Chapter 22

Castle escaped the radio station as fast as he could, feeling the hum of dodged bullets all around him. Not for the first time, he thought that the luminaries of this tiny town could put the movers and shakers of Manhattan to shame. He stopped at the café for a well-earned coffee and to recover his composure, and then went back to the cabin as fast as he could commensurate with not breaking the axles of his car on the pot-holed track.

"Beckett," he called. "Beckett, are you there?" He passed through the family room, but she wasn't there, then out to the yard. She was lying in the sunshine, eyes shut. "Are you asleep?"

"No, someone woke me by asking if I was sleeping." She opened her eyes. "Are you done already?"

"It's four o'clock."

"Four?"

"You have been asleep," Castle teased.

"Wasn't," she sulked. "I was thinking."

"Oooohhhhhh. You were dreaming about me, weren't you?"

"Why would I do that? I don't invite nightmares." But a fine line of colour painted her cheekbones. "Anyway, I wasn't asleep."

Castle lifted her legs carefully, and sat down with them across his lap. "Good. If you were asleep, I wouldn't be doing this."

"Your recliner is right there."

"Yes, but you're on this one. Why would I want to be somewhere you aren't?" he oozed.

"I think I just drowned in a vat of corn syrup," Beckett snarked.

"So you think I'm sweet. That's nice." Castle stroked her shin, nicely golden from the summer sun. "You in shorts is nice too."

Beckett tried for an eye-roll, and missed. Castle wasn't in shorts, she noticed. He could have been, and she wouldn't have minded one bit. He was still stroking, but now it was her knee and just a little above. It sent small shivers up her synapses, not that she was going to let Castle know that.

"You like that," he said.

What? "Like what?" she fibbed. "Is there something I should like?"

"Me, preferably," Castle flipped back, "but I know you like me. I'm not dead."

"I find corpses fascinating."

"So do I, which is undoubtedly why the universe led us to each other. I do feel very strongly," he said sanctimoniously, "that couples should have shared hobbies as well as separate ones."

Beckett made a most peculiar noise, which Castle sublimely ignored.

"So it's fine that you don't fence or play laser tag, as long as we both enjoy investigating corpses."

Beckett lay on her pile of pillows in an attitude suggestive of complete failure to comprehend Castle's continued existence. Her eyes had closed, possibly because they had rolled so hard that she now resembled a blind monster, but her face continued to scowl. Castle, who thought that the scowl was adorable – but not being suicidal, didn't say so – stopped stroking, extricated himself from Beckett's lovely legs, pulled his own recliner next to her and settled down, holding her hand. She humphed. Castle, in his best annoying manner, didn't ask about the humph. Beckett humphed again. Castle continued not to ask.

On the third humph, she opened her eyes, which was all that Castle had been waiting for. Her hazel eyes had little gold-green flecks in them, which he'd last seen just before he kissed her last night. He leaned over, and dropped a delicate buss on her cheek. The humphing stopped, and she turned her head towards him, lips a little parted. So he took advantage: still gentle, delicate and slow; exploring not conquering; asking not demanding.

Once more, all his osculatory questions were answered in the best possible way. He slid a hand behind her head, then down to her back and lifted her to sitting upright. One arm curled around him, encouraging him to kiss her again.

He'd have hated to disappoint her. So he didn't. And then he didn't again, and again, and again. And then he realised that it was all getting totally out of control because his free hand was beginning to explore under her shirt into distinctly curved areas and she was making little sexy noises and still encouraging him and all of this would have been (yet again) a spectacularly wonderful idea if only she wasn't injured. He carried on kissing her, since he could kiss Beckett for approximately an eon without getting tired of the sensations, but controlled his unruly hands.

Some considerable time of slow, sensual exploration later, their idyllic interval was rudely interrupted by Castle's stomach, which was making it loudly known that he had missed lunch and that dinner was already late. He lifted off Beckett's lush mouth, and glanced at his watch.

"It's past dinner time," he said. "Let's eat." Beckett muttered something that he didn't hear clearly. Surely she hadn't said you don't need food to eat?

