Chapter 21

It was as explosive as they had each always, somehow, known it would be. Beckett opened to Castle's avid, demanding mouth like a flower to the sun. His hands moved: one to her back, bracing her, one to her nape, cradling her head as he kissed her hard, saying with his mouth everything that he couldn't say with his body on hers. She answered him with the same ferocity, taking from him, then giving back. His hand slid under her shirt, meeting smooth skin…

And he had to stop, before they couldn't stop, but he didn't want to stop…

He had to stop.

He stopped.

They stared at each other. Beckett took a tiny step back, but Castle's hands stayed at her back, loosely linked.

"No," he said. "Don't step back." One arm slipped around her shoulders, the other stayed at the small of her back. "I've got you. I'm not leaving you again. I'm not letting you leave again. We should be together." He grinned at the top of her head. "You admitted it, too."

She made a tiny, soft noise: not agreement, not disagreement, and then turned slightly to protect her shoulder and leaned in, against him. For a long moment, they stayed together.

"We should have dinner," Castle said. "The steaks are all ready to grill." It sounded mundane. With his hand clasping hers, and the banked heat in his eyes, it wasn't. "I'll even cut yours up."

"Thanks," Beckett said, and didn't try to retrieve her fingers. "What else are we having?"

"Well, you need to tell me how to work the fryer so we can have fries, there's corn on the cob, mushrooms, tomatoes, onion rings too; and bread. Hungry?"

Beckett considered, but her stomach answered for her. "I guess so," she said.

Dinner was delicious, and even though Beckett really didn't appreciate her steak having to be cut up for her as if she were still four, she ate everything, and then had two helpings of ice cream.

"That's better," she said. "I think it's the first time I've had a real appetite for ages."

"It's my extra-special secret marinade for the steaks," Castle said smugly. "Guaranteed to increase appetite."

Beckett made a sceptical noise, for form's sake, and thought to herself that it had. She'd enjoyed every bite, and even though she now felt a little like an anaconda after swallowing a whole wild pig, she also felt better. Castle was an excellent chef.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"I'll make it," Beckett suggested.

"Nope. I make your coffee."

"But you did all the cooking."

"And now I'm going to make the coffee. You shouldn't do it with only one arm anyway. And I like making you coffee. You smile properly and you make happy little noises when you drink it." He smirked. "It's totally sexy, you know."

Beckett essayed a growl, but it didn't carry any menace. Castle cheerfully made the coffee and brought it over to where she was sitting on the couch. He sat down, draped an arm around her, and cuddled her in.

"There," he murmured. "Just where you should be, all snuggled up."

Beckett shifted cautiously in order to be totally comfortable, and didn't say anything. Her head dropped on to his shoulder, and she took his other hand, still quiet. Castle – for once – didn't spoil the moment by opening his mouth. Instead, he dropped a tiny kiss on her hair.

"You're comfy," she breathed, and relaxed into him, warmed and protected by the broad form of Castle around her; his spicy male scent and gentle embrace; his thick fingers laced with hers. Another delicate kiss landed on her hair. She hummed softly and happily, perfectly content.

Castle was also perfectly content. A peaceful, cuddlesome Beckett was just plain perfect. She could have a relaxed day tomorrow, while he did his radio interview, and then a quiet evening, together. There might even be a few kisses…

There could be a few kisses now, he thought, and moved slightly to land one at the edge of her hair. Just as he'd hoped, she turned her head, a question in her eyes that he answered with his lips on hers. Just like before, she opened for him; just like before, the heat exploded between them.

When they reluctantly pulled back, somehow he'd brought her into his lap, somehow his hand was below her shirt, palm flat against her back, somehow his shirt was open and she was tucked against his skin. Instinct was the only thing that had stopped him stripping her shirt, he thought: the instinct not to hurt her. It surely hadn't been his more primal instincts, all of which were screaming at him to go further, take more, give more. On which thought, he dipped and kissed her again.

Some considerable time later, he pulled back. Beckett sighed contentedly, and stayed within his arms. Even with dressings and slings and injuries, she felt completely right there. She fit so neatly that it was clear they'd been designed to be together. Experience – and the couple of nights lying next to her – told him that they'd fit perfectly together in far more intimate situations. When he looked down again, her eyes were closed, though he didn't think she was quite asleep.

