Chapter 13

She couldn't look away, drowning in the electric, sparking blue, which dragged her down and swallowed her up. She couldn't speak, words swept away in the current of their locked gazes. She couldn't move, pinned down.

He didn't remove his eyes from her in any of the few steps it took for him to reach her; his burning look fixed to her face while he set the water and pills down and cupped her face; his thumbs stroking at her cheek and jawline. She could see the hints of shadow where stubble might be in the morning, before he shaved; the crinkles at the corners of those bright blue eyes; she could feel the restrained strength in his hands around her face.

She pressed into his hands, her lips parting, meeting his…

…and he pulled back.

Disappointment burned in her chest, and she jerked her head from his hands, gasping as the movement bit into her shoulder.

"Don't," he said. "Don't pull away."

"You did."

"You're hurt. Kissing you like that won't help."

"Like what? You're the one who suggested you could kiss all my bruises better but when you actually could kiss me you don't. Go away."

"Won't."

"Just go." Defeat poured through her tired tones.

"Won't. I didn't say I didn't want to kiss you, just that I'm not going to kiss you like that. I was thinking of something more like this," and his hands came back round her face, cupping her cheeks again, as he leaned forward and kissed her so lightly that a butterfly would barely have noticed. "You can't move that arm, so…take it as a statement of intent."

He rose and stepped back and away, returning with a light blanket. "Sweet dreams," he said, wrapping it around her.

"I didn't take my painkillers."

Castle handed her them, watched while she forced them down, and took the glass away again. "That position okay? I can move it."

"It's fine." Her eyelashes were already sweeping her cheeks, no matter how she tried to hold them up.

He leaned down and kissed her again, feather-light on her lips. "Till tomorrow," he murmured, but if she heard him, she was too close to sleep to reply. He found his laptop, made himself thoroughly comfortable on the couch, and alternated writing with as much creepy staring as he liked, which was far more staring than writing.

Sleeping Beckett was nothing like awake Beckett. Asleep, there was no concealment of expression; no sardonic façade; no misdirection or obfuscation or flat-out denial. Asleep, her face was younger, though the marks of her pain creased across her mouth; the shadows under her eyes told their tale of sleepless nights; and the too-sharp notes of cheekbones and jawline were a litany of missed meals. She hadn't eaten much at dinner, he recalled, but a couple of days since she'd been shot wouldn't have made a visible difference. Too much coffee and not enough calories, he deduced, and resolved to feed her snacks and appetising meals. He'd get candy when they went into town tomorrow. Beckett always had candy somewhere.

Thinking of tomorrow… Castle found pen and paper, and started to make a list of everything he should do. Then he searched the town's amenities, and found that there were several cafes or diners into which Beckett could be deposited and left with never-ending caffeine and pastries, while he got on with important matters such as not annoying the library and radio host. He expected Beckett would want to come with him to make sure he didn't say anything she didn't like, but he wasn't going to allow that. He also wasn't going to tell Paula about the unscheduled PR: she'd only fuss and complain and try to restrict it. The idea of an uncensored talk was very appealing.

The idea of kissing Beckett, when she'd started the whole thing by kissing him, was also very appealing. Pulling back had nearly killed him, and the devastated look on her face when he had, had ripped his heart wide open. But he couldn't have been responsible for yet more damage. She was damaged enough.

Which brought him back to a thought he'd had much earlier, which he'd parked then but could return to now. He'd shadowed Beckett for well over a year, and he hadn't noticed her suffering serious injuries once in all that time. Okay, so Scott Dunn had landed on her, and she'd been a little bruised and slightly scorched when her apartment blew up, but broadly speaking she hadn't been hurt much. Now, though, she'd been nastily hurt three times in the space of a few weeks, and he hadn't been there.

The thought nagged at him for a while, and pursued him until it was time for bed, but never quite formed into realisation. Tired of chasing it, he promised himself he'd call Ryan soon, and that decided, plunged into sleep.

Castle woke earlier than he would have liked and later than would have been wholly desirable, since he could hear shuffling downstairs, and then the click of a kettle. He hurried out of bed, threw on his clothes and dashed downstairs before Beckett could do herself any more damage, this time involving boiling water.

