Chapter 18

The door wasn't locked, which was also a considerable relief, since he had left his car keys in the cabin and really didn't want to sleep on the porch. Castle went in without concession to the lateness of the hour, and switched the light on.

Beckett wasn't there. His stomach plummeted. She'd gone. How, he didn't know. Surely – he raced outside, but the Harley and his car were both still exactly where they had been. Not that idiocy.

She could have walked. Somewhere. Anywhere.

But wouldn't she have locked the door? She could barely shuffle, so why on earth would she go outside, in the dark, into the woods?

She wouldn't. Think, Rick. Or alternatively, use your eyes.

He looked around, and worked out that all the pillows were missing from the recliner. Deduction kicked in, and he began to investigate the area. No Beckett, which meant that she was most likely upstairs. He sneaked up on silent, bare feet; no light except from the main room below. He doubted that Beckett would be asleep, but he couldn't hear anything and there wasn't so much as a night light on up here. On the other hand, the doors weren't closed. He sneaked along to Beckett's room, and peeked in. All he could see in the gloom was a figure propped up on pillows to half-sitting. The sound of breathing inclined him to think she was trying to sleep, if she wasn't actually asleep, though the edge on each breath suggested discomfort. He sneaked further in, all the way up to the bed, and peered at her.

Tear stains down her cheeks, unwiped. Pillows packed around her, but not in any organised fashion, and he couldn't imagine that she was comfortable. Her arm was still in the sling, which also wasn't going to be comfortable. The sheet was drawn over her legs to her waist, but it wasn't smooth across the king-size bed. Even in semi-sleep, she was white and somehow crumpled.

Castle sat down on the edge of the bed, very gently, and traced one thick finger over the jut of Beckett's jaw. "Wake up," he murmured. "We need to talk."

Her eyes sprang open. For an instant, she seemed pleased to see him. Then, "You. Aren't you gone yet?"

"We need to talk." He sucked in a breath. "You're not going to get rid of me. You were really pleased to see me when I turned up and now we're going to really talk and sort all this out and not do subtext and misinterpretation and not knowing the truth. I wanna fix this properly and we can't do that without the truth."

"The truth was that you thought you could hand me off to Demming like an unwanted doll. The truth was that you wanted that actress" –

"I wanted to make you jealous!" Castle cut in. "You're my inspiration and you were blanking me for no reason so when someone actually wanted me and liked Nikki Heat rather than just pretending you're not interested when you really wanted to read it and got cross when I hadn't given you a proof copy – anyway, you wouldn't even give me the time of day and then you so were jealous and nothing I could do was going to be right so where do you get off bringing up Ellie when you spent all your time saying you weren't interested? Was I supposed not to believe you? I didn't think you played those sorts of games."

Somewhere in the tirade, he'd stood up and started pacing the room, thumping down on the floorboards, voice rising. "I know you think I didn't mean anything – not the dedication, not when I offered the loft when you got blown up, not when I put up the money for finding Coonan" –

"I never thought that meant nothing. It was too much! You shouldn't have done it."

"It was fucking pocket change! It meant so much to you and I could do it and you even argued about that. I'm surprised you even let me bring you coffee," he added bitterly.

"I love your coffee!" Beckett bit back – and stopped. Castle didn't break the silence. "I thought you weren't interested," she said unhappily. "You hadn't exactly done anything to, um, show you wanted anything more than a notch on the bedpost. And then you had Ellie and it looked just like your PR. And now you say that you told Demming you weren't interested."

"Because you weren't and I wasn't going to get in the way. What was I supposed to say?"

"You shouldn't have – he shouldn't have. It was up to me."

"Exactly why I gave him it," Castle said exasperatedly. "So he got his chance and the bastard took it."

"Didn't you expect him to?"

"Uh…I don't know what I was thinking." He sat down on the bed again. "I guess I just hoped you'd knock him back."

"Why would I? He was interested and you weren't. And then you moped around making passive-aggressive comments and faces" –

"You let him shut me out of the case!"

There was a long, heavy silence.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Because I was jealous about Ellie Monroe and Demming wasn't you and I didn't want to be doing theory with both of you because..."

"Because?"

"Because it was better with you."

"I took Ellie because it was a substitute for you…but it wasn't right." He sighed. "We messed this up, didn't we?"