"Bed time," he cajoled. "Let's get you propped up properly."

Beckett yawned, winched her eyes open, and smiled drowsily. "'Kay."

Castle set her on her feet and stood up himself, sliding his arm back around her waist. "Up we go." He walked her up the stairs to her room, and sat on the bed. "Need some help?" he asked mischievously. Beckett glared as she sat down.

"Are you sure? You've had a tiring day, and you need to be comfortable to sleep." He paused. "I'll be here to hold your hand, so that should make up for a lot of discomfort."

"Conceited much?"

Castle smiled seraphically. "Nope, just observant. You slept better the last two nights."

Beckett had no good answer to that. She had slept better, and the only difference had been Castle there next to her. It sure wasn't her shoulder, which post-PT hurt, now she wasn't plotting to destroy half of the population of the town (which had taken her mind off it for a short while). She grumped wordlessly.

"That's so cute. You pout when you're grumpy."

"I do not," Beckett pouted, and bent over to pull her socks off. Castle watched with amusement, not least because her shirt gaped interestingly – and he was definitely interested in the view in the gap. Sadly, she straightened up – though slowly enough for Castle to avert his gaze before she noticed its direction.

"Tomorrow," he said, eyes riveted to her fingers where they were finding the waistband of her pants and fumbling, one-handed, to push them down and off. "Look, let me help with that." He made a rueful face. "No funny business, but I can't stand watching you try any more." He leaned over, raised her slightly with one arm, and whisked her pants down and then, more slowly, off.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping," Castle said smoothly, "like I just said." He deliberately and obviously ran his eyes over her. "But I don't need to help you any more because you're not wearing a bra."

"You – you – you ogler!"

Castle smirked. "Nope. Admirer, sure. But I'm not stalking the streets staring at beautiful women."

"Just my bedroom."

"Yep, and that's why I'm an admirer – of you – not an ogler. Besides, you were checking me out."

Beckett growled. Castle smirked some more. "You did." She growled at him again. "So maybe it's not me who's been ogling?" This time the growl would have scared a sabre-toothed tiger. "You're still cute."

Beckett flomped back on her pillows, and hissed with the pain. "I am not cute."

"Gorgeous, elegant, sophisticated…" Castle offered. She could feel herself blushing.

"I'm going to get ready for bed," she said in a very conversation-closing fashion, and heaved herself up and off to the bathroom. She was quite sure that Castle would still be sitting on her bed when she returned, and she was right. She slid carefully on to the bed, which Castle had evidently turned down for her, and settled more cautiously on to the pile of supporting pillows.

"Comfortable?" Castle asked, and when she nodded drew up the covers. "Back when I've completed my essential bedtime routine to enhance my ruggedly handsome features and brush my gleaming white teeth."

"What big white teeth you have, Grandma," Beckett quoted sardonically.

"The wolf ate Little Red Riding Hood," Castle oozed. "Are you making a suggestion? Because if so, I'll hurry up."

"You" – Beckett stopped. "Go wash." As he departed, she gave thanks that she'd stopped herself before she'd said yes, please. The thought led her to the conclusion that she'd only done so because it would hurt. Movement of any sort hurt. Uncontrolled movement would definitely hurt. She scowled at the sling.

All of which led her back to her earlier thoughts about how she really felt about Castle. A lot more than she'd ever allowed herself to admit – even to herself. And it was perfectly clear that he felt the same, or he wouldn't be up here at all, let alone cossetting her as he was. It was just not fair that she couldn't do anything about it.

Well, she could do something. It was just terrifying. She could say something. The thought gave her shudders. Actually use her words? To anyone? To Castle? Words to a master of words? She meeped unhappily.

"Is there a mouse?" Castle asked, reappearing at precisely the wrong moment.

