Chapter 16

"What shall we do today?" Castle asked, when the coffee was done.

"Oh, I don't know," Beckett said, with some sarcasm. "I mean, I can barely move, I only have one working arm, I need to turn into a Popsicle every couple of hours and I can barely even have a glass of wine because I'm swallowing painkillers like M&Ms. I guess cross-country skiing, rock climbing, or grizzly bear hunting are all out?"

"Yep," Castle agreed. "As are swimming, surfing and" – he smirked – "sex. Regrettably."

"Regrettably?" Beckett squawked.

"Yep. Sex produces endorphins, which make you happy and block pain."

"So does eating chocolate," Beckett growled.

"Now that we can achieve," Castle said, distracted from flirtation (also a distraction, but for Beckett) by the possibility of useful action. "We could go into town and see if we can find somewhere to sell us lots and lots of chocolate, and maybe hot chocolate and marshmallows?"

Beckett stared. "Huh?"

"Chocolate. And coffee, if you want. We can sit and have coffee and watch the world go by…"

"But" –

"Nope. You need not to be staring at the walls. An outing will be good for you, and you'll have my fabulously witty and urbane company to entertain you, as well as my chauffeuring, escorting, and cossetting skills to take care of you."

"But" –

"Come on. Go get dressed and we'll go out for an excursion."

"But" – Beckett found herself gently removed from the recliner.

"Go get dressed while I put the ice packs in the cooler." He pushed her softly towards the stairs. Beckett, completely incapable of argument, went, and shortly returned, dressed. Castle, thankfully, failed to comment on her lack of bra, though she was sure he'd noticed. Bra-donning was a long step too far for her fragile body.

"The cooler is in the trunk," he said. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

Beckett installed herself in the passenger seat, managing her seatbelt, as Castle politely didn't watch. He pulled out smoothly, and drove them into town, parking much closer to the market than previously.

When she reached for the car door, he tutted at her. "Let me open it." She scowled. "Nope. Lemme open it and you concentrate on getting out, or I'll have to help you do that too." Beckett looked around, and found that there were enough passers-by that being lifted out wasn't a good thought. Not decorous or heroic. She extracted herself slowly and carefully, and managed not to increase the ache in her shoulder.

"Coffee," Castle said happily.

"You promised hot chocolate," Beckett pointed out.

"Or hot chocolate," he agreed, and she smiled back at him. Hot chocolate was a good idea. Sweet, and calories she thought she could manage without feeling nauseous – she hadn't told him, but her stomach was unsettled if she ate more than a little at a time. Maybe it was the painkillers. Castle waited for her, then stepped in and slung an arm around her from the right, avoiding her sling but supporting her if she needed it. She relaxed against him, taking comfort from his big body.

The café came rather too soon for Beckett's rarely indulged need for snugglement, but almost too late for her non-existent stamina and stretched pain tolerance. She sat down with a sigh of relief. Castle wandered over to the counter and ordered, waiting for the drinks. Beckett sat in the sunshine.

"You're Detective Beckett!" someone announced, loudly. "You're the cop who tackled the armed robber without even a gun!"

"She's Nikki Heat, too!" someone else said. "Aren't you?"

"Uh…" Beckett stuttered.

"You're a hero! No wonder you're the star of the book if you do things like that in real life. I never thought anything like that could be real!"

"Thank you," she faltered. A crowd – or at least, more than three people she didn't know – was beginning to collect, all talking at her and each other. As the babble rose, more people started to look and join in.

"Is this a party? Can I join in? I love parties," Castle's smooth, friendly tones split the jabbering. "What are all your names? It's great to meet new people." Everyone turned to his projected personality, making them all feel like they were his new best friend.

"What's your" – one started.

"Don't be dumb. That's Richard Castle! He writes Nikki Heat and Storm!"

Castle managed an attractively self-deprecating smile. "That's me. But who are all of you?"