After dinner, with Beckett's mutter still ricocheting around the inside of his skull, Castle snuggled her up on the couch, and then sat down beside her in order to snuggle her more comfortably. That more comfortably meant into his embrace had not, of course, anything to do with his actions.

It had everything to do with them. As did some more well-judged and carefully controlled kissing, which took them till bedtime, intermingled with peaceful togetherness. And with renewing Beckett's ice packs, which really didn't improve anything.

"Bedtime," he suggested, as Beckett's lashes drooped. "We've got another session at the library tomorrow."

"I have another PT session first."

"You'll need red meat after that, to recover."

Beckett muttered to herself again. This time it sounded like I could use some well-hung beef, which had several meanings, only one of which might refer to lunch.

As had already become customary and habitual, Beckett prepared herself for bed, Castle propped her up on her pillows, and then he went to wash himself. While he did so, Beckett contemplated her situation with ever-growing disfavour. Kisses were all very well, and much to be encouraged, but not being able so much as to hug Castle in return was getting old in a hurry. She settled into a drifting, drowsy reverie of how it could be in the future…if she told him everything that had happened. Yes, she'd admitted some of it, but…well. Um. She'd been reckless, and she didn't want to say so; she'd been reckless because he'd gone, and she didn't want to say that. Admitting just how much she'd missed him; how devastated his leaving had made her – meant admitting just how much he really meant.

What if he didn't feel as strongly?

She shook her head. He was here. He didn't have to be here, outside a small provincial town, barely larger than a village, looking after her. He'd said, "You're not going to get rid of me…I wanna fix this properly and we can't do that without the truth."

Thoughts were still spiralling in her head when Castle wandered back in, settled down beside her, and switched the light out. His hand slipped into hers. Somehow, the broad span, warm and gently twining into her fingers, settled her.

"I…" she began, and stopped, staring into the dark. Wide, long fingers petted her hand encouragingly. She took a long, slow breath. "I really missed you." She'd got that far already. She had to push on. "Seeing you leave with someone else really hurt."

"Seeing you with Demming really hurt," Castle murmured.

"Just like you and Ellie Monroe," but it wasn't an accusation, simply a sad statement.

"We both…" Castle began, drifting into diminuendo.

"But…Anyway. I was going to tell you I'd ditched him but I was too late and you went." She gulped, taken straight back into the agony of realising he'd gone with someone else. "So I just worked."

So much Castle knew, and more than that from the boys. She always just worked. But he said nothing, sensing there was more to come.

"There wasn't anything else. Protect and serve," she said. "So…I did. Chasing down criminals felt good, and a little more adrenaline stopped me thinking about…anything else."

Castle studiously tried not react, though Beckett felt his fingers flex.

"So if a little adrenaline helped, that was good. And then the case load went up, and…well…it didn't seem to matter if I took a few risks because there wasn't anyone to worry about and then I was angry with you and angry with me and maybe I took a few risks I wouldn't have taken, like facing down Finn Rourke, but…" She finally took a breath. "But," she said draggingly. "But I really didn't care what happened as long as I got the right guy, fast. That's why I took the risks. If I'd cared, I'd have checked that asshole out from Observation, but I just wanted him charged and out of the way. The guy in the supermarket, though…I forgot I left my gun in my apartment and I automatically went for it. And then it was too late to stop and I had to go for him because he was aiming for me." She stopped. "I…I guess I was really lucky. I never…he shot me."

Castle heard a choked noise, and a sob.

"He shot me and…and…" Another sob. "I could've been dead." Castle's hand clenched around hers. "And we'd never have…" She dissolved into wracking, coughing tears under the cover of the darkness.

"But we are," Castle said firmly, turning over to put an arm around her waist and snuggle up, without pulling her from her propping pillows. "We are and I am and we're here." He'd think about her admissions later, when she was safely asleep and couldn't hear his thoughts. He had a lot of thoughts, all of which would get him killed by Beckett if she deduced them, since they started with you complete and utter idiot and went downhill from there. How could she have gotten to I just didn't care so fast? He put the thought away for later consideration, and petted, then sat up and ran his finger over her cheek, finding water. "Don't cry," he soothed. "You'll get the pillows all soggy and that won't be comfy."