"What are you doing?" he asked, fortunately waiting until Beckett had nothing in her hands.

"Coffee," she said.

"I can see that. You and coffee – that's co-dependency right there."

"I don't think that's what co-dependency means," Beckett replied.

"Addiction, then."

She started a shrug and swiftly stopped it. "Whatever."

Castle nudged her out of the way and made her coffee. "There. I really can't face watching you do it one-handed. Go sit down again and I'll bring it over, with mine." He examined the food stocks. "Pastry?"

"Please."

Castle cut it up, trying very hard not to feel as if he was infantilising the distinctly adult Beckett, but eventually deciding that crumbs in the recliner were a far worse outcome than momentary annoyance, even from Beckett. From her flash of irritation, succeeded by pursed-lipped thought and a look around her, she'd made the same calculation and reached the same answer.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked.

"Fine."

He raised eyebrows.

"Better than the night before," she said, which was probably truthful but didn't mean well. "Are we going to go into Walton today?"

"Yes, if you want to."

"I'm already tired of looking at walls. I'd like to go out." She regarded him pleadingly. "I'll be careful."

"I wasn't worried about that," he said mendaciously. He had been, but not as much as he might have done the day before. "I just want to finish my coffee first, then I'll shave and we can go." He smirked naughtily. "Though you might want to get dressed before we do. You'll turn heads if you don't put pants on."

"I should ice my shoulder first," she said gloomily. Castle bounced up and found an ice pack for her, settling it gently over her.

"It'll take me a few minutes to fix everything up," he said. "How long do you keep it on for?"

"I just left it till it was melted," she admitted.

Castle hummed thoughtfully. "Have you got a cooler?"

"Huh – oh, I get it. There might be one in the woodshed, but I'm not sure."

"I'll go look while you do your icicling."

"Is that a word?"

"It is if I say it is," Castle grinned. He lolloped off, and after some ten minutes lolloped back again. "No cooler. That's okay, we'll just buy one."

Beckett gaped. "You…"

"What? I'll take it home and use it for picnics. You like picnics, don't you?"

"Yes, but" –

"So I'll have a use for it. Picnics. Lots of lovely nibbly things to eat that don't need two arms."

Beckett gave up. Castle was on a mission, and trying to stop him was pointless. She sat in her recliner, arm held properly, and watched him zoom around like a pinball on steroids. Finally he zoomed upstairs, which left her able to breathe without worrying that he'd fret about the length of her inhale or exhale.

After a moment, she realised that unless she dressed herself, Castle would probably insist on helping, and she wasn't up for that. (Right now, said her brain, which was fair enough, but not helpful.) She manoeuvred herself up, and trudged slowly up the stairs to her room, where she struggled into clean panties, eschewed a bra without a qualm, and managed – just – to put on a clean, loose t-shirt and cotton pants. It wasn't a fun experience, but it was done. She descended the stairs to find Castle waiting, not entirely impatiently.

"Let's go," he bounced, and then stopped bouncing to steer her gently out, remove her keys from the table and lock the door behind them, and install Beckett in the passenger seat, even doing up her seatbelt. He drove sedately into Walton, ensuring that he didn't bump over so much as a pebble, and parked so that Beckett could be extricated on to the sidewalk. Not that that mattered, since the traffic was sparse to non-existent. He could have taken an hour to extract Beckett and he wouldn't have delayed a single vehicle.

It felt like an hour, though likely it was only a couple of minutes, for Beckett to get out of the Mercedes. She supposed she should be glad that it wasn't the much lower-slung Ferrari, gorgeous as that car was, because she'd have had to be lifted out. Not desirable, not cool, not adult. Instead, though Castle had assisted, she was standing on her own feet, and not yelping in pain.

"I have to go to the library," Castle said. "Wanna come too, or do you just wanna sit in a café somewhere?"

Beckett considered. If she sat in a café, chances were she'd be accosted. If she went to the library, she might be able to hide behind Castle's attention-grabbing celebrity status, and she'd be able to sit down. "Library, please, and I'll just sit there while you do whatever it is you have to do."

"Okay. Uh, where is the library?"