Magically, Beckett's hot chocolate had landed in front of her, but Castle was drawing the crowd's attention away from her. She was utterly relieved. She'd been so stressed by the crowding that her hand had gone to her hip, where her gun was not. It was back in Manhattan, in her gun safe. Nobody had touched her. Nobody had come near her sling. They'd just talked, and praised, and admired.

She didn't want to be known as a hero. She didn't want to be known at all. She just wanted to be left in peace to drink her hot chocolate in the sunshine, maybe snuggled into Castle's arm, and not be disturbed at all. She sipped, and stayed where she was. Castle was gradually pulling the group of enthusiastic Nikki-fans further away from her, and under the blazing light of his public, PR personality, switched on in a way she'd only seen at his book reading and Nikki-launch party, they were mobbing him, not her. Castle was, she reflected, an extrovert to the nth degree, clearly feeding from the new friends (and fans) around him. Even the barista had popped her head out to see what was causing all the hubbub, and promptly found herself subject to a typically Castle request to give everyone there a drink and he'd pay. Beckett thought, rather cynically, that the café's profits would probably double for the day.

"So if you all show up at the library on Tuesday afternoon, or Thursday, I'll be signing books there if you want yours signed," Castle announced. "Mrs Tousa fixed it all up, and Ms Lex at the radio station will probably be advertising it."

"For real?"

"Sure. Like I said, I love meeting people." Castle beamed at the remaining crowd. "I gotta get some lunch, though. What's best here?"

After a lively debate, the consensus seemed to be that the club sandwich was best, and, in a perfect display of small-town manners, the crowd dispersed with enthusiastic commentary on how much Castle would enjoy his lunch.

Beckett looked up to see Castle returning, thankfully alone. It was surely just the bright sunshine that made his skin glow and brightened his eyes. He plopped down next to her and grinned.

"I love fans," he said.

"Thank you."

"Uh?"

"For moving them away."

Castle's ears went pink. "No problem. I really do love fans." Beckett managed a piercing glare. Castle's ears turned red. "And you looked a bit stressed," he admitted.

"Yeah," she confessed back again.

"I'm going to get a sandwich. Do you want something?"

Beckett considered. "Not really, but I ought to. You choose. Something easy, and a soda." She reached for her purse.

"No, no. If they let you pay for anything, then you can get your wallet out."

"Don't tell them it's me," Beckett said. "It's not" –

"You think they don't know? You're not exactly inconspicuous."

"They shouldn't," she said sulkily. "They should let me pay."

"They want to reward you."

"I don't need to be rewarded for doing my job! I signed up to protect and serve. That's what it's all about."

"You don't need to be rewarded, but they want to. You're not asking for anything, they're offering. Totally different. If you were expecting it, that would be awful, but you aren't. Anything but. Let them have their pride, Beckett – God knows, you've got enough of your own to recognise theirs."

She stared at him. "You are lecturing me about pride? You? Mr-I-am-a-totally-famous-author? Mr-where-would-you-like-it? You?"

"Takes one to know one," Castle fired back. "And I've got as much reason to be proud of my achievements as you do of yours. Sure you save people, but I make millions happy. So sue me. They want to be proud of themselves, so let them do it."

"Whatever," she huffed. "But it's dumb. They run on a shoestring and they're turning down custom?"

"Just let them!" Castle expostulated. "Stop arguing. I'm getting lunch and you are going to sit and not argue!" He surged up, suddenly large and extremely irritated, and stalked into the café. Left behind, and unable to do what she wanted, which was stalk off in a different direction, Beckett produced an expression which made small children hide behind their parents.

It didn't dissuade the approaching figure of Mrs Tousa.

"Hi," Mrs Tousa said, completely ignoring the Beckett primed-bomb attitude. "Glad to see you're getting some sunshine and coming into town. It must be real hard to be cooped up at home, even with that nice Rick Castle to take care of you."

"Yeah," Beckett agreed. "No fun looking at the same four walls – or three trees – all the time."