Beckett snuffled, then sniffed, but stopped her strangled sobbing. He returned to cuddling her again, propped up on an elbow. There was one question, still… He opened his mouth –

"I just didn't care," she said damply, again. "There wasn't any reason to care. Nobody would've been affected if I wasn't there. So there wasn't a downside to taking risks. If it worked, another lowlife was off the street. If it didn't…no real loss."

Castle gulped. He wondered if the boys knew what Beckett thought. Or her father. Or Lanie. He knew how he'd feel if Alexis thought her way down that dreadful, fatal path.

"Nothing really mattered except doing the job. There wasn't anything left to lose. Just like after Mom, when Dad…" She didn't finish the sentence. Castle could finish it anyway. "When I decided to join the NYPD as soon as I graduated."

"Mmmm?" Castle hummed.

"Mom was gone, Dad didn't care…might as well try to do something useful." Loudly unspoken was – and it wouldn't have mattered if I was gone then either.

So. This wasn't a new reaction. It wasn't – Castle thought with selfish relief – solely down to his defection – oh. Oh! Think, Rick! Her mom – whom she had loved – was gone. Her dad – ditto – might as well have been gone. Ergo, Castle causing the same reaction when he'd gone…might just translate to, in summary, Beckett loves Castle. Which would be wonderful, since Rick Castle here had loved Beckett for the best part of a year, though he'd only really started to realise it when her apartment exploded, and then fully when he'd thought he was going off with Demming. More things to think hard about, but for now the important thing was to cosset his Beckett and hope that she fell asleep more-or-less within his embrace.

"I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere without you," he murmured. "Just sleep and I'll be here in the morning." There was a tiny sniff. "I have to make you coffee, you know. Otherwise you'll think I've turned into a pod person overnight." The sniff became a snicker. "Sleep now."

"Night," she breathed.

Castle cuddled, and waited the short time until her breathing slipped into the slow, heavy cadence of sleep. He changed position but made sure he was still close, took her hand, and gave himself up to thought.

A while later, he'd finished thinking and arranged his ponderings into an order that made some narrative sense, at least to him. Point one: they'd both hurt each other with other people. Point two (he winced): he'd sort of started it because he'd been hurt that she hadn't made a move while staying in his loft, but she'd probably not made a move because he'd been so careful not to push her which she'd probably taken as discouragement… ugh. Point three: she'd watched him walk away with someone else and promptly decided that the only thing that mattered was the job, because that's what had pulled her through every other abandonment by people she loved. Point four: every time, she'd decided that her life was worth less than solving the case.

Bluntly, Beckett had an unspoken, unrealised, disregard for her own well-being. Which was, frankly, terrifying. But it was her problem to solve.

Nobody could be responsible for another person's life – and nobody should be, once a child was an adult. People had to be responsible for themselves, and feeling that you had to stay with someone to stop them doing…stupid things…wasn't a healthy or sensible place to be, ever.

Beckett, Castle concluded unhappily, needed to unpick that particular not-coping mechanism, soon. Because love her as he knew he did, he couldn't be made responsible for her continued survival. Great. Another appallingly complicated, difficult conversation. On the other hand, being shot through the shoulder had shocked her into realising that she could have died – and she'd been really upset by that thought. So maybe this was salvageable.

On that optimistic note, he slipped into sleep himself, still holding Beckett's hand.

Castle dropped Beckett at the hospital for her PT appointment just before ten on Thursday morning, and repaired to the café to amuse himself while she was treated. He thought around his conclusions of the previous night, and couldn't fault them. Reluctantly, he decided that he'd have to raise the subject with Beckett that night – after a good dinner with some good wine. Starting a difficult conversation before the second round of being on public display didn't seem like the best plan.

So, some hours later, back in Beckett's cabin, Castle prepared dinner – hot dogs with mustard, onions, etc; just as he had promised over lunch; a wine that shouldn't have gone with hot dogs and probably didn't, but was extremely good nonetheless; and ice cream for dessert. The second round in the library had been busy, but Beckett had not had to endure as many people as on Tuesday. Castle, by contrast, had been mobbed. Both of them were perfectly happy with the change. Mrs Tousa had supervised with grandmotherly glee, no doubt thinking happily of how busy her library would be over the next few weeks.

