Sorry for the gap between chapters. RL has been hectic and so I am a bit nervous how this chapter had turned out. Hope its ok. And hope to hear from you!

Note for the recent review comment about Castle hiding his hearing: there is a reason for why he has done what he's done. I have hinted at it in a previous chapter and will return to it very soon. Its a little more complicated than it might appear and more so than Castle himself has admitted to so far.

V

V

V

After breaking through the media scrum around the precinct, the rest of the ride back to Rick's loft was quiet. Just the rumble of the car's engine filling his ears and Beckett's very serious profile in his direct line of sight. Her gaze was steely, mouth fixed in a dour line, staring down the road like a guilty suspect in Interview. The sight was an odd mix of intimidating and calming in its familiarity, it's very routineness. Because no matter the occasion, Kate Beckett always drove so very seriously. So much so it could be a very grim and severe experience riding shotgun with her, he knew, but there was also such a degree of awesome in it that he gladly weathered the chipped irritation in her commands to sit back in his seat, get his knee out of her gearstick, and stop shouting when she was right freaking next to him, because Beckett was just a natural born driver. Even when it was chaos in the street chasing down a suspect at huge and terrifying speeds, inside Beckett's vehicle it was always calm and controlled. She was purposeful, graceful and precise even under the most intense pressure, and she just knew where her cruiser was on the road, amongst the traffic, the way a cat knows just where its body is and needs to be as it navigates the family mantelpiece without dislodging a single ornament or photo frame. And she was utterly relentless in a pursuit, pushing her vehicle to the very edge of its design capacity, but the way she made it look so meditative in its effortlessness was just so freaking awesome. Like a zen master.

Like a total badass.

And so Nikki Heat drove like that too. Because Beckett did. Such was the privilege of writing fiction, and he was taking that as licence to make it so. And anyway it was so cool, how could let his heroine drive any other way? So Rick rested his head against his seat and watched Beckett drive, studying her, letting his mind wander through descriptive prose that might end up colouring future driving scenes of Nikki's. Wander was the word though. His tired mind couldn't seem to hold a constructive thought at the moment. He felt fractured and useless, unable to focus for more than a second on anything, let alone the literary. All his thoughts, such as they were, just kept settling like falling leaves back down into the truth that was how incredible Beckett was. And she was. Really. But rather than float in that thought, he kept trying to find his way back into the words, because it was useful to distract himself from how physically and emotionally drained he was. And how much he was hurting. And the embarrassment he felt at how overwhelmed he had become as they faced and fled the media back at the 12th.

He hadn't meant to breakdown like that. And certainly not in front of Beckett.

He watched her suddenly change gear: one slim hand dipping to find the stick and press her fingers behind it, guiding it into the next gear with such a light touch it was more like she was showing it the way than actually moving it around. Kick. Ass.

And so he had flipped out a little bit back at the 12th. But she had found him like she always did, without judgement or question, pulling him along with her out of harm's way. He could still feel the dig of her fingers over his knee, each point like an anchor. And he hadn't been able stop himself grabbing onto that lifeline, holding on way too tight he was sure though she didn't complain. He clutched at her in sheer stupid relief. Exhaustion, pain, and the shock of a morning that had turned his world upside down and shaken it half to death had scattered his thoughts, unravelled his control, and the crushing melee of reporters and camera crews slamming into the door behind him had felt like the final push off the cliff. Until she offered him her hand and, as he looked up at her, some her strength of will as well, and not a small measure of warmth. And he wasn't ashamed to say he'd taken that as well as he started to try to pull himself out of the tail spin he'd fallen in to. Because in that moment he had realised something far more important than his dented pride:

They were still partners.

That hand on his knee, that intensity of feeling in her invitation to hold on to her, to take what he needed from her- They were still partners. He had felt in the ferocity of that grip that they were still they not just because Montgomery and the Mayor said it had to be so, but because Beckett herself still felt it, wanted it. And so it also meant that the conversation in the stationary cupboard, amongst the paper clips and toner cartridges, had meant as much as he thought it had. She did understand. She might not like his choices and what had happened because of them, that was fairly clear, but she did understand. God... Thank you Lanie, Espo and Ryan for setting him down the right path; for making him see what was really at the root of her anger, her distress. And so they were still partners, were going to be into the future as well he could see. And not just on paper. The relief was excruciating, overwhelming, exhausting. He had had to eventually shut his eyes, squeeze the lids against the swell of emotion in his throat, though he hadn't relinquished his crushing grip on her hand.

And later on, when the media hunt was fading far behind them her long slim fingers had settled along his cheek. Her skin was soft and cool against his, like silk, and the sweet burn of even that light contact made his head swim and dragged his sleep heavy mind willingly back to the world. He had apologized again then, and she had told him not to be sorry. And she meant it. He heard it in her voice. And so, though he knew there were things still to be said between them, it was clear that Beckett not only understood, but she had forgiven him too.

Partners.