"I'd be looking at the scenery," Mrs Tousa said, with the sort of lascivious expression that only a multiple grandmother with an evil sense of humour could achieve. Beckett coloured. Mrs Tousa patted her hand. "And I'm sure there's plenty of scenery to look at." Beckett choked. "Now, honey, no need to be embarrassed. I may be old but I'm surely not dead, and you'd have to be a long time dead not to notice that boy's…build." She hooted with laughter. "Better go and open up the library. Looking forward to seeing both of you there Tuesday. Two o'clock. Don't be late." She bustled off. Beckett would swear her back was leering.

Beckett didn't have time to recover from Mrs Tousa when her phone rang. She didn't recognise the number, but answered anyway.

"Beckett."

"Detective Kate Beckett? This is Carl Sandvag."

"Yeah?"

"I'm the PT attached to the hospital."

"You're calling on a Sunday?"

"You got a pretty serious injury there. We need to start on you right away, that way you've got the best chance of getting most of your mobility back."

"Most?"

"Well" – Sandvag suddenly realised that Beckett was utterly unaware of the implications of the injury – "look, you might get the full range back, but we can't guarantee it. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll know."

"I see," Beckett said flatly. "When do we start?"

"Today, if you like."

"I'm at the market café."

"Can you come to the hospital for two?"

Beckett checked her watch – half past twelve. "I guess," she said. "What's your number, so I can call if there's a problem?" Sandvag reeled it off. "Okay. Thanks."

"Who was that?" Castle asked from behind her, setting down a tray.

"PT. He wants me to get to the hospital at two."

"Okay. I'll take you over and then wander around till you're done." He pushed a mug of fresh coffee under her nose. She didn't move. "What's up?"

"I might not get full mobility back," she clipped, completely unemotional. Her hands were in her lap, knotted hard together where Castle couldn't see them.

"Oh," he managed. "What does that mean?"

"How would I know? It could be anything." Her voice was locked down, cold and hard. "I guess they won't even be able to tell me for weeks." She looked at her mug and the pastry he'd brought her. "Excuse me," she said, and shuffled towards the restroom, hunched around her sling.

Beckett bolted herself into a cubicle, sat on the lavatory lid, and let her feelings escape in privacy. Maybe not full mobility? What if she couldn't raise and fire? What if she couldn't cuff a suspect, or defend herself? How could she be the cop she had been if she couldn't…do the job? Ugly, bitter tears trickled down her cheeks, mopped away with the cheap café toilet paper. What else could she do? She didn't want to be a lawyer. That had been hero worship of her mother, not a true calling. She was a cop to her core. An on-the-street cop. She didn't want to drive a desk yet. She wanted to catch killers. Paperwork was the bane of her life and taking the sergeant's exam would give her lots more paperwork and lots less catching killers.

What was she going to do if her shoulder mobility didn't return?

She hadn't the faintest idea.

More tears flowed. She hurt. She should have re-iced her shoulder some time ago, and hadn't. She should eat, but right now she felt that she'd throw it straight back up again, and the spasms would be agonising. She should stop sitting in this small cubicle crying and face up to whatever came next – but she just couldn't force her eyes to dry or her body to rise.

Her utter misery was interrupted by a tentatively soft knock on the cubicle door.

"Uh, Detective Beckett, are you in there? Mr Castle sent me in to make sure you were okay – you've been in here half an hour and he's worried about you."

Beckett forced herself up and opened the door. "I'm fine," she said.

"Oh, honey," the middle-aged woman said, "you are not fine at all. Come here and let me clean off that mascara. I got some real good moisturiser that'll fix you right up."

Beckett found herself being cleaned up and fussed over, without the slightest clue how to make it stop short of death, her own.

"That's better," the woman said. "I'm Gail. You just stay here and I'll send Mr Castle in now you're fixed up. Nobody's going to disturb you. I'll fix your coffee and food to go, and he can take you right on home soon as you're ready."

"I have to go to the hospital," Beckett said. "PT."

"Well, and if that isn't enough to make anyone miserable I don't know what is," Gail said. "I had PT on my knee and boy oh boy did that hurt. I guess you hurt enough without wanting to add anything more to it. Now you wait here, I'll send Mr Castle in and I'll get you an ice bag that you can use on your shoulder."

