Chapter 19

Beckett reached out with her good hand, and cupped Castle's jaw, stroking her thumb over his cheek. "I wish…" She thought better of that sentence.

"Wish what?" Castle asked, his hand stealing up to cover hers.

"Nothing."

"I wish we could just stay like this all day," Castle oozed, passing over her evasion. He'd get to that later, in the cool dark of her bedroom and the concealment of night. "Making out is a good thing. Takes your mind off anything else."

"Really?"

"I don't think you were thinking about anything else," he said smugly. "You were making happy little noises and kissing me right back."

"Where's the forklift truck?"

"Huh?"

"To haul your ego around."

"Right behind you," Castle said easily, "to haul you around too." Beckett spluttered. "What? I can't swoop you up and carry you everywhere; it would make a terrible scene and embarrass you. Not me, of course. It would burnish my reputation even further." Beckett spluttered some more, and couldn't find a riposte. "Time to lavish lotion on your legs," he diverted, and promptly did, causing Beckett to hum happily.

Beckett lay back and let her mind drift. Kissing Castle had been amazing. Why hadn't she tried it before? Just as she'd thought earlier, though, it came back to the whole mess with Ellie Monroe, jealousy, Demming, and Castle walking away from her. And then a series of risks taken that she wouldn't have taken if Castle had been there.

Or…would she?

No. Not without some better planning and thinking first. She'd gone at all of them headlong, and if she'd only followed her usual practice of examining her suspect from Observation before stalking in to interrogate, she'd have known that he wasn't shackled and corrected the omission. And if she'd been her usual self, she'd have had her gun with her even to come into sleepy Walton, because criminals didn't omit to terrorise sleepy upstate towns.

And here she was, injured.

On the other hand…if she hadn't, would Castle even be here? Or would they both be sulking through their respective summers, unhappy and never mentioning it; waiting to see if Castle bothered to return in the fall?

She sighed.

"What's wrong?" Castle asked, from his own recliner, where he was applying lotion to his arms and chest. Now that she was looking, there was a significant amount of impressive flexing going on around the pectoral area.

"I don't like being hurt, I don't like PT, and I wish I'd taken my gun to the store that day," she said bitterly. "I could've shot him from around a shelf."

"Yeah. Uh…why did you take him on when you weren't armed?"

"I forgot I didn't have my gun."

"Why didn't you have it? You've always got your gun, except when you're at home – and then it's in your gun safe or under your pillow."

"Gun safe."

"But you told me you slept with a gun," Castle pouted. "Were you telling me fibs?"

"Nope." Beckett grinned evilly. "There's a Glock on one of my sleep tees – gag gift from Esposito."

"That wasn't what I thought you meant," he growled gently.

"That's not my fault."

"So why didn't you have your gun?" Castle returned to his point.

Beckett coloured and wriggled uncomfortably. Castle waited until she thought crossly that he'd been studying her interrogation techniques. "I didn't bring it." Castle waited some more. "My arm was still sore so I wasn't carrying anything I didn't have to."

"Your arm was sore?" Castle asked.

"Yeah." Beckett bit the bullet. "Some lowlife punched me – he was aiming for my throat but I dodged and he got my arm. It was bruised, that's all, but it hurt a bit. So I was resting it." She could hear the defensiveness in her voice.

"When did he punch you?" Castle stared at her arm, and didn't mention that he already knew the story, interested to see whether she'd admit the truth. "I thought you got the bruises from tackling the store robber."

"Two weeks ago."

"And it still looks like that? You sure he didn't break it?"

"Hospital would've found a break. They said it was just bruised. They gave me a sling for a couple of days, but it's okay now."

"And the one on your jaw?"

Beckett emitted a noise that would have scared a sabre-toothed tiger. "Idiot uniform forgot to shackle a dangerous suspect, so he hid behind the door and punched me when I walked in."

"But you always inspect them from Observation first," Castle gasped. "How come you didn't see that?"

"I didn't go to Observation," Beckett clipped off. "We needed to close the case." Castle said nothing, very loudly. "We're always frantically busy in summer." Castle's unvoiced commentary became deafening. "I took my medical leave. That's why I was up here. I was resting," she added even more defensively. She sounded, to her own ears, like a child trying to excuse themselves.

