Chapter 20

"Well, why didn't you come in?" Mrs Tousa enquired.

"We were trying," Beckett snapped. "But since we couldn't get past the crowd without shoving, and since I got shot through the shoulder I can't shove, it was a touch difficult." She levelled a full-force glare at Mrs Tousa. The crowd, belatedly recognising their danger, parted like the Red Sea. Beckett, white and wincing, nevertheless managed to stride past them with Castle at her shoulder. Behind them, under Mrs Tousa's menacing stare, the line re-formed, in the perfect silence of a first grade class faced with an angry principal.

"Now you all just wait till we're ready. Everyone'll get their shot." Mrs Tousa shut the doors behind Beckett, gave her one assessing glance, and said, "Sit down before you fall down."

Castle pulled a chair out for her. "Have you got your painkillers?"

"Yeah. In my purse. Could you get me some water, please?"

Mrs Tousa had already produced a full glass. Castle extracted two painkillers, which Beckett swallowed immediately.

"Do you need a minute, honey?" Mrs Tousa asked, much less aggressively. "'Cause we can make all those impatient types wait till you're ready."

"Yeah," Beckett said.

Castle sat down beside her, and supplied a supporting arm around her back. "Lean on me," he murmured. "You need a hug."

"I needed them to back off, but ow, it hurt."

"Breathe – not too deeply. Where are the ice packs?"

"Car."

"Oh. Give me a moment." He looked up at Mrs Tousa. "I need – Beckett needs to ice her shoulder. The packs are in the trunk in a cooler."

"No problem, honey," Mrs Tousa said to Beckett. "I'll go get the box and one of the boys in the line'll help me, 'specially if I tell them they'll get a second chance to chat to you."

Just as long as it's not chatting up, Castle thought. "That would be great," he said. "Here are the keys." Mrs Tousa bustled off, and Castle heard maternally authoritative tones ordering people around. When a youth appeared bearing the cooler, Castle inferred that maternal authority persisted well past adulthood. Alternatively, it was the magical powers of any librarian.

He iced Beckett's shoulder, and fixed the drooling youth with a look intended to convey mature, masculine suavity and sophistication. Since the youth turned white and scuttled off, Castle guessed that he'd actually conveyed straight-up intimidation and get away from my girl. Whatever. Beckett needed to ease her shoulder and, to avoid incinerating half the town, cool both her muscles and her temper. The particular shade of hard green in her eyes didn't bode well for her patience.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah." Beckett sighed. "I shouldn't've yelled, but…training, you know? See situation, defuse situation." She sighed again. "I can't even take a deep breath without it hurting."

Castle patted her healthy shoulder.

"Anyway, they'll want to see you and get books signed. I can just sit here and relax."

"That line seemed to be just as keen on you," Castle pointed out.

"They'll have got over it."

Castle hummed sceptically, but didn't comment. He also didn't mention Mrs Tousa's knowingly fond look at them, which wouldn't improve Beckett's fragile mood.

"You just let me know when you're ready," Mrs Tousa said. "I've got a table set up for you, Mr Castle" –

"Call me Rick."

"Uh, Rick. Just here." She gestured to a table with a remarkably comfortable-looking leather chair behind it. It was several steps up from the usual hard plastic effort with no arms and no cushions.

"Thank you," he said happily. "That's great."

"Now, Detective Beckett, you can just stay in that nice comfy armchair that you're in, and not worry about anything. If either of you want to get a coffee, or a snack, just let me know." The words and I'll send someone rang loudly through the air.

"Thank you." Notably, and worryingly, at least to Castle, Beckett didn't instantly request (or require) another coffee. She curled down into the armchair, and produced a smile. "You better get set up," she said to Castle. "That's a long line out there."

"All I need to do is sit down and get my pen out – oh, and smile. After that, it just depends what people want." He grinned. "Showtime."

"Ready?" asked Mrs Tousa.

"Yep."

Beckett had seen Castle on display before, but she'd never really paid attention to it, and in the café she'd been trying to disappear into the sidewalk. This time, with nothing to do but watch, she boggled. He'd flicked a switch that turned him to Richard Castle, megastar author, and he blazed. His eyes were brighter, his smile incandescent, his personality projected about six feet beyond the desk and chair. She thought back to their very first meeting, and noted the similarities. She didn't like this Castle much: he wasn't real. Real was the man who brought her coffee and had all sorts of insane theories and useless knowledge of total trivia.