She darted off, before Beckett could gather her thoughts to say no or yes to Castle arriving.

And then the decision was out of her hands – all one working hand – because Castle was there, all around her, holding her close and petting and cossetting and cuddling, murmuring nothings into her hair.

All of which meant that she dissolved into hopeless, pathetic tears all over again, and no matter how she tried she simply couldn't stop. Castle petted and cossetted and nothing, absolutely nothing, helped her stop falling apart all over the café's only women's restroom.

At least fifteen minutes later, when she was still hiccupping and sobbing into his shirt, Beckett simply slumped. Castle thought carefully, opened the door, took his car keys in his teeth and then, thinking, popped them in the sling with Beckett's arm, and despite his severe worries about moving Beckett in any way, oh-so-gently picked her up bridal style (with her sling outward) and carried her out.

"Bad reaction to the painkillers," he lied smoothly. "I'm taking her up to the hospital. My car's right over there."

"Give me your keys," Gail said, "and I'll get the doors open for you so you can put her right in – maybe on the back seat?"

"Front, I think. Easier to belt her in safely." Gail nodded. "But you opening up would be great. The keys are in her sling."

Gail twitched the keys out without a hitch, and followed an increasingly puffing Castle to his car, opening the doors. Castle slid Beckett on to the passenger seat and turned around.

"Thank you," he said.

"Anything to help. You take good care of her now."

"Yes." He only just managed not to add ma'am.

"Off you go. Hurry up now."

"Yes'm," Castle said, automatically. He put the car into gear and hurried to the hospital, which fortunately wasn't far. Beckett was worryingly still and silent, but her breathing remained regular despite her closed eyes. Dampness still leaked from under her lashes.

"Beckett," Castle tried as he switched the engine off, "Beckett, can you get out, or do you want help? We're at the hospital."

"No…" she faltered, but Castle came around to the passenger side anyway in case of need. She struggled out by herself, though it cost Castle half his tongue bitten through to watch her – but as soon as she was more-or-less upright, he slung a strong arm around her.

"Who are you seeing?" he asked, desperately pretending none of the last hour had ever happened.

"PT. Sand – Sandvag. Carl."

Castle deposited Beckett in a chair and took care of the formalities with reception, not worried by his lack of any legal right or responsibility. Since the receptionist had clearly picked up all the local gossip about Beckett's heroics and her starring role as Nikki Heat, together with Castle's presence to look after her, there was no problem at all. Well, apart from the receptionist's worshipful looks at both of them and clear desire to tell all her friends about the reality, shown in the twitching of her fingers towards her phone.

Castle sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair next to Beckett with his arm back around her, and simply kept her tucked in until her name was called.

"That's you," he said.

"Yeah."

Astonishingly, horribly, her face returned to the brisk, always-in-charge Detective Beckett as she stood (as he hoisted her), and then she managed a semblance of her usual stride towards the PT. To Castle's well-honed observation, she was putting her feet down far more gently than the normal hard clack of heels. He concluded that the normal stride would jar her shoulder with every step, and silently applauded.

Beckett reached the door of the PT room without collapsing or shuffling – or bursting into tears again. It might be taking every scrap of her hard-earned control, but she would do it. And she did.

"Take a seat," Sandvag said cheerfully. Beckett scowled at his cheer, but sat. Sandvag blinked.

"You said I would get back most of my mobility," Beckett opened. The only way she'd get through this was as Detective Kate Beckett, scourge of criminals and killers and interrogator extraordinaire. "Explain."

"I'm sorry?"

"Explain what you mean by most. Why not all?"

Sandvag gulped. Beckett glared. Sandvag gulped again, then looked her dead in the eye. "Because until we start, and until we're some way into PT, I won't know. Muscle repair is unpredictable, especially when you get shot. So I'm not going to give you false hope when none of us know the truth."

There was an instant's silence which would have terrified any witness, perpetrator, or anyone who'd met, watched, or heard Detective Beckett professionally.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers, guest and signed in. Much appreciated.