As he dished up everything and took it to the table, fending off Beckett's efforts to help, the weight of the conversation that had to be begun landed heavily on him.

"Are you okay?" Beckett asked, almost as soon as he sat down.

"Uh, yeah."

Beckett's dreaded left eyebrow rose in total disbelief. "Really?" She said nothing more.

Thirty seconds of silence, taking a subjective thirty hours' time, later, Castle fell into the interrogation trap of filling the void. "Uh…look, there's something we have to talk about," Castle managed. Beckett paled to grey, and waited, her hand in its sling deadly still, the other below the table top. Sudden tension chilled the air. She seemed to be waiting for a blow.

"Last night…you said…" he started, and stopped. Beckett stayed silent. "You said 'There wasn't a downside to taking risks. If it worked, another lowlife was off the street. If it didn't…no real loss.'" He took a breath, and crossed his fingers. "It sounded like you didn't care if you died on the job."

"What – fuck ow!" Beckett emitted. "Ow, ow, fuck that hurts, ow."

"What happened?"

"I took a deep breath, that's what happened. Ow, ow." She breathed very shallowly for a moment, while her colour returned. "That wasn't fun." She breathed again: slowly in, slowly out. "You thought I didn't care if I died?"

"It sounded like it." Castle didn't give any ground.

"No! I didn't care what it took to get the right guy, but I don't want to be dead!"

"If you carry on getting hurt like you did, you will be dead!"

"What?"

"Look at what happened," Castle bit. "First someone punched you so hard you couldn't use your arm and you didn't even go to the ER to get it checked. Then you faced down Finn Rourke with only Ryan for back-up, sent Ryan off and stayed. He could have disposed of you anytime. Then" – he didn't give her time to argue – "you forgot to check the state of your next perp from Observation, and because some dumb uniform forgot the basics, you got punched out, hit a table and ended up in hospital with concussion. Then you rode a motorbike all the way up here right after with a still-hurt arm and only just recovered from the concussion. And then, as if all that wasn't enough for you, you tackle an armed robber in a store because that's what a cop does without your gun and you get shot and it's just pure dumb luck that it didn't kill you!" He was shouting. "And I just bet if I ask Ryan or Espo they'll tell me that you went in harder and harder every time. That's not you trying to do the job, that's you being so hard-ass that someone's going to take a swing or a shot, and that's exactly what happened!"

"But" –

"And last night you effectively said that you were taking all these risks because I'd gone and that's making me responsible for your state of mind and that's not healthy."

"What? No!" Shock was painted in every part of her face. "You're not my keeper! Just because I was upset that you were gone" –

"You said it didn't matter because there was nobody left to worry about."

"I didn't mean that it was because you'd walked away, it was because I didn't have to worry about protecting you!"

"What?" Castle exclaimed.

"I take more care so that you don't get hurt. Before you were around I would have done all of those things."

"But the boys said" – Castle stopped.

"The boys said what?" Beckett rapped.

"No. They didn't say. They implied that you were going in harder than usual."

Beckett stopped. "Maybe. But that's not because…well…" She paused, and thoughts squirmed unpleasantly across her face. "I…uh…No. No, I wasn't trying to suicide because you were gone. No. Yes, I was unhappy and burying it with work. That's what I do. Work harder till I've got over it. I would have got over you." She swallowed. "Eventually." She swallowed again. "It's always worked for me."

"How many times has it gotten you injured?" Castle inquired, with delicate incisiveness.

Beckett started to count on her fingers. After she embarked on the second round, Castle made a noise.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "More than ten?"

"Yes. Not including the last three months." She stared at him until his eyes dropped. "This isn't about you. This is about how I cope."

"You cope by taking more risk," Castle said flatly. "Where does that stop?"

He was answered only by a horrible silence.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

FF has had intermittent glitches which means that PMs and reviews can't be answered in any way at all. If it happens again, I'll catch up when it's possible. In the interim, I am getting reviews so please don't let FF stop you telling me what you think.