Now they were travelling, as fast as Beckett could wend them through the tangle of cars, cabs, people and streets. And after that, Eduardo the Magnificent Doorman, would smuggle them into his building through the secret back of the back entrance (which Eduardo had refused to ever reveal to him - until now. Squee!). Them: he and Beckett. Because they were partners. Still. And then, up to his loft and his daughter and his mother and the glorious hospital medication that would take this excruciating ache from his broken hand and bruised ribs and the throb out of his temples, a shower, some food. Sleep. Bliss. So he rested himself as best he could in the cramped passenger seat, slumping strategically to take as much pressure off his ribs as possible whilst still finding the right spot to lay his aching head. And he was managing it. Sort of. With his knees resting against the glove compartment and his torso on a lean, he was able to brace himself against the few dips and judders of the car that Beckett couldn't avoid and distract himself searching for words to describe the brilliance that was his partner.

CASTLECASTLECASTLECASTLECASTLE CASTLE

Cold.

Too cold.

A chilled breeze slid across Rick's entire body, finding every gap in his clothing and cruelly forcing him awake. Damn it. He shivered. Quilt fallen off. Yes. Quilt. Quilt gone. He reached out, searching. Must. Find. Warm- Hand? What? And he opened his eyes with a jerk of his head.

"Wha- Ow!" Pain lanced across stiffened muscles and his ribs and hand immediately started throbbing. "Beckett? What's - Where are we?" He scrambled for the right connections: car, Beckett's car, going home, Beckett right here, where is here?, oh...

"Castle?" Beckett was crouched in the open door of the car, right in his line of sight, her face pinched though her voice was infused with a quiet warmth. The incongruity grabbed his attention - such as his attention was at the moment anyway, because he was still feeling fuzzy and not quite awake. And that cool breeze was bringing him out in distracting prickling shivers. He blinked at her, trying to reconcile the tight look in her face against the gentle tone of her voice and coming up blank.

"I'm ok. Must fallen asleep. Sorry." His voice rasped free from his sleep deadened throat. "What's happened? Are we there?"

"Yes, we're here." She said, her voice low enough that he was glad she had thought to sit right close to him where he could see her lips. As she spoke she reached for him, getting a hand under his arm, tugging at him.

"And what else? What's wrong? You look - uncomfortable?" He asked. She raised an eyebrow at him, not releasing his arm. "Well, I know you don't like the word 'stressed, so-"

"It's nothing. Just had an interesting little detour to lose a particularly zealous paparazzi. Seriously Castle, being this famous is not good for your health." He let her pull him from the car without pressing further. There was more to it than what she was letting on, but right now he was too tired, to flaky, and just too damn sore to do much more than concentrate on moving wherever she directed him. So he went with the pull until he was up and out and realised that they were parked deep inside a shady alleyway no more than three paces from a worn green door in the far wall. Ah ha. The secret back of the back entrance of legend.I can't believe I am finally going to see it! And then that door was opening, stiffly, little flicks of stiff curled green tearing free in a silent shower of paint dust. Rick felt his heart rate increase as the door swung outwards:

"This is so cool." He breathed to no one, too thrilled to move. He felt Kate shift beside him, her hand still on his arm.

"Detective Beckett? Mr Castle?" A familiar man's voice, deep and clear, spoke as a familiar head emerged and swivelled in their direction. "Ah, but you look as awful as I thought you might."

"Eduardo!" Rick greeted Eduardo with a smile as he stepped from that green door. The older man was looking at him in grave concern, his face taking on a slightly blanched look as he ran his gaze over Rick's face. And Rick felt himself responding to the alarm he saw, trying to erase the tight creases around the doorman's eyes, with an automatic frivolous return serve: "Tis nothing but a scratch."

"Your mother has told me everything." Eduardo looked at him, scanned him feet to scalp, his face in sceptical lines. Castle grinned at him, eyebrows rising.

"Mother exaggerates."

" If you could smile with your entire face, rather than just the one side, I might believe you. Now, please come this way before those leeches find out where you are and we lose this private entry forever." He turned back to the door way with a sweeping gesture that they should follow. "Those excuses for human beings have been plaguing my door for an hour already. Blocking my residents. Stopping the couriers. Trying to look like my couriers to sneak inside. Trying trick me into gossiping about one of my residents! Pah!"

"They'd never get past you my friend." Rick stepped forward, eager to get a look inside the door, but was brought up short by Beckett's hand on his bicep. He turned towards her as Eduardo hurried back to the green door.

"He doesn't seem surprised about - He knows?" She asked, brows arched like arrows at him. "About the-" And she gestured to her own ears.

"Hearing? Yes." Rick said.

"Oh." She said blandly, watching the older man as he pulled open the door and looked back at them expectantly. Castle searched her face, months of study letting him easily reading what he saw there, and, oh-

"Eduardo. He. Well. I mean, he's like family." He said, feeling the words just tumbling out of him. "Not that you and the 12th aren't like family. To me. It's just that he's been around longer. Like an Uncle. An old old Uncle who- answers our door. A lot. I'm making a mess of this aren't I?"

"Mmhmm. But, OK, makes sense."

"Really? Because its nothing. Really."

"OK."

"Because I had to tell him after we moved in and I lost a very very expensive pair of state of the art hearing aids somewhere in the lobby after a very very interesting, very very hot evening with a an former gymnast -"

"Castle! