Chapter 11

She resettled, biting her lip, shifting the ice pack and not looking at him at all.

He sat back down next to her. "Now. But what?"

"It doesn't matter." Her gaze skittered away, and stayed away.

"It does matter." He thought he already knew her answer, had known it since he'd been told that she'd ditched Demming. "Come on. If it makes you any happier, Gina dumped me too, not that we'd been enjoying each other's company."

Beckett said nothing. Castle, for once possessing himself in patience, waited. And waited. "Excuse me," she said, struggled to her feet and creaked towards the bathroom. Tactfully, he didn't watch her try to walk.

Castle waited for quite some time, before belatedly realising that he hadn't heard the flush, water running, or anything else. Worried, he went to investigate, and found the bathroom empty and a complete absence of anything that might be a Beckett. He also found a back door, swinging open, and when he went through, he found Beckett, sitting on a stump with tears dripping down her face, trying not to make a sound.

Castle dropped down on his knees beside her and took her carefully into his arms, letting her face fall into his chest and leaving enough space for the sling. "Don't cry, sweetheart," he coaxed, using the endearment without thought. "No need to cry. I'm here." It didn't help. He thought she didn't want to be crying, but she didn't seem able to stop. "There, there." He hated that he was talking as if to a child, but it actually seemed to be comforting her. He patted, butterfly-light, and cossetted. "Don't cry. Whatever it is, we'll fix it."

"You left," she snuffled. "I was going to say yes and you left. I was too late." He petted, and held her, and didn't speak. "I was too late," she wept, and broke down completely.

"Maybe I was too quick," Castle said. "I was upset when you said you were going away with Demming…"

"I couldn't…" The rest was drowned.

Couldn't? Castle thought. Not just wouldn't? Couldn't take Demming up on the weekend even after she'd agreed? Breaking commitments hadn't been a notable feature of Beckett's make-up that he'd noticed. Sure, she'd given him a false reason for not accepting his invitation, but she hadn't broken her commitment to Demming…till she had. Because, she said, she couldn't. Couldn't go through with it.

Which meant they had a chance. Because he might have taken Gina as far as the Hamptons, but then he couldn't go through with it either.

He was still holding her; she was still crying quietly, but for all that he was more hopeful than for any time before Demming…before Ellie Monroe. If both of them couldn't – then there was more than a little between them.

"Let's go back in, sweetheart," he coaxed. "Sure it's warm out here, but you need to put another ice pack on that shoulder and we ought to get some lunch."

"'Kay," she dripped.

Castle, who really couldn't bear to watch her struggle, set both hands on her waist and lifted her, then monumentally failed to let go of her and wrapped his arm around her middle. He told himself it was to make sure she didn't slip or fall. He lied, and knew he lied, but he couldn't stop himself touching her.

Restored to the couch, and provided with Kleenex, Beckett lay, completely incapable of helping or indeed sitting, while Castle made lunch. When the tray with lunch arrived, she discovered that he'd chopped her sandwich into bite sized pieces.

"So you only have to lift one tiny thing and you don't have to move much," he said. "Here's some soda, too. I can't do much about that."

"You got something?" she asked draggingly.

"Yes. I have to say" – he grinned – "there's far more in your fridge than I expected. Where's the Styrofoam and takeout boxes?"

"Was shopping when it went down."

"Oh. Uh" –

"Brought it home for me."

"That was nice."

Beckett's face curdled. "They want a hero. Don't wanna."

"You can be a hero and an invalid," Castle teased.

"Don't wanna," she said again. She'd eaten as much as she wanted, which from Castle's expression was far less than he thought necessary. "I'm done."

"Okay." Protesting wouldn't help anyone, Castle knew. His mind fluttered off. "Wouldn't you be comfier sleeping in your bed?"

"I need to sit up, or part way up, not to hurt worse," she bit out. "No, I don't like sleeping on the couch but I don't have a better idea."

Castle thought for barely a moment. "Do you have a recliner?"

Beckett stopped. She did. There were two in the woodshed. "Yes…"

"I'll go get one. We can prop you up and it'll be much better." He bounced out, happy to be able to do something tangible, found the woodshed and found the recliners, cheerfully floral and bright. He dusted one off outside, regarded it critically, and then left it outside. "I'm just going to wipe it off. It's a bit grubby and you don't want to get yourself dirty – uh, Beckett, how are you supposed to wash or wash your hair with only one arm and a dressing over your shoulder? And you're not even supposed to move that arm at all."