"Actually taking care of yourself, Beckett? That's not allowed. What'll I do if you start taking care of yourself? You might start to make your own coffee!" Castle teased gently.

Beckett blinked. Castle wasn't known for leaving a subject if he thought there was more to it, and she was convinced that he thought there was more to her being here. Still, he'd dropped it. "Coffee? I could really use a coffee."

"Coffee coming up. I might even find a Danish for you – and me. I'm hungry." He licked his lips extravagantly, and disappeared into the cabin. When he reappeared, he had a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate with pastries. "Elevenses," he announced.

"Huh?"

"British term. A snack taken with coffee – or tea, since that's all that Brits ever seem to want – at around mid-morning. I like the word. Elevenssssessssssssss," he rolled around.

"You sound like Gollum on crack," Beckett snarked.

"I've seen you with your coffee bean stash. Gollum, the One Ring and My Preciousssssssssss isn't in it with you and coffee. In fact, you on a mission for coffee would have dealt with Saruman, Sauron and levelled Orodruin without a pause, if they were in your way."

Beckett boggled. "You really are on something."

"Don't tell me you haven't read Lord of the Rings."

"Of course I have," Beckett said indignantly. "Hasn't everyone?"

"And you know what Gollum was like, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you have to agree that you're just as possessive of your coffee as he was about his precioussssssssss. You'd keep it in your pocketses if you could."

Beckett made a disgruntled noise. "If you'd dealt with those coffee-stealing rats in the precinct you'd hide it too."

"That's why I bring the replenishments in small bags," Castle smiled. "To avoid the coffee-stealing rats."

Beckett smiled back, and sipped her coffee. It was as good as Castle's usual coffee, and relaxed her back to a sense of the world being closer to right. Castle, with her, bringing her coffee. That was the way the world ought to be. She disposed of her pastry in three bites, drained the coffee, and then reached out her hand to find Castle's. He had two of them, so he could easily spare her one. Her fingers curled around his, then thought better of it and interlocked. The look of surprise on Castle's face was rather pleasing, but he wasn't so surprised that he couldn't tuck his own fingers around hers. It felt…nice.

The rest of the day passed in peaceful relaxation. Beckett's shoulder underwent icing at frequent intervals. She even ate slightly more lunch than on any previous day, then napped in the afternoon, secure in Castle's undemanding presence. He wrote, and read, and played silent games.

As night drew in, dinner eaten, Beckett declared her intention to have a bath. Castle insisted on running it and then wrapping her shoulder, but tactfully exited so that she could wash. Clean, refreshed, and contented, she managed to don panties and sleep tee and walk to her bedroom.

It was empty. She frowned. That hadn't been the plan. "Castle?" she queried.

"Yes? I'm downstairs."

"Oh. Okay."

Noise and fuss indicated the arrival of Castle. "I thought you were going to bed?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I wasn't going to disturb you."

"Oh. Okay."

Castle finally picked up on the hint of disappointment. "But I could come and fix your pillows, tuck you in and hold your hand," he said.

"That'd be nice."

Castle beamed. "At your disposal, Detective." He swiftly arranged her pillows, plumped his own, shucked his shoes and slid around to pull up the coverlet to tuck her in. "There. Do you want your book or anything?"

"No, thanks," she yawned. "Will you wake me up in good time for PT?"

"Of course."

"Thanks. Night." Her eyes closed, and no more than three breaths later she was asleep, clinging to Castle's hand as if it tethered her to the earth.

As he had the previous night, Castle remained holding Beckett's limp hand until he was sure that she was deeply asleep, and only then washed and changed into sleepwear. Well. His sleepwear tended to be simply his boxer shorts, and he had no intention of changing that – especially when there was a chance of snuggling up to Beckett's undamaged side.

He regretted that she was still so tired, but it did give him the chance to do some more focused thinking about what she'd said earlier – and what she hadn't. She'd admitted the injuries, but evaded answering anything that might have revealed her reasons for – for Beckett – complete recklessness. Not observing before going into Interrogation? She never did that. Getting punched while arresting a suspect? Who'd she been with? And how hadn't she seen it coming? Normally she anticipated that sort of loss of temper, and she was, so Espo had told him, an excellent sparrer. So how had she missed the signals? And forgetting – forgetting, when Beckett had the steel-trap memory of a whole universe of metaphorical elephants – that she didn't have her gun?

