced slightly. "Well, you do tend to push yourself too hard."

She narrowed her eyes at him. He might have a point but really, now was when he chose to be so cautious and reasonable? "Well, if you're not interested, I could just leave…" she suggested, although she didn't actually move.

She let out a sound that was a mingled laugh and a small gasp as he lunged forward and grasped her arm.

"Stay."

Even so, he was gentle as he pulled her towards him and she willingly crawled up the expanse of his bed until she was sitting next to him.

But then the annoying man still didn't kiss her, only lifted a hand to cup her cheek. "Kate?" Even now, wanting to make sure she was sure.

"Shut up, Castle, and kiss me—"

He cut off the words with his mouth and she sagged into him and oh there—finally—was the passion she'd been missing as he tugged her closer, his lips and tongue claiming her mouth, hot and wet and eager.

His hands found their way beneath her shirt and she gasped a little into his mouth as a fresh wave of molten heat erupted low inside her stomach. They were still kissing greedily, almost frantically, until he broke off the kiss making her give a little whine of protest only to realize belatedly it was necessary for him to lift her shirt over her head.

Oh, right. The memory of her scars flitted through her mind but before any renewed doubt could settle, her shirt was gone and he was gently pulling her towards him and then they were somehow falling back onto his bed.

She ignored the faint twinge of discomfort, not quite pain, from the healing incision in her side and then forgot it in the next moment as Castle paused, lifting himself off her to stare down at her, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them, midnight blue and burning. A little shiver sizzled through her at the heat in his eyes—yes, he wanted her.

His eyes lowered to her chest and his expression changed, sobered, as he saw the mark the bullet had left. She had stopped breathing, watching, half-expecting some sign of… distaste, something, but then he was lowering his lips to press a kiss to the scar tissue between her breasts. She couldn't help but twitch, partly in sheer surprise and yes, self-consciousness.

"I know, it's ugly," she managed.

He lifted his head to meet her eyes squarely. "It's not; your scars are part of you, part of your story. They remind me how strong you are, how much you've been through and survived. They're proof of how extraordinary you are and that could never be anything less than beautiful. You could never be anything less than beautiful."

She felt stupid tears pricking at the back of her eyes. Seeing the look in his eyes, she felt beautiful, the last lingering doubts over her scars starting to dissipate.

"And incredibly sexy too," he added.

She choked on a laugh-oh such a Castle-like thing to do and say, to make her laugh at a tender moment. "Prove it," she managed to tease.

"Oh, I plan to," he murmured—and then he proceeded to do just that.

The rest of her clothes and his boxers seemed to disappear as if by magic—she certainly had no memory of where they went—and then it was just the two of them, together.

He explored, learned every inch of her body with his hands and then his lips, from her breasts to her stomach and then lower, pausing to pay special attention to the scar along her side and then to the tattoo on her hip, before proceeding on, lower still, until she was moaning and incoherent from the onslaught of pleasure. He took his time, was careful and loving and oh so good…

And then finally, oh, finally, he was sliding inside her and her gasp mingled with his groan.

"Kate…"

He momentarily lifted his head to meet her eyes and in his eyes, she saw an echo of all the months and years between them, the months and years of suppressed lust.

"I've wanted you for more than two years too," she admitted, not quite evenly.

"You are amazing," he breathed against her lips and then he was kissing her, deep and thorough, before he began to move and oh, that was the amazing part.

There was none of the awkwardness often associated with first times. He paid attention, every part of him attuned to every part of her, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan. She felt his attention, his concentration, physically, emotionally, even spiritually—this was what it was to make love.

She clung to him, her hands exploring his shoulders and back, as she urged him on and it wasn't long before he was shuddering and groaning and she cried out as the pleasure surged, cascaded over her in a tidal wave of bliss so intense she lost awareness of everything except for him.

He slumped over her and she wrapped her arms around him, hazily relishing in the feel of his skin beneath her hands, but he didn't stay there for long, rolling onto his back beside her.

Her eyes drifted closed, savoring the blissed-out laxness of her body, and she was only peripherally conscious of the shift of the mattress as he left the bed. Mm, that had been… incredible…

She felt tiredness pulling her towards sleep and only momentarily roused as he returned to the bed, sliding beside her and bringing her in against his side.

She dropped a lazy kiss on his shoulder before nestling her head on it.

"Are you okay? Not hurting?"

She nuzzled his shoulder, pressing another butterfly kiss to his skin. "'m good," she mumbled. "So good. Night, Castle."

She was vaguely of him pressing a kiss to her temple and then, that was the last she knew as sleep claimed her.

A renegade ray of sunlight snuck beneath Kate's lashes and woke her up the next morning, blinking as she realized she'd turned her face away from Castle and towards the window in her sleep. That had been silly of her. Her eyes fell on the clock on his nightstand and she wrinkled her nose. Just a little after 6 a.m., definitely too early to be waking up, even if she had slept well and peacefully. Apparently, sleeping beside Castle was an effective talisman against nightmares. She supposed she would just need to keep sleeping beside him. A hardship to be sure but a sacrifice she was willing to make, she thought with an inward smile.