Real was the man who took care of her and never, ever tried to stop her doing her job, dangerous as it was. Real was the man who'd turned up on the cabin doorstep even though they'd parted on less-than-wonderful terms. Real was the man who'd run her a bath and washed her hair and then combed it out; and who'd held her hand all night just because it made her feel better.

Real was the man she loved.

This was not the time to realise that. This wasn't the time to think about that, either. Mrs Tousa was opening the doors, and shortly a whole lot of really excited dumbasses would descend upon Castle. Hopefully, they'd miss her. She curled deeper into the armchair.

Castle made sure he was looking straight at the doors as Mrs Tousa opened them, turned the smile wattage to maximum, and prepared to enjoy himself. He loved meeting fans, chatting to them, signing books, and generally being sociable with them – and Paula didn't often let him do so: hurrying them along and pushing the next ones in.

The first bunch entered, saw Castle, and descended upon him like a plague of locusts. The second bunch, unable to see Castle, spotted Beckett despite her best efforts to hide, and bounced at her like the plague of hopping frogs.

"Mr Castle, how do you get your ideas?"

"Detective Beckett, Marie's my best friend and you're so brave! How could you do it?"

"Mr Castle, do you really follow Detective Beckett to crime scenes?"

"Detective Beckett, what's it like being the inspiration for Nikki Heat?"

And on, and on, and on. Beckett's fingers tapped on her hip, but she held on to her composure through endless questions. Castle seemed to be as happy as a toddler in a ball pit, and even bouncier. Still, she was managing.

Until a spotty, unpleasant youth arrived. He looked her up and down with a greasy leer. "You're Nikki Heat?" he slimed. "I guess all that sex stuff in the book is true, then. Bet you had fun practising all of it. I bet you could show me a real good time." He made a gesture towards his groin that left nothing to the imagination.

Beckett produced an icy glare. "Would you like to say that a little louder?" she asked. "Because I'd like everyone to hear what an offensive little brat you are." The words dripped icicles.

The youth blinked. "Think you're really something, don't you? Anyone could have done what you did."

"Judd Rentan, you come with me to get your mouth washed out with soap. You haven't ever faced a gunman – you haven't even faced off on the football field. You don't know a single thing about it." Mrs Tousa had a firm grip on the youth's neck, which Beckett felt put her at some risk of a nasty infection. "I'll be talking to your mom just as soon as I've dealt with you." She marched Judd off, and, astonishingly, Beckett heard running water and the squish of a soap dispenser, followed by retching noises, and then Mrs Tousa again. "Now, you're going to go take a real good look at Detective Beckett's shoulder, and then you're going to apologise to her in front of everyone. After you've told them what you said. I don't think you're going to enjoy the rest of the week, because my Marie's got a lot more friends and relatives than you, and that's after your mom's taken it out of your spotty hide."

Mrs Tousa marched Judd back out. "Oh," she said happily. "There's your mom right there, talking to Mr Castle." Judd squirmed and wriggled, but his teenage gangliness was no match for Mrs Tousa's firm grip. Beckett took mental notes, though she didn't think this, um, direct method of discipline would work in Manhattan – it seemed to be predicated on the small-town attitude of 'it takes a village', along with the fact that Judd clearly had a bit of a reputation for nastiness.

Mrs Tousa tapped a tired-looking brunette on the back. "Mrs Rentan," she said, "I hate to spoil your afternoon, but I think you'll be wanting to have a chat with your Judd in a few moments." Beckett clearly heard oh, Lord, what now as Mrs Tousa clapped her hands and achieved silence in an instant.

"I'm sorry to say," Mrs Tousa announced, "that one of us hasn't quite lived up to the standards we expect in this town, especially when you're talking to a true hero. Judd Rentan, here, is going to explain what he said to Detective Beckett" – there was a sharp collective intake of breath, and Castle's bright smile dropped, to be replaced by a darkly hostile glare – "and then he's going to apologise."

Judd was already cringing. His first words weren't audible six inches from his lips.

"Start again," Mrs Tousa said. "Everybody's going to hear what you said."

Judd stumbled through a repetition of his words. The crowd wasn't receptive. His mother surely wasn't. Her face twisted and then darkened. Judd's home life wasn't going to be pleasant. On the other hand, he had to make it home first, and as Mrs Tousa had made clear, most of Walton was related to Marie-whom-Beckett-had-saved. The crowd was making some really unpleasant sounds.