Beckett hadn't even thought of that, and now she did, she wished that Castle hadn't drawn her attention to her unwashed state. She immediately felt sticky, grubby and slatternly. She could hear Castle happily splashing around outside, and assumed, correctly, that he was washing down the recliner, to leave it in the sunshine to dry. The splashing stopped, and he ambled back inside.

"There. That'll be dry soon, and then at least you can be outside or inside and I'll just move it for you."

She stared hopelessly at him: smilingly full of useful, thoughtful solutions to a problem that hadn't been his to solve, and couldn't say anything. It was all she could do not to dissolve into stupid, pathetic, useless tears again, just like some stupid, pathetic teenage girl who'd found her favourite boy band was splitting up.

"I'll just go see about how you can wash," he began.

"No, don't."

"Don't?"

"I…" She stopped, aware that she was being utterly ridiculous and unable to explain why she should decline his freely given help. "It's…you're doing everything and you don't have to. You didn't have to come here, you were having a nice summer and now it's spoilt and you shouldn't be running around after me."

"I wasn't having a nice summer. It wasn't fun at all. I was miserable and I missed you and why do you think I was texting? It wasn't because I wanted to rub your nose in it. I didn't even know you'd split with Demming till a week ago!" He stood foursquare over her, hands on hips, halfway to intimidating. "Gina had already walked out by then because I wouldn't" – he stopped. "I couldn't. She wasn't you."

"Tom wasn't you," she whispered, but he heard her louder than a shout.

"So now that we've got that straight," he said, crouching down beside her, "stop worrying. I'm here, I'm staying here, and I want to be here even if you're bandaged up and halfway to being a mummy, in pain and asleep all the time. Which you should be, by the way. Sleeping helps you heal." He smiled. "Being clean would make you feel better, too. Didn't they give you a cover for that wound so you could wash?"

"Don't know."

"Where's the pack from the hospital?"

"Uh…on the table? Or in the kitchen, maybe?"

Castle wandered off, and a moment or two later wandered back with a plastic bag, which, when he unloaded it on to the coffee table, proved to contain clean dressings (sealed) and a plastic wrap and tape to seal over her shoulder. The instructions made it clear that it was to protect the whole area while washing.

"So there's a bath upstairs, with the shower over it – can you use the shower to wash your hair?"

"It comes off."

"Yes, then." Castle thought for a moment again. "Do you have a slicker here?"

"Huh?"

"Well…" He wriggled, and coloured. "If you had it around you, I could wash your hair and you could…uh…stay covered." He wriggled again, and found a tangent on which to go off. "And you could balance your arm on the side of the tub or just have a very shallow bath – like a Plimsoll line in the Second World War." He thought. "I think you ought to have a shallow bath, but you could have bath salts or something if you've got them? Maybe soothe the rest of the bruises – if you took down the robber, you must have more bruises 'cause you would have hit him really hard…"

Beckett's shoulder was so painful that any other bruises really hadn't hit her consciousness. She supposed that soothing them in a hot bath wouldn't hurt any more than she already did hurt. "I didn't notice," she said.

"Do you want a bath now?" Castle asked.

"Later," she said. "I…it's going to wipe me out," she confessed, after a moment or two. "I don't want to do that till later."

"Okay. How about those painkillers, then, and I'll see if your recliner's dry yet?"

"'Kay."

He passed her the painkillers and water, watched till he was sure she'd taken them, and then wandered off to check the recliner.

"It's all dry," he said, "and it's nice and sunny so you can enjoy being warm. Warmth is good for bruising. Come on," he said, and easily lifted her to standing without disturbing the ice pack. He walked her out of the back door to the recliner, helped her to sit down, and went back to fetch enough pillows so that Beckett, padded and protected to within an inch of suffocation, couldn't have moved anything other than her toes without considerable unpacking. She had to admit it was far more comfortable than she had been since before tackling the robber, and it was nicer to be outside than in.