She turned to look at Castle, sacked out on his back, sleeping luxuriously, one of his arms serving as her pillow and still loosely curved around her and the other flung above his head. He looked younger now with his features utterly relaxed, even with the morning stubble darkening his cheeks and chin.

Her body had stiffened up a little as she slept and she shifted carefully, remembered pleasure echoing in the aches and twinges she felt. Somewhat more aches and twinges than she should be feeling, even after her long dry spell, and she grimaced. She wasn't normally so exhausted after sex that she would fall asleep so quickly either. So she might not have been quite as fully recovered for this kind of activity as she'd thought. Not that she'd been wrong exactly; she wasn't hurt or in actual pain.

But still Castle might have had more of a point than she'd wanted to admit in his caution and saying she pushed herself too hard. Irritating as it was to admit. She couldn't think of another man on the planet who would have said such a thing to her face—even her dad was more likely to be indirect about it and he was the only other possible candidate for that kind of bravery. And under the circumstances last night, yeah, she was sure there wasn't another man on the planet who would have said such a thing to her. But Castle had and it occurred to her that not only did he know her well but he was also brave enough and strong enough to protect her even from her own self, if need be. It might be a little annoying but it was also... a gift to be known and understood like this. A relief from loneliness at a fundamental level. There was healing in it, and joy, and also truth.

Her eyes lowered to his chest, left deliciously bare with the sheets pushed down to his navel, and she felt tendrils of anticipation and desire wriggle through her. She wanted to return the favor and explore every inch of him as he had her. She slid cautiously closer to him, closing the small gap in between them, only to make a face at the renewed awareness of her mild achiness, the twinges she felt. And, she remembered, today was Monday so she had a physical therapy appointment. Damn. She grudgingly accepted that she might have to wait a little longer to be able to appreciate Castle's body the way she wanted to.

Well, she could still sleep with him, both literally and in the euphemistic sense. She carefully shifted just the tiniest bit closer until she was tucked against his side, her face tucked against his shoulder, and let herself doze again.

Her pillow was moving. Kate cracked her eyes open, consciousness returning to her as she realized that her "pillow" was Castle's shoulder as he shifted and grunted a little and then blinked his eyes open, glancing around until his eyes met hers.

The look on his face when he saw her, the light that entered his eyes, the smile that curved his lips—she was sure Castle could no doubt have described it in some way befitting his status as a writer but Kate was not a writer and all she could think was that she'd never seen such a look on anyone's face before. She felt heat flush her cheeks. "Hi," she greeted, inanely.

His smile deepened slightly at the corners. "Hi," he echoed, his voice husky from sleep—sexy, she couldn't help but think, a little shiver of fresh want rippling through her. "So it wasn't a dream."

She bit the inside of her lip to hold back a ridiculous urge to giggle—giggle, her! "No, not a dream."

He blinked, his smile fading as he sobered. "And you're still okay, not hurt or anything?"

She opened her lips on the automatic response that she was fine but then stopped. No, she'd said she would be more honest, more open, and this was part of that. "I'm a little sore," she admitted but hurried to add, "but it's no big deal, really. It's just been a while. And besides, it was worth it."

A smirk tugged on his lips. "Oh, was it, now?" He waggled his brows. "So, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being—well, we don't need to get into that since it's not relevant—and 10 being mind-blowingly awesome, how would you rank it?"

Oh damn, she'd forgotten her cardinal rule: don't feed the Castle ego. And why oh why couldn't she find that helpful irritation at his smugness when she could use it? "Nope, not answering."

"But Beckett, you can't leave my poor fragile masculine ego hanging like that," he whined, trying to look pitiful.

She snorted. "Your ego is anything but fragile, Castle."

He affected a sigh. "You could be nicer to me, you know."

"I could," she acknowledged, "but where's the fun in that?"

"I'll make you coffee if you tell me," he wheedled.

She laughed, a rush of affection—love—welling up in her chest for this amazing, ridiculous man. It shouldn't have been possible to combine such little-boy ridiculousness with mouth-watering sexiness but somehow he managed it. Laughing while lying naked in bed together talking about their first night together—she would never have expected it but on second thought, it did seem fitting. She leaned in to drop a light, teasing kiss on his nose. "Nice try but you know you'll make me coffee anyway."

He tried and failed to hold onto a disgruntled grimace. "Well, yes, but only because I know holding your coffee hostage would only end with tears of pain, from me, that is."

She kissed him again lightly, on the lips this time, because she could and, well, she wanted to. "Smart man, you're learning. If you're good, I'll see if I can think of a way to make it up to you later." She might not be fully recovered quite yet and she wasn't thrilled to know her physical therapy later today would probably exhaust her but she wasn't an invalid. She was sure she could find ways to be… creative.

He smiled and it was his turn to press a quick, brief kiss to her lips. "I think that's my cue to start on making coffee."

He pushed himself upright while she lingered in bed, enjoying the view of his strongly-muscled back and shoulders. "Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"After breakfast, I was thinking I could pack up my room downstairs and you could help me move my stuff up here."

He tossed a smirk at her. "How presumptuous of you, Beckett, to just invite yourself to move into my room."