"Yeah."

Castle slid a bit closer. "Hug it out?" he murmured, and closed his arms around her.

"Why'd you walk off?" Beckett asked Castle's shoulder.

"Meredith cheated on me."

"Oh. Uh, sorry. I didn't know that."

"I didn't think you did," Castle said, and inside a little thorn dissolved into nothing. "I caught her with a director."

Beckett muttered something into which Castle felt it wiser not to enquire. It hadn't sounded complimentary. He continued to hug. Even with a sling, Beckett's head against his shoulder and her body in his arms was…well, wonderful. As he held her, she relaxed.

"Nice," she whispered.

Castle had a brilliant idea. "Lemme sort those pillows out so you're comfortable and properly propped up, and then I'll come back and stay till you're asleep."

"No," emerged from his shirt.

"No?" he queried, sharp disappointment in his tone.

"Stay. Not just till I'm asleep."

"You mean it?"

"Do I say things I don't mean?"

Castle wasn't dumb enough to answer that truthfully, or indeed at all. "Let's fix you up comfortably," he said instead. "Sit up?"

Beckett did, and Castle rearranged everything. When she lay back, she was, indeed, far more comfortable. "Thanks."

"Now, time to tuck you in, and then I'll get my pillows, since you've got all the others." He pulled up the sheet over her shoulders, and patted her. "All tidy."

In a moment, he returned with his pillows, and a book. "Once you're asleep, I'll go do my bedtime beauty routine," he smirked, "and then I'll come back. I'll be here when you wake up." He faked a look of horror. "I really hope you don't snore."

Beckett squawked, diluted by sleepiness. "If you snore, I'll shoot you," she tried to threaten, but it lost most of its force when she was tucked up in bed, on half a dozen pillows, with her arm in a sling.

Castle arranged himself tidily, and then stretched out one arm and found Beckett's good hand. This wasn't his preferred side, but he'd put up with a lot more than that to spend the night with even an injured Beckett. His fingers locked over hers, receiving back a tiny little squeeze that shortly became the limpness of sleep. He didn't let go of her hand, though, for some time, reading awkwardly and one-handed, until he was absolutely certain that Beckett was properly asleep. Perhaps, he thought, it was the first proper sleep she'd had since she'd been –

Shot. Shot, Rick. Not hurt, or injured, or bruised – shot. With a gun and a bullet and God's grace that it hadn't been a lot closer to fatal. His chest chilled. She could have been dead.

She wasn't dead. She wasn't dead and he was here and just maybe they had a chance to get this – them – right. He could hear her soft breathing, next to him, and okay, it wasn't quite how he'd imagined their first night in bed together – slings and bullet wounds had not figured – but they were in bed together. Thinking of which, he should go wash up and tuck himself in.

Suitably washed and brushed, Castle slipped into the bed, regretted being on the unfamiliar side, and then promptly forgot all regrets with the faint scent of Beckett's bodywash and hair products, and the delicate span of her slim fingers in his hand. He was asleep almost before he knew it.

When he woke, he still held Beckett's hand, and she was still asleep, propped up on her pillows but peaceful. He took the opportunity to observe (and heard stare creepily, Castle in his head in Beckett's snarky tones), for the first, but not, he hoped, the last, time. Sleeping Beckett was adorable, if he ignored the dressings and sling: smooth brow, long lashes sweeping cream skin, a tiny smile on full lips.

He couldn't resist temptation. He leaned up on an elbow, and planted the lightest of kisses on her lush mouth. Just one. And then he got up before temptation got the better of him and he carried on kissing. So not cool.

Temptation gnawed at him all through his morning routine, breakfast, and a second mug of coffee, but he wrestled it to defeat and then crowned his victory by writing fully half a chapter in barely any time at all. That done, and the Save button pressed with smug satisfaction, he realised that Beckett was still not in evidence, and went upstairs to investigate.

Beckett was, he found, awake. For a given definition of awake, which translated as eyes open, but nobody home. She was ruffled and tousled and yawning, and so utterly, totally cute that he could barely believe it. He wanted to hug her in, cage her and never, ever let her go again.

He didn't. "Hey," he said cheerfully. "Coffee?"

"Urgh."

"Coffee," he said, and bounced off downstairs to make it. He brought it back up, by which time some intelligence had made it through the morning fog of Beckett's brain to Beckett's face.

