Chapter 12

"Anyway," Castle said cheerfully, "do you want to come to town with me, or stay here?"

"Can I decide tomorrow?"

"Sure. That's probably best. We won't stay out long, though. I'll talk to the librarian and buy you coffee and bear claws, and if there's anything specific you want to have for dinner we'll get that."

"Not fish. I'm sick of fish already."

"Okay, no fish." He smiled, and since she'd drained her water, took her hand again; this time without any protest.

In fact, Beckett was quite happy to have her hand enveloped in Castle's broad span, providing comfort and safety, somehow. She felt looked after, which was quite unusual and, while she was in such discomfort, very welcome. Normally, she was perfectly capable of looking after herself, but even Beckett's ferocious independence now quailed at the thought of trying to deal alone with her life minus a left arm. Earlier, she'd been worried by it, upset that he had to take care of her, but even half a day of being cossetted had completely changed her view. It, together with her long, sound sleep, had also massively improved her ability to think.

"How did you know?" she asked, suddenly. She hadn't told him, so who had?

"Erm…" Castle emitted, which didn't improve her understanding of who told him, but certainly gave her the idea that there was a story she wouldn't like. His ears had gone pink.

"Was it the boys – no. It was Montgomery, wasn't it? Why'd he ring you?"

"To tell me you got shot and that I shouldn't come up here."

Beckett processed that. "He played you," she said, eventually. "Tell you not to do something – of course you'd do it." She managed a slightly feeble version of her usual sardonic smile. "You never stay in the car when I tell you to."

"It's no fun staying in the car." Castle swallowed. "It wasn't any fun when Roy said you'd been shot. I thought…" He gulped again. "…you were…dead."

"No." She started to shrug, and stopped, fast. "Owfuck." She looked pathetically at him. "Not dead. It just hurts like I was."

"I'd rather you hurt and weren't dead," Castle pointed out.

"I'd rather I didn't hurt," Beckett said. "And wasn't dead, of course."

"Yeah. Not being dead is a really good idea." Castle shuddered, and held her hand more tightly. "A really good idea," he repeated. His thumb slipped over on to her wrist where her pulse beat, feeling her life. "You sound better."

"Sleeping properly really helped," Beckett said. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Tonight, I shall tuck you into the recliner with my patented tucking-in technique. I could even kiss you goodnight," Castle flirted.

Beckett raised an eyebrow.

"Or I could kiss your bruises better," he added mischievously.

"I don't think that works," Beckett said briskly, "and anyway I don't think I've found all my bruises yet so I'm not letting you investigate them."

"Aw, that's no fun at all."

"Nope. I know what would be fun, though."

"What?"

"A lovely warm bath, with bubbles." She looked at him hopefully. "Could we? I mean" – she blushed with embarrassment – "would you run it? I think there's some bubble bath. The slicker is in the closet by the back door. I really, really want to wash. I feel horrible."

"Okay," Castle said amiably. "It won't be deep, though. You can't risk getting your arm wet. I'll put the plastic out – uh, do you have a robe or something to wrap around you while I'm covering the sling and dressing?"

"Yes. Um. In my bedroom closet." Beckett coloured. It wasn't a robe she'd like to admit to having, now she wasn't eleven. It was pink and fluffy, with a teddy bear on the front, and it was rather shorter than she might like in front of Castle.

"It's after five. I'll go fix up a bath, and when you're washed we can have dinner."

Castle bounced off, happy to have something to do. He was feeling the strain of being close to Beckett and even holding her hand while unable to do anything but think about how much more they should be able to do if they hadn't both comprehensively messed it all up.

He started the bath running, added a large sloosh of bubble bath, and found Beckett's entirely incongruous robe, putting it on the end of her bed. Pink and teddy bears? Beckett?

The bath run, he went back downstairs to help Beckett up again. While she bathed, he'd start making dinner, and then it could simmer while he washed her hair. Suddenly, he remembered the slicker, and took that up to the bathroom first, then finally went outside.

"Ready?" he asked.

"I guess," Beckett said wanly. "How am I so tired again suddenly?"

Castle shrugged. "Has it started hurting again?"

"No-o," Beckett dragged.

"But it nearly is."

"Maybe."