She swatted his arm. "Shut up, Castle."

He made a show of cringing out of her reach. "Okay, fine, you can move in." His smirk softened into a smile. "Everything I have is at your disposal, including me."

"I just really like your mattress," she deadpanned.

"Aha, I knew my cunning plan to have the most comfortable mattress in the house would succeed sometime!" he declared.

Silly man. "Weren't you going to make coffee?"

"I will, I will," he hurriedly promised and promptly disappeared into the en suite bathroom.

Kate took advantage of his absence to gingerly slide out of bed herself, grimacing a little at the renewed aches that movement brought on. And of course, she hadn't brought anything with her so she had to slip her pajamas back on to return downstairs since even with the house to themselves, she wasn't comfortable at the thought of traipsing through the house naked. Well, that would be remedied later. For now, she could leave Castle to his morning ablutions and attend to her own downstairs.

She found Castle in the kitchen after she'd showered and dressed and for just a moment, it was almost as if the last night hadn't happened and today was just like another morning, as if they were still in a mostly-chaste relationship, but then he immediately slid an arm around her waist, bringing her in against his side as he bent to give her a thorough and leisurely kiss that left her blinking up at him when he finally lifted his head.

"Because I didn't get to do that earlier," he explained lightly. No, this was certainly not like any other morning; it was better, much better.

She smiled and lifted her face to kiss his now clean-shaven chin. "Good morning to you too."

"It certainly is a good morning, a great morning. The sun is brighter, the air fresher, the ocean bluer."

"Leaning into the pathetic fallacy, aren't you, Castle?"

"You are so hot." He paused. "Speaking of being hot—"

"With a lead-in like that, I'm nervous where this is going," she interjected teasingly.

"You have a tattoo."

Oh, she knew where this was going. Should have guessed it, with his curiosity.

"Can I ask, what's the story behind it?"

She tried for a faint smile but failed and he noticed, his own smile fading.

"You don't have to tell me," he offered.

That prompted a slight curve of her lips since she knew how hard it was for him to suppress his curiosity. Oddly, his very willingness not to push made it easier to open up to him. "It's for my mom," she managed.

His eyes softened, one of his hands rubbing her back in slow soothing circles.

"It's from a quote she liked, from Sojourner Truth."

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze momentarily going unfocused in a look she recognized as when he was trying to remember something and she knew too the moment he remembered it as his gaze cleared, his posture changing. She knew him well too, didn't she? "'Truth is powerful, and it prevails,'" he quoted softly.

She smiled slightly, her mind hearing an echo of her mom's well-remembered voice saying those same words. "Exactly." She sobered, the memory of the day, the circumstances, of getting the tattoo returning to her. The quote distilled down to two words: Truth prevails. "I had the tattoo done on the first anniversary of my mom's death," she admitted before her throat closed on a rush of emotion and she wasn't sure how much of it was from the memory and how much from the more current emotions centering around her mom's case, waiting to hear from Agent Shaw.

"Oh, Kate…" he sighed and then he was pulling her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

She tucked her face against his shoulder, her own arms sliding around his waist as she clung to him. For a long moment, she simply breathed in his scent and rested against him, let the warmth and strength of his embrace comfort her, cosset her. And after a minute or so, she turned her head to rest her cheek against his shoulder. "After a year, I knew the case had gone cold, knew no one was looking into it anymore, not that Raglan ever impressed me with his diligence." Her lips twisted with the bitterness she still felt at the thought of Raglan, even after all this time. "At least, now I know why he never bothered to try."

He tightened his arms around her, making a soft soothing sound in his throat.

"My dad was… struggling and I… just needed to do something that day to remember my mom and I remembered the quote and it seemed… right. I got it to remind myself not to give up, not to stop looking for the truth, the way Mom always tried to do. And I hoped that one day, the truth about my mom's case would prevail."

"And it has. It will," he murmured.

She swallowed and lifted her head to meet his eyes. "I know," she managed.

"But the waiting is hard," he finished for her quietly.

His sympathy, his understanding, helped and she thought, again, how much better, easier, it was not to be alone. After all that had happened, she knew she could survive without him but oh, she was so inexpressibly glad she didn't have to. She was so very, very glad to be with him.

But as usual, her hamstrung tongue wouldn't allow her to put into words what she felt deeply. Instead, she summoned up a small smile. "So I meant to ask if you wanted to distract me?"

His eyes brightened as he smiled slowly. "I think I can manage that. I can be very… distracting." His tone and his look turned the word into an innuendo. "What did you have in mind?"

She loved how quick-witted he was, the way he always met and matched her allusions. She feigned thoughtfulness. "Well, we could watch a movie… or you could tell me a story since I hear you're good at those or…"

"Or…" he prompted, lowering his head until his lips hovered barely an inch above hers.

"You're the creative one. Why don't you think of something?" she invited.

His smirk echoed hers. "Challenge accepted," he breathed—and then he lowered his lips the rest of the way until their lips met. And he kissed her, kissed her with slow, seductive thoroughness until her mind went blank and she was, yes, thoroughly distracted.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: I know this has been a long time coming so I hope it satisfied. Thank you as always for reading and reviewing!