Oh. Yeah. Castle had no idea about the layout of Walton. "Just down here," she said, and led the way. Castle opened the door for her, and followed her in. Beckett, somewhat relieved, sat down, as Castle aimed for the librarian's desk.

"Hey," he said to the sixty-ish woman behind the desk. "I'm looking for Mrs Tousa?"

"That's me," the woman said.

"Oh, great," Castle said with a brilliant smile. "Officer Dermot said I should come find you."

"He did? Were you looking for a specific book?" She looked up, and her brow furrowed. "Don't I know you?" she asked. "You look really familiar."

"I'm Rick Castle" – he didn't get any further.

"You're Richard Castle? I love your books. I can't believe it! You're really here? Wow. This is so great!" She took a breath. "And Chuck Dermot told you to drop by? He's such a good boy."

"He said you'd likely want to do something – book group, or signing, or something like that."

"Well, hell yeah."

Castle blinked in the face of overwhelming enthusiasm.

"There's a lot of readers would like to meet you," Mrs Tousa carried on. "And, well, we all know that that Detective Beckett who saved my niece, Marie, from the gunman is here, and, well, Annie from the radio said that she's the inspiration for your novels, so if she was well enough to come too that would just be the biggest thing here in a century or so."

Beckett cringed in her chair, and prayed. The heavens weren't listening.

"Oh, Beckett's here with me," Castle said.

"She is? Where is she? I wanna thank her for everything she did. She's a real hero."

"Right over there." He gestured, and Mrs Tousa came bustling out from behind her desk to see.

"It really is!" she said. "My, aren't you stunning?"

"Thank you," Beckett managed.

"No, thank you. You stopped that thug hurting my niece and you didn't even have a gun. That's real brave in my book, and you got yourself hurt bad doing it, so you sit there a spell and don't worry. You have a lifetime's credit in this town."

"I just did what any cop would have done," Beckett tried.

"I don't think there's that many would throw themselves on an armed man," Mrs Tousa said firmly. "And anyways, you were the one who was there and did it. So just let us be thankful you were there." She smiled. "A lot of people wanna thank you, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to let them down."

"No," Beckett said. What else could she say? Mrs Tousa had completely painted her into a corner with one sentence. Rather bitterly, Beckett felt that Montgomery, big-city politically astute cop, could take lessons in manipulation from Mrs Tousa, small-town librarian.

"Okay then," Mrs Tousa said contentedly. "I guess you won't be leaving any time soon with that arm in a sling, so if you and Mr Castle here would like to spend some time in the library, say a couple of hours twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, then I'll put the word about and I'm pretty sure there'll be a lot of people turning up."

"Sure," Castle said amiably, "but even if Beckett's a bit tired or her shoulder's hurting, I can drop by. I'm flexible." He stopped for an instant. "But Officer Dermot said I should go see Annie at the radio station too."

"Annie and I can work it out together, but my advice is you see her and do her interview first, and then everyone'll be wanting to meet you."

"I'm going to see her next, but first we're going to get some coffee." He smiled brilliantly at the librarian. "Where should we go?"

Mrs Tousa thought for a moment. "The Townsend Street Market is best." She looked at Beckett, who managed a tired smile. "Are you okay to walk up there, Detective?"

"Yes," Beckett said. "The fresh air will do me good." She stood up, totally concealing the effort it took, and smiled beautifully. "Thank you for the books you sent over when I was in the hospital. They were great. Just what I wanted."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all. Now you take care and try not to tackle any more crooks."

"I'll certainly try."

"See you in a couple of days," Mrs Tousa said cheerfully as they left, Castle again holding the door for Beckett.

Beckett waited till they were well clear before piercing Castle with a glare that would have melted rock, never mind people. "What did you rope me into that for? I don't want to be part of it!"

"It'll be fun, and they'll stop fussing over you pretty fast," Castle said insouciantly. "If they don't, I'll do something outrageous and they'll leave you alone. Kiss Mrs Tousa, maybe? Donate to the town's foodbank?"

"Ride a horse naked," Beckett suggested snidely. "You know how to do that."

"You wound me, Beckett," Castle declaimed, clasping his hands to his heart melodramatically. "I don't do that any more. I was much younger" –

"And drunk."