"No." She swallowed. "Uh…" Castle disported himself on the other side of the bed, then hopped up again and switched the light off. When he returned and settled, he reached for her hand, and twined his fingers into hers. "Uh," she started again, "I…" She gulped again. Castle didn't say anything, but his thumb rubbed soothingly over the back of her hand. "I'm-really-glad-you're-here," she rushed out, and clamped her mouth shut before she could say anything really incriminating. In the dark, she could feel the warmth of Castle's smile.

"I'm glad I'm here too," he said softly, and nothing more; but his thumb didn't stop stroking until she drifted into sleep.

Castle listened to Beckett's regular breathing until he was completely sure she was asleep, and only then released his utter delight at her words, almost bouncing on the firm mattress. Beckett never used her words – not directly: burying her feelings and emotions in sub-text and half-comments. So to say openly that she was glad he was here when she wasn't half-dead with agony and ready to collapse – was amazing. Truly amazing.

He wanted to pull her in, rest her in his arms and against his body, kiss her, love her, and, that done, hold her close the whole night; wake next to her and be together. Not, he thought, necessarily physically. Just to know that the other would be there at the end of the day, or when they woke in the morning. His mind drifted. Mentally, he mused, there was already that connection. The boys laughed at them finishing each other's sentences, or speaking in sync, but…Castle loved it: loved the swift intelligence.

Loved Beckett, in all her tarnished glory: still grieving her mother and a little awkward with her father; the best cop in the NYPD, but alone; sharp-tongued and demanding everything from her people; though never more than she herself gave. She wasn't perfect; not by a long way – but she was perfect for him.

"I have to go into town," Castle said, shortly before lunchtime on Wednesday. "I promised to do an interview with Annie at the radio station. You wanna come in?"

"No," Beckett decided without pause for thought. "I'll just stay here and sleep in the sun. PT really takes it out of me, and there's another round tomorrow." She made a face. "And you let us in for another session at the library, listening to all the dumb questions and nosy parkers wanting to know if page 105 is real."

"They asked me how much of a hero you were," Castle said easily, "so I think they respect you anyway. Except for that greasy little toad."

"Didn't I say? Mrs Tousa actually washed his mouth out with soap."

"She did what? But she's smaller than him."

Beckett grinned nastily. "But so much tougher. I didn't see his mom objecting, either."

"Nope. He was going to get chewed out when he got home."

"Such a shame," Beckett said insincerely. "And a bigger shame we couldn't do that with some of the weasels we meet in Manhattan."

"They'd sue you to LA and back again. It only works here because it's barely a village, let alone a town."

"Says the city boy."

"Pot, meet kettle. You're a city girl."

"Never denied it," Beckett pointed out. "But I can manage out here – if I don't mind eating fish every day."

"Ugh," Castle said. "Fish is fine, but not every day."

"Anyway, I'm staying here. I'm not going near the radio station again. I had to do it once right after they let me out of the hospital, and that was quite enough for anyone."

"You did?" Castle put his memory into gear. "Yes, you did. Officer Dermot told me. Annie was really interested in Nikki."

"And in you," Beckett said sardonically.

"I'm very interesting," Castle teased. "But I'm only interested" – he waggled his eyebrows in comical lasciviousness – "in you." It was a risk, and he knew it – but he thought it would pay off.

"You are so full of it," Beckett said, but she wasn't running away.

"Interest? Sure. You're fascinating." Castle produced a heated gaze, and watched a blush paint Beckett's cheeks.

"You're frozen by my stare?" Beckett gibed. "I knew I had a good glare but it doesn't seem to keep you staying in the car or out of danger."

"That meaning's older than my mother. Besides, I'm immune to glares. You should try heated desire instead."

"In your dreams – don't say it!" Beckett ordered as Castle's mouth opened. "I know what you're going to say."

"What?" Castle asked innocently.

"In my dreams you just join in."

"I join in, in your dreams? Awwww. You should have told me. Reality is far better than dreams."

Beckett spluttered indignantly. "You…you…"

"Time I went," Castle said cheerfully, and escaped before Beckett's death stare could incinerate him. He thought he could feel the seat of his pants burning, but he drove off with a face-splitting smile.