"C'mon. Your lovely bubbly bath is all ready for you." He reached down, untucked all of the pillows packed around her, and delicately helped her to standing. "While you're bathing – and may I say that that phrase conjures up so many wonderful pictures – I'll bring this in. You can call me when you're ready to have your hair washed."

Beckett spluttered, and failed to find appropriate words before she'd been escorted upstairs and deposited in her bedroom.

Castle turned serious. "Uh…do you need any help?" he stammered.

"No, thanks." Beckett wasn't wearing anything that she couldn't remove with one hand, though she wasn't going to tell Castle that. She saw his sceptical expression. "Promise I'll call you if I can't manage."

"Okay." He loped off. "Call when you need the wound cover on."

Beckett awkwardly, with many winces and hissed, pain-laced profanities, managed to undress and swathe herself in the robe. "Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Ready for the wrapping," she said, and almost infused a grin into the words.

"I prefer unwrapping presents," Castle said with an evil smile.

"I'm not a present."

"But you are present. So you should let me unwrap you" – he stopped on receiving Beckett's deadly glare. "Okay. I'll wrap your arm up. Hold still."

Castle wrapped her arm up with surprising efficiency and as gently as if he were wrapping a butterfly's wing. "There. Go have your bath, Beckett, and then I'll wash your hair. The slicker's already in there, right next to the bathtub on a stool."

"Thank you," she managed, almost undone by the latest kindness, where she'd coped almost all afternoon with his undemanding care. Maybe it was because she was tired again, and the painkillers were wearing off. Maybe it was because she hadn't seen him like this since she'd stayed in the loft for those few days. Maybe it was because if she'd just ditched Demming earlier, they could be doing something much more interesting instead of trying not to move, bump, or even breathe on her useless arm.

She shuffled through to the bathroom, dropped her robe on the floor, and clambered carefully into the bath. It was wonderful, even if it was six inches too shallow for real wallowing. Castle had managed to fill it with enough water that most of her bruises were covered, and the hot water seeped into her skin to soothe them. She eased, a little, but couldn't completely relax due to the need to keep her left arm out of the water. Still, she couldn't have done it for herself. She hummed happily.

Eventually, the water began to cool. Beckett woke up a little, and realised that if she wanted her hair to be washed, she would need to ask Castle. She touched her head, and cringed. Not so much want, as need. Her hair felt lank and revolting.

"Castle?" she tried. It emerged feeble and hardly, she thought, strong enough to carry out of the bathroom door, let alone to wherever Castle was.

"Yes?" came straight back.

"Please would you help me wash my hair?"

"Sure. On my way. Are your products in there?"

"Yes."

It only took a few seconds for Castle to arrive, which was only just long enough for Beckett to arrange the slicker around her shoulders and cover all the salient pieces of her front. She felt ridiculously exposed, though nothing but her toes, peeping out of the bubbles, could be seen.

"Okay," Castle pondered. "Shower can be moved, so let's start there." He took the shower off its hook, switched it on and tested the temperature. "Close your eyes, head back a little." She did, and the water sloshed over her hair. It felt good.

"Uh – I forgot to tell you I banged my head," she suddenly said. "Left side."

"I'll be careful," Castle said, grateful that she couldn't see his face. He wanted to demand the truth from her, since that would be where she hit the table, as Ryan had described. "You have to tell me if I touch it."

"'Kay."

Warm water trickled down her neck, then the familiar scent of her shampoo curled into her nostrils. More warm water, rinsing the suds away, then conditioner, smoothed through her now-clean locks. It was incredibly soothing.

"How're you so good at hair washing," she mumbled.

"Alexis."

Oh. Yes, of course. "Nice," she muzzed.

"I think we're done," Castle said firmly. "You're half asleep, and you still have to eat dinner and then be tucked up for the night."

"Ice pack, and painkillers," she pointed out, yawning.

"Yes, but not till after dinner or you'll fall asleep into your pasta."

"'Kay."

"I'll go make it. Can you manage to get out of the bath yourself?"

"Yes," Beckett said, but uncertainty wobbled her voice.

"Before you do, let's get a towel around your hair." Castle looked around for a second, discovered two towels, and wrapped Beckett's head up very professionally with one of them. "Done."

He wandered out, but stayed close by. It was incredibly likely that Beckett would need help: he only hoped she'd ask before she did something dumb.