"Coffee," she said, and reached for it – swore viciously, and lay back. "Ow."

Castle put the coffee on the nightstand. "Ice," he said, and shortly returned with the ice pack. He put it on her shoulder. "Better?"

"Ow. Yeah." She managed a rueful smile. "Shouldn't have moved that fast."

"It was coffee. You move at light speed when there's coffee on offer. Einstein would have thought up a whole new theory – instead of E=mc2 it would be Coffee=Beckett-speed to the power one million."

"Does this have meaning in English?" Beckett asked her pillows. "Because it doesn't sound like it." She peeped at Castle. "Did you like science in high school?"

Castle coloured. Science had come a long way behind the humanities in his high school career – and both of them had lagged behind making mischief and pranking.

"Can I get my coffee now?" Beckett said hopefully. Castle realised that he'd inadvertently put it out of reach, and repositioned it into her waiting hand. She drained it in one gulp, and smiled. "Is there more?"

"If you come downstairs, now enough neurons are working to make your legs move." Beckett growled. Castle produced a sunny, and infuriating, smile. "Can't catch me," he said, and fled.

Much more slowly, Beckett descended the stairs, ice pack still balanced on her shoulder. Coffee awaited her, to her appreciation, and disappeared down her under-caffeinated gullet in no time.

"What shall we do today?" Castle enthused. "It's lovely outside."

Beckett considered. "We're going to have to go to Walton tomorrow for the whole day – PT in the morning, and then you're dealing with your adoring public on pain of Mrs Tousa's wrath." She frowned. "I don't think I can deal with two days in a row doing things. We did things yesterday, and PT really tired me out." She raised her eyes to meet Castle's. "I think I should just stay here and rest." Her face indicated that she didn't like that idea. "You don't have to."

"I'll write, and if I get bored I'll worry about it then."

"Or procrastinate, fidget, and play games," Beckett said cynically.

"That too," Castle agreed cheerfully. "Procrastination is the stuff of life."

"I thought it was the thief of time?"

"Yeah, but I have lots of time."

"Doesn't mean you should waste it."

"Nothing is wasted. You should see what weirdness trawling the web can find for me. It's great."

Beckett humphed, but Castle's vast arsenal of trivia had been useful to help solve cases on more than one occasion.

"Now, shall I move your recliner into the sunshine, install you into it, and provide you with pillows, books, drinks and ice packs?"

"Yes, please." Beckett creaked to her feet.

"No, no. Sit back down again until everything's in order."

Beckett sat, with the best flounce she could manage. It was barely noticeable, which was irritating. Flounces should have an effect, but Castle hadn't even noticed that one. He wasn't even looking at her, but flexing some rather impressive pecs and biceps as he carried the recliner out into the sunshine.

She had a naughty idea. She might not be able to do anything, but she could enjoy herself. She heaved herself up, and upstairs. In her room was a swimsuit. She was going to sunbathe.

It took her a full ten minutes to wriggle into the swimsuit, and then she had a sudden attack of nerves and found a loose covering which – hallelujah! – floated silkily over her sling and swimsuit. She went back downstairs, and was unreasonably annoyed that Castle wasn't there to react. About that point, she realised that she'd thought about something that wasn't pain, suffering, or Castle walking away with Gina. Slightly more slowly, she realised that she really, really wanted to see Castle's reaction to her in a swimsuit, and that the best therapy she could have right now would be the heat and desire rising in his eyes.

Somehow, some way, sleeping peacefully next to him, his hand holding hers, had changed her world. Of course, talking honestly to each other had helped too…though he hadn't asked about the injuries again. She winced. She ought to tell him how she'd got them. Another wince. She'd been doing her job, she told herself. She'd been taking risks, she retorted, because she thought there wouldn't be anything else. Which was not something she wanted to admit to herself, let alone to Castle. And a third wince.

She wandered into the kitchen and out of the back door, where she found a recliner, placed carefully in the sunshine, but no Castle. Somewhat disgruntled, she sat on the recliner, divested herself of the wrap, lowered herself back into the pillows already there, and closed her eyes. Extremely surprisingly, she didn't drift off into sleep, which she felt was unfair –

Right up till the very next moment, when she heard a strangulated gasp. Her eyes popped open, to see Castle's eyes bugging out so far that they were making close acquaintance with the grass.