Left alone, Beckett spent a few moments enjoying the peace around her. Despite the comfort of Castle's big, warm presence, she still wanted some time alone to recharge. Except…how strange…she didn't feel her normal sense of being peopled-out, unlike the previous day when she'd finally been allowed to escape the horde at the library. She muttered darkly to the empty cabin as she remembered she'd have to suffer it all again the next day. She didn't want to. Not like Castle, who'd loved every fan-filled moment.

Complaining won't change it and makes you sound like a brat.

Mrs Tousa's voice echoed in her head, and even in memory Beckett winced. Not even Montgomery would slap her down like that. Her mom might have….she turned away from that thought. She supposed the town's praise was better than the abuse she might have had.

Another ice pack on her shoulder, she drifted into slow contemplation of Castle, and her feelings.

Castle parked at the radio station and found his way back up to Annie Lex's studio, smiling through the soundproof glass. She waved back at him, beckoning, and he slipped in as quietly as he could.

"Ready?" she asked.

Castle grinned, already energised and enthusiastic. "Yep. I love doing this sort of thing."

Annie smiled back. "Great. We'll talk about the books, of course – and you can sign all of mine – and then a bit about how you find working with the NYPD and Detective Beckett."

"Sure," Castle agreed. "How many books?"

Annie gestured to a pile on the floor. The spines were cracked from many readings. They certainly weren't in the first flush of youth. "Those."

"Wow. You're a real supporter."

"Sure am. Okay. Let's go." She cut the commercial playlist neatly at the end of an advert for the local gas station. "Good afternoon, Walton. This is Annie Lex with a very special guest. Rick Castle is the author of the best-selling Derrick Storm series and his latest blockbuster, the Nikki Heat series, based on Detective Kate Beckett of the NYPD, who you all know is up here on vacation and saved our own Marie from a gunman in the supermarket. Rick's been shadowing Detective Beckett…"

The first fifteen or twenty minutes went just beautifully. Annie interviewed, Castle plugged his books with enough self-deprecation and amusing stories to make everything go with a swing.

"So," Annie said. "The Nikki Heat series. Your latest stunning success – but how did it start?"

"Detective Beckett appeared at the launch party for the final Derrick Storm novel, to arrest me."

"She what?"

Castle grinned. "She'd had a murder which was based on one of my early books, so she wanted to interview me as a witness."

"Not quite an arrest, then," Annie said dryly.

"No, but it makes a far better opening line."

"And then?"

"Well, I was going through a bit of a dry period, and she just kick-started my writing again. I knew as soon as I looked at her that I had my next inspiration."

"How was that?"

"She was stunning. Not just the way she looks, but she had absolute command of the space around her. She's extraordinary," he added softly.

"And you've been following her ever since?"

"Yes. I always do my research thoroughly."

"But you must have done lots of research by now?"

Castle saw the trap just in time. "Oh, yes, but processes and procedures are always changing, and the way the police act changes with them. So if I didn't stay around I'd be out of date."

"Accuracy is very important, then?"

"Oh, sure."

"So I know everyone in town is wondering – how accurate is the relationship between Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook?"

He hadn't seen that coming. Small-town radio host Annie Lex had suddenly unleashed her inner Rachel Maddow.

"Purely imagination," he said smoothly. "I would never kiss and tell, especially not in my books."

"But you're here, staying with Detective Beckett."

"Yes." He chopped the word off short, and didn't elaborate.

"She's injured. You're looking after her?"

"Yes. She got shot, defending one of your town – and you're casting aspersions? The last person doing that had their mouth washed out by Mrs Tousa. Beckett needs someone to help her by doing the shopping and the cooking, and since she's given me a best-selling series, I think I can give her something back." He smiled, but there were sharp edges in it. "I'm a very good cook."

Annie grinned at him. "And no pushover. Well, everyone, I think we can all be reassured that Detective Beckett is in the best possible hands – in the polite way, though if I were her and had Rick Castle looking after me I think I'd grab him with both hands."

Castle laughed. "I guess you're all a bit protective. It's great to see. I hope to see a lot more of you at the library tomorrow, at two, when I'll be there to talk to anyone who wants to talk to me. I might even persuade Detective Beckett to come along again."

"That would be great. Thank you for coming along."

"Thank you for inviting me."

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.