Beckett thought hard before moving, then dropped the slicker on the floor well out of her way. She tucked her legs under her, and knelt in the shallow water. That achieved, she put her good arm on the side of the bath, and came up to take only one knee. Halfway there, she thought. She pushed down through the good arm, and managed to stand up, though she'd jerked slightly: enough to hurt. Finally she made it out of the bath, grabbed the other towel, and attempted to dry herself off. It wasn't hugely successful – but it was enough. The robe would pick up any last drips.

She staggered out of the bathroom, where Castle, turning at the soft padding of her feet, had his arm around her waist within a millisecond. "Got you," he said.

"I can stand up," she wavered.

"Like hell you can," Castle said flatly. "Just lean on me for five minutes."

Beckett stared at him, dead white.

"You can't stand up for more than a moment. So just stop trying. I can't pick you up and carry you because I'll move your arm and hurt it, but you can lean on me to get to your room and sit on the bed. So just damn well do it!" His voice had risen, and his arm clamped around her waist.

"Okay," she said compliantly. She hadn't strength or, truthfully, inclination to argue, and since taking care of her seemed to make Castle happier than anything else that was possible in the near future, she would let him. As soon as she agreed he eased, and steered her into her room with a substantial dose of propping up and supporting, then helped her sit down with no jerks or bounces.

Sitting down was a considerable relief. Unfortunately Beckett still needed to comb out her hair. She gazed around for her comb, and spotted it on her vanity. So, following her gaze, did Castle, who hopped up to retrieve it, and then undid the towel around her head, draped it over her shoulders, and delicately combed out her wet hair.

"It's wavy!" he said, surprised. "It always looks so smooth and straight."

"Yeah. It curls if it's allowed."

Cute, Castle thought, and didn't say, since he liked survival. He finished combing out, and stood back up. "There. All tidy."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, Detective." He grinned. "Now, I shall go and prepare a stunning triumph of cuisine, designed specifically to tempt the injured appetite."

"Pasta and ice cream?"

"Exactly, but it'll be the best pasta you've ever had."

Beckett quirked an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"Give me a few minutes to set up your recliner, and then I'll help you downstairs. Nope," he said, as her mouth opened, "you're not coming down by yourself. If you damage that shoulder any more, you might never get it working properly again."

"What?"

"You haven't had a chance to look it all up, or really absorb what they told you, have you?"

"Uh…"

"The bullet ripped your rotator cuff."

"They told me. Four to six weeks in a sling."

"Yes, and then months, Beckett, for it to heal properly."

"Months? I can't be off work for months. I can't be on desk duty for that long. I'll go crazy."

"So take care now and likely it'll be at the lower end, but if you do anything more to hurt it you'll be in real trouble." He turned pained blue eyes on her. "You'd hate not being a cop. Don't do anything to mess it up."

Beckett simply stared at him, eyes huge, face white. "That bad?" she whispered. Castle nodded. "I…I didn't know…I didn't expect that."

"You didn't expect to be shot, either."

"No-o."

"Did you know he had a gun?"

"Not till he reached for it and I didn't have mine. Then it was too late. I had to do something."

Castle thought that there was rather more to it than her few words, but now probably wasn't the time. "Mm," he hummed. "Dinner time. I'll be back up in five minutes when your recliner's ready for you." He went out, leaving Beckett shell-shocked. Months of recovery? She hadn't understood that. She sat, incapable of moving, trapped by the enormity of the damage, until finally she dressed in sweats and a t-shirt.

Castle hurried back up the stairs, and found Beckett staring into space, in almost the same position as she had been when he left, little trickles of water from her wet hair on her neck, but dressed.

"Months?" she said dazedly, again, stuck with that thought. "I can't take months to mend."

"Why not? If that's what it takes, you can't speed it up."

"But…what'll I do? I can't be on leave for months."

"You won't be. You just might not go out on risky trips."

Beckett stared some more. "But I can't only do half the job. I've got to be able to take down suspects: I can't be anyone's partner if I can't do that. It's not safe for either of you."

"I can't take down suspects and I don't have a gun, and I partner you," Castle pointed out.

Beckett blinked. "But if we're going into a tricky situation, Ryan and Espo are there too."

"Only when we know about it up front. So…oh."

"Oh?"