"I shouldn't have said any of it," Judd forced out. "I apologise." Neither his tone nor his demeanour indicated sorriness.

"You shamed our town," someone yelled. "She saved Marie's life and you tried hitting on her?"

"She wouldn't look at a jackass like you when she's got Rick Castle right there," another person pointed out.

The crowd were getting louder and rowdier. Beckett stood up, and gazed around, catching eyes and delivering a look that said simply simmer down, or suffer. They simmered down to a disgruntled rumble.

"Okay," Beckett said. "My shoulder hurts and I'm tired, so let's keep this short. Castle came to sign books and talk to you guys. I got sandbagged into joining him by Mrs Tousa here, who clearly should have been running for the Presidency because if she can persuade me to do this, she can persuade anyone to do anything." The crowd laughed. Mrs Tousa's persuasive powers were clearly well known. "I didn't sign up for the PR tour. I did my job – out of my precinct, but you can take the cop out of the city but you can't take the cop out of the girl, as they say. I got hurt, but that's a cop's life. I'm not prepared to see this dumbass taken out back and beaten up" – she glared around at the blushes and embarrassed shuffling – "just because his brain hasn't caught up with his hormones yet. We've all done dumb things when we were teens, and I'll judge this town on the kindness the rest of you have shown, not on one teenage idiot." She produced a brilliant smile. "I'm sure his mom'll deal with him just fine." The crowd snickered. "So let's allow him to slink off home, and go back to the fun bits. Castle here's just waiting to talk to all of you."

She sat down again. In the background, Judd's mother had a death grip on his ear, which she was using to haul him away. The crowd settled down again, and the signing and chatter carried on.

"That was another good thing you did there," Mrs Tousa said from behind Beckett.

She jumped, and bit back a curse. Beckett felt that Mrs Tousa wouldn't much approve of her fruitier cursing.

"I just saw it a little sooner than you. You'd have stepped in, in another minute." Beckett managed a smile.

"Maybe, but you did it." Mrs Tousa regarded Beckett carefully. "You're a bit pale. Shall I get someone to bring you a drink and maybe something to eat?"

"Coffee would be great, please. I'm not hungry. Castle made sure I had a big lunch."

Mrs Tousa looked in Castle's direction. "He looks like a good boy, and he sure takes good care of you. You'd do well to keep him."

"I wasn't intending to give him to the library for lending out," Beckett said sardonically.

"My, you do need that coffee."

Beckett nodded apologetically. "Yeah, sorry. I don't do well without caffeine. Uh, look, could I get another ice pack too, please?"

"Sure. You sit still, and don't let them fret you any more. Here's Chuck Dermot. He'll go get your coffee, and I'll find that ice pack."

"Hey, Detective," Officer Dermot said. "What sort of a coffee shall I get you?"

"Latte, please."

"Back in a moment." Dermot dashed off. The cacophony of questions returned, ebbed for a moment when Dermot returned, and restarted. From the corner of her eye, Beckett could see Castle mobbed by fans, and loving it. She was not loving it. She wanted to go home.

An hour later, she didn't just want to go home, she wanted to forge her way through the crowd at gunpoint. They'd all been terribly nice and polite – Beckett was sure that Mrs Tousa's looming presence had a lot to do with that – but the subtext to every enquiry about the gunman had been just like Nikki Heat, and the subtext to every enquiry about Nikki Heat had been how true is page 105, with a sideline of is Rick Castle as good as his reputation? Beckett did not discuss personal matters. She didn't discuss impersonal matters much either, but she especially wasn't going to discuss Nikki Heat, gunmen or Castle. All of which were presently impersonal, whatever she'd prefer about the last of them.

Five minutes later, she excused herself. The alternative might have been executing herself. She locked the cubicle, sat down, and simply tried to breathe. Surely they could leave soon? She looked at her watch, nestling in the damn sling, and found that it was close to five. Three hours was more than enough. She sat for a few moments longer, and then creaked out. Before she could re-enter the main library, Mrs Tousa found her.

"Tired, honey?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"That's okay. I'll send them all home and anyone who wants more can come back Thursday." She smiled. "You sit down and I'll deal with it all."

"Can I stay out here?"