Ah. She'd said she was in a hurry to close one of the cases. That was the connecting thread. She'd been hurrying. Which matched up with Ryan's commentary about her piling on the overtime. Or more accurately, drowning herself in work. So. Rushing to close cases, start the next one, eat (maybe), sleep (occasionally), repeat. Until she started making mistakes.

Or – not mistakes, but taking too many risks? Cutting corners – not with the investigation, but with her own safety, so that the cases were shut in the least possible time? Burying herself in work because she…

Oh. Because she hadn't anything else and Kate Beckett reverted to working herself into the ground every time something else in her life went wrong. Such as Castle walking off with Gina just as she'd ditched Demming, five minutes too late.

Well, shit. That was a whole new level of self-sabotage. Sure, she'd also been unlucky, but…you make your own luck, sometimes, and she'd made it bad.

On the other hand, it had brought them fully together, and here they were, tucked up in bed together, holding hands. The sling, bruising, and shoulder injury could usefully be elsewhere, but it was many steps further forward than he'd thought they would be. He drifted into sleep, smiling.

When Castle woke, he found that he had turned into Beckett and had curled an arm around her waist. She didn't seem to have objected, since the arm was still attached to the rest of him, and she was still asleep. He checked the time, and found it to be early enough that he could fix breakfast and coffee for them both, and then they'd have plenty of time to get to the hospital and, in his case, arrange an interview time with Annie at the radio station. He'd do that while Beckett was at PT.

"Okay, call me when you're done and I'll pick you up," Castle said. "We can get some lunch and then go to the library."

Beckett made a noise that might have been agreement, but mostly sounded unhappy. Castle parked neatly at the hospital, and exited, coming round to open the car door for her. "See you later," he chirped as she took a step, then caught up to her, gently hugged her and planted a kiss on her mouth. "Try not to kill the poor therapist." He whipped back into the car before her wrath could fall upon him, and drove off. In the mirror, he could see Beckett's form entering the hospital. Her straight spine somehow seemed slumped.

A few minutes later, he parked by the radio station, knocked and went in. Through the studio door he could hear Annie talking, so he waited, and then pressed his nose to the glass of the soundproof door. She looked up, saw him, waved and a moment or so later cut to commercials and waved him in.

"Rick," she said.

"Hey. You said you wanted an interview?"

"Sure I do. But Mrs Tousa said let you have one session at the library first, and that's today, yeah?"

"Yeah. This afternoon. So what do you want to do?"

"Come in tomorrow – after lunch, and we'll do it then. Two o'clock airing. It'll be great."

"Bring your books, and I'll sign them."

"Sure. Gotta get going. Seeya tomorrow." Annie gestured him to silence and the door, as the commercial break ended and she began to talk – starting with her scoop of the week, an interview with world-famous author Richard Castle, who'd be in the library that very afternoon with his inspiration for Nikki Heat and their own injured hero, Detective Kate Beckett. Castle ran for it – Beckett was not going to appreciate the PR and consequent popularity: of that he was sure.

He recovered himself with the aid of strong coffee and a Danish, and began to make notes of oddities and characters around him. An hour or so later, his phone rang with Beckett's ringtone – this month it was Ride of the Valkyries, for which she'd mauled his ear.

"Hey," he said. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," she sighed. Even on the phone he could hear her exhaustion and pain.

"I'll come get you, and then we'll get lunch."

"'Kay. There's a bench outside. I'll be there."

"I won't be long."

Castle wouldn't be long. Beckett clearly needed to be cossetted, cuddled and – most importantly – fed and watered. He guessed that PT had been rough, again, and that wasn't likely to change any time soon. He drove sedately to the hospital, though he wanted to run every light, and spotted Beckett slumped on the bench.

"Richard Castle's luxury cab service at your disposal. Where would you like to go today?" he announced.

"Home," Beckett grumbled, "but that's not on offer because you signed us up for the library."