"If you can't, I can't shadow you. Montgomery won't allow you to go just with me if you can't do it." Castle sat down heavily beside her, carefully on her good side. "That's…awful."

"Yeah," Beckett said, and leaned against him, devoid of any energy.

He slipped an arm around her waist, and let her pillow her head on his shoulder. "Let's have dinner," he said. "I don't have any good ideas yet."

"'Kay."

Castle stood up and helped Beckett up, then kept his arm firmly around her. Happily, that combined good sense and humanity with his desires to wrap himself around her and never let her go.

Downstairs once more, Beckett was re-installed on her recliner, suitably padded up with the pillows, until dinner was ready. She stayed put, another ice pack on her shoulder, and watched Castle's casual efficiency turn ingredients into dinner without fuss or muss.

Shortly, they sat at the dinner table. Beckett ate slowly, one handed, putting the fork down every time she had to take a sip of water. She'd have loved a glass of wine, but alcohol and painkillers didn't mix and she wasn't prepared to turn into a stoned idiot for momentary comfort. She had enough problems trying to eat: she wasn't very hungry and Castle hadn't given her – at her request – much, but the sheer effort of controlling her good arm when she couldn't move her left one at all was surprisingly tiring. Far too soon she put her fork down.

"I can't," she said. "It's great but I'm just too tired."

"Can you manage ice cream?"

"No. Sorry."

"Okay, let's put you back in the recliner and get another ice pack on your shoulder."

"Thanks." Beckett lurched to the recliner, and carefully sat down, to be smothered in pillows.

Castle looked at her with a frown. "Uh, is it going to be comfortable to sleep in those clothes?"

Beckett thought. She had only pulled on panties, sweatpants and a t-shirt. "The t-shirt's fine."

He waggled his eyebrows. "So can I take off your pants?"

"No!"

"Awww, no fun. I'm very good at undressing people."

"Say what now?" Beckett's face was scarlet.

"I'm good at undressing people," Castle said suavely. "Having a child teaches you that pretty quickly."

Beckett's face said that's not what page six says. Her voice said, "I see," commendably calmly.

"So I'm sure I could take your pants off without you feeling a thing."

"I just bet you'd like to," Beckett snipped, energised by Castle's flirting.

"It would be a hardship, but I'd survive."

"A hardship?"

"Oh, yes. I'd dream about it every night, and then I'd never be able to do it again."

Beckett slammed her disobedient lips shut on says who? "You are so full of it," she said instead, but it didn't carry any bite or snark.

Castle grinned at her. "Yep, and you love it."

"I do?"

"Yep. That's why you keep me around."

"That, and I can't get rid of you. You're like chewing-gum on my shoe. Immovable."

"So you must be irresistible."

"Huh?"

"If I'm the immovable object, you must be the irresistible force." Realisation rushed into his face. "You said you loved it!" he crowed. "I knew it, I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Beckett asked, unable to follow Castle's crazy thinking.

"Knew you loved my theories, chat, input and all-around wonderfulness."

Beckett, starting to fade and in need of another painkiller, made a rude noise in lieu of actually thinking up words, and then lay back and closed her eyes briefly. "Please could you get me a painkiller?" she asked.

While Castle fussed about to find the tablets and water, Beckett attempted to sit up through sheer force of abdominals so that she could remove her sweatpants. She managed that, and even managed to wriggle the pants down far enough that she could push them off with her feet.

About the point the pants dropped off the end of the recliner, Beckett belatedly realised that she was now alone with Castle, wearing a thin cotton t-shirt and a pair of rather pretty, lacy panties. (She didn't own any non-pretty panties.) That…hadn't been the smartest idea. She should have waited until he'd put a blanket over her, or something.

Castle turned round and almost dropped the water. He'd fantasised about Beckett's legs ever since he'd seen her in that little blue number at the Heat Wave launch party. He hadn't imagined that he'd get the chance to see all of them, uncovered, and topped by a very sexy little pair of barely there lacy panties. He really couldn't stop the whistle, and he was sure that his eyes had bugged so far out of their sockets that he resembled a Hanna-Barbera cartoon. Beckett was blushing scarlet as she followed his gaze and then blushed more violently still as their eyes met.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Thank you to everyone who sent good wishes. My Infant is safely installed across the Atlantic.