"Sure. Just come into the office, and you can stay there in peace. I'll bring Mr Castle – Rick – in when we've cleared the fans." Mrs Tousa smiled fondly. "You're just as popular as he is, you know."

"He likes it," Beckett said sourly. "I didn't want to be a hero."

"But you are, so get used to it," Mrs Tousa replied briskly. "Complaining won't change it and it makes you sound like a brat."

Beckett winced, not from her shoulder. "Okay," she admitted. "I'll stop bitching – I don't want to behave like a brat. But I don't do it for the kudos and the fame."

"We know. Now, you stay there and I'll go clear them all out."

Beckett sat in the office chair, leaned back and shut her eyes.

"Beckett," someone said, and tapped her cheek. "Beckett, it's time to go home. Wake up."

"Notasleep," she muzzed.

"If you say so," Castle said disbelievingly. "Time to go home. C'mon." He extended a hand, and when she took it, helped her up with a hand at her waist. She leaned into him, and the hand became an arm around her. It was both comforting and necessary. Her knees were ridiculously wobbly. "I got you," Castle murmured. "Don't worry. I'll get you home and you can rest. We'll stop at the store on the way, but you can stay in the car."

Castle had to wake Beckett again so that she could get out of the car and go inside, which she thought was utterly pathetic. She thought that double when she sank into the recliner with enormous relief. She shouldn't be this tired: all she'd done was sit and talk to people all afternoon.

"You're an introvert," Castle said, following her thoughts with unwelcome accuracy. "Talking to people is tiring for you. You need some time on your own to recharge." He grinned. "I love it. All those fans saying nice things."

"I noticed." He was still energised and buzzing, radiating happiness. She couldn't have missed how much he loved it.

"They loved you too. You're their hero. You wouldn't believe how many of them told me I was really lucky to have you." He blinked. "As inspiration, they meant. They didn't – mostly didn't – speculate."

"In front of you," Beckett said cynically. "They were thinking it."

"Who cares?" Castle shrugged. "Whatever they think doesn't matter."

Beckett thought, strictly privately, that what she had thought definitely did matter, but she was too tired to think further about it. She lay back on her recliner, and closed her eyes again.

Castle looked at Beckett's nearly-asleep form, and left her to rest. Since he was still high on adulation and fans' enthusiasm, he bounced through to the kitchen to expend some of his excess energy on preparing a wonderful dinner, heavy on protein. The effects of the burger on Beckett's energy and general disposition had been amazingly good, and he was eager to continue the improvement.

He considered all sorts of dinners, but in the end stuck to the basics. Steak, though with his secret-special sauce, which he could whip up in no time; corn on the cob, fries. He'd grill the steak on the disposable barbecue, and wrap the corn in foil to cook gently and then be buttered. There was fresh bread, and he'd grill the mushrooms, tomatoes and onion rings. Ice cream for dessert would complete the meal. He made his sauce and put the steaks in it to marinate, set the table, and settled down to write, stare at Beckett, and procrastinate. Writing won. Fan adulation always sparked his creativity.

Two hours later he jerked out of his Heat-haze. Beckett was still asleep, or as close as made no difference. It was close to eight, and he'd done nothing with dinner yet. He hurried to put the barbecue on, prodded the steaks in their marinade, and wrapped the corn on the cob, throwing it on to the grill to start cooking. That done, he prepped the fryer, put the mushrooms, onion rings and tomatoes by the side of the grill, sliced the bread, set the butter out, and then wandered over to Beckett.

"Wake up, Beckett," he said, stroking down the line of her jaw. "I don't know how to work your fryer" – which was evidently not true, since he'd prepped it, but she'd wake if she thought she could beat him at anything, even setting up fryers – "so you need to deal with it if you want to have fries with your steak."

"Huh?" she yawned, blinking. "Fryer?"

"You said you'd do fries in the fryer," Castle reminded her. "So you need to wake up and deal with them. I've done everything else," he said plaintively, "and if you don't want dinner it'll all have to go back in the fridge."

"Fryer," she said more definitely. "Okay." Her eyes opened. "Fries in the freezer?"

"Yes."

Beckett blinked a few more times, and tried to sit up. Castle took the opportunity to, um, help her, which resulted in her standing up, wrapped neatly against him without any pressure.

She looked up. Castle looked down. Their eyes met.

After that, nothing could have stopped their lips meeting.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.