"S-s-s-swimsuit," he stammered.

Beckett smirked. "I'm sunbathing."

"You are?" Castle enquired, recovering his composure rather too quickly. "I guess I'd better join you. Back in a moment."

"You brought swim shorts?" Beckett squeaked. All the air seemed to have left the area around her.

"And sun tan lotion," Castle preened. "I wouldn't want to burn my delicate skin."

Beckett tried hard not to examine said skin, which didn't seem delicate to her. More…masculine. Tactile. Touchable. And covering some well-defined muscles. By dint of lowering her lashes, she concealed her focused regard. "Delicate?" she managed to snark.

"Definitely. It would definitely burn if I don't apply lotion." He smiled wolfishly, and Beckett suddenly realised that she'd given not one, but two hostages to fortune – and Castle's talent for suggestive mischief. "Did you put lotion on?"

"No," she attempted to snap, but she knew exactly where he was going, and snappishness wasn't the uppermost tone of her voice. "How could I, with only one working arm?"

"You'll get burned," Castle chided, and then smiled again, more wolfishly still. "So I guess I'd better put lotion on you too." He shook the bottle of lotion. "Sit up, so I don't get it on the pillows. Or – do you have a towel, or something, to go over them?"

"Upstairs in the closet," Beckett said.

Castle bounced off, and bounced back with a striped beach towel. "Up you come," he grinned, and lifted her from the ribs before she could answer. She squeaked, which Castle insouciantly ignored. The towel floated in behind her. "Ready?"

"Yes."

Castle smiled smoothly, dolloped some lotion into his hand and began to smooth it into Beckett's unbandaged shoulder and neck. As he did, she relaxed, pressed fractionally into his fingers, and gave a contented little noise. Just what he wanted to hear. He continued, carefully over one collarbone, down her arm, over to her waist and stomach: her abs tight under his hand. He stopped. "You happy for me to do the rest of your front?"

Beckett hadn't missed his avoidance of the swell of her breast or that he hadn't gone close to the edge of her bikini bottom. She smiled up at him. "Yes," she said, "and my legs."

"We can't have your legs burning." Castle looked them up and down admiringly, and then turned back to her torso. "But first, finish this bit." His fingers dipped into another pool of lotion, and then traced lines of white horizontally below Beckett's collarbone. "Can you move your arm?"

"Nope," she growled. "The PT threatened me with loss of mobility if I did anything to move it. The half inch or so to wash under it is all I can do."

"I can work with half an inch," Castle said. "Just watch."

Or, Beckett thought, feel. For a set of large fingers attached to a broad hand, they could certainly find their way into some very small spaces. They ensured that sun lotion covered each inch of skin, neatly under the sling. When they had finished there, they returned to the uncovered side, and began to massage the stripes of lotion into the skin, moving lower and slowing down as he met the curves; meeting her eyes as his hand stroked softly right to the edge of the green halter top. They could have sneaked a little further, she thought, and looking straight into Castle's blue gaze, wondered why they hadn't. She nibbled at her lip.

"You'll make it bleed," Castle pointed out.

"You could kiss it better," said Beckett's impulsive side, which hadn't been allowed out since she was nineteen for very good reasons.

Those reasons did not include not wanting to be kissed by Castle, which was just as well, since he hadn't waited beyond the r in better. He had amazingly soft lips, which were doing amazingly interesting things all the way down her nerves. His hands were lowering her back on to the pillows, without him stopping kissing her. She opened to him, relaxed completely, and simply enjoyed his undoubted talent for kissing.

But kissing was all that he did. Castle, delighted to have been invited in, was nevertheless wholly conscious of Beckett's injuries and the risk of making it worse. Kissing was possible, pleasurable and positive. Anything further would be…reckless. Unfortunately, his body was telling him that reckless would be…wonderful. His brain told his body to behave. His body argued. His brain argued more, and finally had its way. Fortunately, that didn't mean stopping kissing Beckett, which was a wonderful dream come true.

Eventually, his spine's complaints about his position overcame his lust-soaked brain, and he sat up, creaking. Beckett was staring at him, but unlike the usual position, where his death might be imminent, her face was soft.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Guest - 25 chapters.