Castle promptly disappeared again, returning with a small table, which he'd obviously stolen from the cabin; and then repeating his disappearing act to return with a jug of water and a glass. "There," he said with satisfaction, "Everything you need for now. Anything else – oh, your phone and Kindle." He bounced up again, and as quickly returned. "I'm going to clean up the other recliner now, and then I'll have one too."

The gentle sploshing of Castle's efforts left Beckett, warm, more-or-less pain free, and soothed by Castle's presence, closing her eyes and soon asleep, lulled by the soft noises of the water and by the natural sounds around her.

Castle finished scrubbing the second recliner, straightened up, and noticed with some relief that Beckett was soundly asleep. She still looked horribly tired, and now that he could stare at her without risking condemnation, she was thin. He'd make sure she ate. Well, this being Beckett, he could make sure there was appetising food. This evening, they'd have pasta, with garlic bread and a creamy sauce.

He spent some time with his laptop, but, late in the afternoon, heard a car pull up. Beckett seemed still to be asleep, which Castle didn't think was a bad thing, so he wandered around the cabin to investigate.

To his surprise, a police unit had pulled up behind his Mercedes, and a youth who didn't look old enough to shave, let alone be a cop, had stepped out.

"Uh, hey?" Castle said.

"Hi," said the youth. "I'm Officer Dermot. I'm here to make sure Detective Beckett's okay. Uh, who – wow! You're Richard Castle!"

"Yes," Castle said. "Hi, Officer. You're here to check up on Beckett?"

"Yes," he said, the light of hero-worship in his eyes. "Did you hear what she did?"

"Um…I didn't get the full story." Castle smiled hopefully. "Why don't you tell me it?"

Fresh-faced Officer Dermot spilled out the story in excruciating detail, and with every word Castle's horror at Beckett's actions grew. Dermot had reviewed the CCTV footage from the store, and it painted a very much more colourful picture than Beckett's pain-dulled, sparse words.

"I don't know how she did it," Dermot admired. "I don't think I'd dive on an armed perpetrator like that if I wasn't armed too – and then I'd probably shoot him, not smother him. She's a total hero. Chief Tully said he'd love to have her here on the force, but I don't guess she'd ever leave the NYPD for the state police."

"No, I don't think so," Castle said, thinking damn straight she wouldn't leave for a hick town where four traffic tickets counts as high crime rates. "I don't think her captain would want her to go, either. She's one of the best."

"Is that why you made her the model for Nikki Heat?" Dermot asked enthusiastically. "I love that book – I liked Storm too," he added hurriedly, "but Heat Wave is just a whole new level."

"Thanks," Castle said. "If you want, I'll sign your copy."

"Yes, please. And Annie who runs the local radio station would love it if you signed hers – but she'll probably ask you for an interview because we don't get celebrities up here very often, so what with Detective Beckett being a hero and you she'll be really delighted." Dermot stopped. "Are you looking after Detective Beckett?"

"Yes," Castle admitted.

"That's so great. It must be really exciting following her around all day."

"Yes," Castle said, and didn't mention some of the more terrifying moments. "She's a real inspiration."

"She said you fitted into the team really well."

"She did?"

"When Annie was interviewing her. Annie asked about you following her."

"Okay," Castle said amiably. "Anyway, maybe I'll drop by town in the next day or two and sign your book, and Annie's."

"That would be great," Dermot said. "Now, if you're looking after Detective Beckett, is there anything you need for her? We'll arrange for it."

Castle stared. "Uh, look, that's really kind of you, but…I can drive into town if I need to. I can even take Beckett with me – my suspension's really great and she wouldn't feel a single bump."

"She better not," Dermot said. "Chief Tully and Annie threatened me with castration if they found out she was hurt at all when I'd driven her home. They really meant it."

"I see," Castle said. Beckett had made herself into this small town's hero – understandably – and now they were ultra-protective. "She wouldn't feel a thing."

Officer Dermot suddenly looked at Castle with a real cop's gaze: one which could have come from Ryan, Espo or Beckett herself. "No, she wouldn't, would she?" He smiled. "You'll take real good care of her, won't you? You got the best reason." He smiled. "Guess I'm not needed, but call if you need any help. Tell her we're all rooting for her to get better soon."

"Will do."

"You drop by the library, and they'll fix you up to do a proper signing. They'd be real upset if you didn't."

Ah, Castle thought, small-town America. "I'll give them a call. I'll be up here for two or three weeks, till Beckett can travel safely."