"We were sandbagged by Mrs Tousa," Castle corrected, "but we could go get a nice lunch before we have to be there."

"Does it serve vodka?" Beckett muttered.

"How about painkillers?"

"Took them. I want an anaesthetic."

"Bad?"

"Yeah. I can't do anything and he does it all and I can't move. And it hurts," she added childishly, and pouted.

"Chocolate," Castle said.

"Huh?"

"Lunch with chocolate or desserts or both. Guaranteed to make everything better. Let's go." He extended a hand to Beckett, who took it and then leaned on him for the entire fifty yards to the car. She sank into the seat, said nothing all the way to the diner that Castle had selected, and leaned on him until they were shown to a table.

Castle assessed Beckett, ordered for her, and then watched as the bacon-and-cheeseburger disappeared as if she'd inhaled it.

"I guess I was hungry," she said, flushing slightly.

"Maybe you just needed red meat. Do you feel better?"

"Yeah," she said, a touch surprised. "Yes, I do."

"I better change the groceries. Instead of pasta, stir fried beef." Castle grinned. "Whatever works. Have you got a barbecue or a grill at the cabin?"

"No. We…well, it's never been important when there's only one person there."

Castle drew the key conclusion, and declined comment. "I could get a disposable one, and then we could have burgers or steaks, if you like?"

Beckett considered. "Yeah. That'd be great. Rare steaks…let's get some fries. I've got a fryer."

"And onion rings. And tomatoes, and mushrooms. Oh, and corn on the cob," Castle enthused. "A proper barbecue."

"You might end up eating most of it, if I'm too tired."

"We'll just keep it for tomorrow." Castle was so happy that Beckett had evinced an appetite, that he'd have agreed to an eating competition if it were required. "Shall we get hot dogs for another day? They're fun too."

"Sure."

In the first sign of the real Detective Beckett since Castle had arrived on her doorstep, she looked up and around, smiled, and promptly the server arrived. "Can I get the dessert menu?" she said.

"Yes'm."

The menu arrived, Beckett skimmed it in seconds, and passed it to Castle. "Brownies," she said.

"Chocolate is always right. Me too."

The brownies disappeared more slowly, but completely. Coffee followed, and finally Castle checked his watch. "We ought to get to the library."

"Yeah. At least I can hide there."

Castle didn't say that he thought that Beckett being able to hide, much less allowed to, would be a miracle of Biblical proportions. He also didn't mention his trip to the radio station. Neither would help.

"We'll take the car up – I know it's only a few hundred yards, but that way it's there when we finish if you're tired. That burger might only fuel you for an hour or so."

Beckett made a displeased noise, which Castle ignored. Shortly, he pulled up at the library.

"There's a line!" Beckett squawked.

"I'm very popular," Castle smirked. "But I think we'll park around the corner, and sneak in. I don't think your friend Officer Dermot would be very pleased if we start a riot."

"People aren't that dumb."

Castle wasn't nearly as sure of that. However… "Okay, I'll park here and we can go in." He inserted the car into a space, stepped out, and politely opened the door for Beckett, offering her a hand to lever herself up.

They made it three strides from the car before someone noticed them.

"Hey, isn't that" – rose from the line.

"Yeah. That's Richard Castle!"

"There's Detective Beckett! You know she saved Marie from that gunman?"

"It is? Where?"

Within ten seconds, a previously orderly line had descended into a roiling mass of chaos, all trying to get a good look at Castle and/or Beckett. Castle, who'd started with a smug smile but rapidly found himself trying to protect Beckett's sling and shoulder, took a breath – and was forestalled by Beckett.

"Stop!" she projected. Castle could feel the wince and hear the pain as her chest expansion moved the sling. "Everyone calm down and give us a little space." The crowd shuffled back, embarrassed.

At that point, a moment too late, the library doors opened and Mrs Tousa emerged. "Shush!" she yelled. Silence fell instantly. "Now, what's all this fuss? Get back into line. Mr Castle and Detective Beckett aren't here yet so there's no point to all this pushing and shoving. You'll all get your turn."

"They are here!" someone hollered.

"Is that why you're behaving like a bunch of grade-schoolers seeing the ice-cream truck?"

Castle bit the bullet. "We're here," he said.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.