"Probably."

"Definitely. I read the report."

"Awwwww, that's so sweet. Reading up on my history."

"You were a person of interest."

"I still am. I'm deeply interesting." Beckett made a dismissive noise. "Look how many people want to meet me."

"How many of them want to meet you twice?"

"You did," Castle pointed out sweetly. "You look up when the elevator bell rings, and when it's me you smile."

"It's the coffee," Beckett said, very unconvincingly.

"No, it's not. You smile even when there isn't coffee. Of course, then you tap your gun, but…you smile first." He smiled. "I know your little ways. You wouldn't snark if you didn't like me."

Beckett muttered evilly, but didn't disagree. She was intensely relieved to see the café ahead of them, and even more relieved to sit down.

"You're tired," Castle said quietly. "Sit here, and let me get you a coffee. Do you want a pastry?"

"No, thanks," Beckett said. Drinking the coffee already seemed like a huge effort.

"Okay."

He wandered off and shortly wandered back with coffee. Beckett picked her cup up, watched it wobble, and took an incautiously large sip. The coffee was scalding, and while normally that didn't bother her at all, today it hurt. Quickly, she put the cup down. "Ow."

"Hot?"

She nodded. "Ow," she repeated. He pushed a glass of water at her, which soothed her scorched tongue. "Thanks."

Castle sat quietly and watched as Beckett, far more carefully, sipped at her coffee. He hadn't missed the wobble, and he was pretty certain that she wouldn't be joining him in finding Annie-the-radio-host. That suited him fine, and indeed, after the expert piece of manoeuvring by the librarian, he was sure that it would suit Beckett too. He couldn't imagine her being happy with the idea of a joint interview, but he could surely imagine it being suggested. Or imposed. He drained his own coffee. "Want another? Then you can sit here and drink it while I go find this Annie. I'll come back here."

"Okay," she said colourlessly. "I don't think I'll be going anywhere."

"Try not to tackle any armed raiders."

"I think I'm a one-armed bandit," Beckett sparked, but the spark faded as soon as the sentence had been spoken.

"In that case, I've won the jackpot," Castle oozed. Beckett scowled, at half-force, and buried her nose in her now-almost-empty coffee, while Castle went and had a cheerful discussion with the café staff. The discussion resulted in a refill arriving.

"And while I'm gone they'll keep you totally caffeinated," he said. "I'll try not to be too long. Have you a phone or something to do?"

"Yeah," Beckett said. She had her phone, and that would do. She couldn't really muster up any great enthusiasm for anything, but that was okay. She'd just sit here in the café and watch the world go by, with coffee, and her phone on the table to play with if required.

Castle grinned at her. "Okay. See you in a bit." His grin expanded, and he bent down, plopped a kiss on her surprised mouth, and lolloped off.

Beckett leaned back on the chair, and breathed, slowly and shallowly. With Castle gone, she had unwanted headspace into which the discomfort of her shoulder had lost no time in creeping. Slow, shallow breathing was least painful.

"Detective Beckett, ma'am?" Officer Dermot had appeared. His voice was distressingly clear.

"You're Detective Beckett?" the café server yelped. "Why didn't you say?" She whisked over. "You don't pay for your coffee here. Marie's my cousin."

Hadn't Marie been Dermot's cousin?

"Chuck, why didn't you tell me?"

"Now, sis" – oh. Much was explained, even to Beckett's slightly fuzzy head.

"You should've told me."

"When? I've been at work all morning. I told you I'd met her the day it happened."

Beckett tuned out the sibling squabbling.

"Detective?" eventually hit her ears. "Have you got everything you need?"

"Yes, thanks," she said.

"And Mr Castle's taking care of you?" Dermot asked.

"Yes."

"He kissed her!" the server said.

"He did?"

Beckett made a valiant, but entirely unsuccessful, attempt to disappear into a small pocket universe. She was sure her cheeks were flaming.

"Just a peck, though. It wasn't like the Heat book at all."

Good, thought Beckett, and zoned out again.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers. Much appreciated.

Hope anyone in the path of Hurricane Ida is safe and well.