"You do that," Dermot said. "Likely if you don't they'll come out here to ask you."

"They might have to. I don't want Beckett to move – d'you want to see her, just so you can tell everyone she's as okay as can be expected?"

"I guess I better. The Chief won't like it if I don't."

"Come around the back, then. She's asleep, so keep it down."

Officer Dermot barely bent a blade of grass, so quietly did he step, examined the sleeping Beckett, and sneaked away again just as silently, followed, not quite so carefully, by Castle.

"You're pretty quiet," Castle said.

"Hunting."

"I see," Castle smiled. "Full freezer?"

"Sure is." Dermot grinned. "Anyways, she looks a bit better than she did in hospital. Like I said, anything you need, you just call and we'll fix it. But call the library, 'cause Mrs Tousa'll kill me if you don't."

"Okay," Castle agreed. "Thanks for taking care of her."

"No problem. Seeya."

"Bye."

Castle watched Officer Dermot's unit leave, and considered, rather cynically, that if he himself hadn't been there, the puppy would have been making goo-goo eyes at Beckett within the week. Not that they'd have had any effect, except to break the boy's heart, but…just as well he, Castle, was there.

He ambled back around the cabin, and found Beckett's eyes peeling open. "Hey, sleepyhead," he teased. "You missed your admirer."

"Uh?"

"Officer Dermot. He popped by to make sure everything was okay."

"Oh."

"I think you're his new hero."

"Ugh."

"But I've to talk to the library because apparently they'll want me to do a signing. And some Annie-person" –

"Radio host" –

"wants me to sign her copy of Heat Wave."

Beckett groaned.

"What's wrong?" Castle asked.

"More interested in Nikki than anything else," she said, and woke up properly. "Ugh. I need to get a new ice pack."

"Stay there," Castle ordered. "I'll get it. I spent all that effort making you comfy and you've had a good sound sleep so don't disarrange all my hard work. I'd be upset." He thought. "Are you allowed alcohol?"

"Shouldn't think so," Beckett muttered. "Heavy-duty painkillers."

"Hmmmmm. Coffee, then? I want to get a drink, but it sounds like the choice is coffee or water. I know! Tomorrow I'll go into Walton and get some non-alcoholic fruit punch. You want to come? I'll make sure you're as coddled as" –

"An egg?" Beckett snarked, which Castle heard with joy.

"Are you saying you're hard-boiled?" he teased back. "Because I think that under all that hard shell you're soft and squishy."

"I am not squishy!"

"But you are soft."

"I am not!"

"But you only said you weren't squishy, so therefore you must be agreeing that you are soft." He came over and ran a finger over her right arm. "It's not very soft. It's bony."

"It's not. It's nicely muscled."

"Just like the rest of you," Castle oozed, scrutinising every inch of her form. "Well, with a couple of exceptions."

"You" –

"Your hair, your fingernails" –

"That wasn't where you were looking!" Beckett squawked indignantly.

"Really?" Castle said blandly. "Of course I was." He ran his hand over her hair, all the way down past her shoulder. "See? Your hair's here." With some effort, he didn't let his hand or fingers wander by so much as a fraction of an inch. They slid down her arm, instead. "And here are your fingernails."

He kept her hand in his, stroking softly, then let go to pull his recliner next to hers. "I'll go get some more water," he said, "unless you want coffee?"

"Water, thanks."

Castle returned with water, two glasses, and a fresh ice pack, which he placed on Beckett's shoulder before pouring the water and then taking her hand again, forgetting that she only had one usable hand. She tugged it away, eliciting a muttered protest.

"I can only use this one," she grumped back at him. "Just 'cause you've got two hands."

"Ooops. I forgot. Okay, I'll give it back." He smiled. "I can always pat your knee instead." The wiggle of his eyebrows indicated that patting was perhaps not his only goal. The rise of the dreaded Beckett eyebrow indicated that she was completely sceptical about his motives.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

8 years ago, not long into my Castle-fanfic writing, I had an author's note that said that I was sad because my Infant was leaving for boarding school. Tomorrow morning, that same Infant leaves for her sophomore year of college, 3500 miles away. (freshman year totally on line). It's wonderful for her, but I shall miss her. ABBA's Slipping Through My Fingers is on loop in my head.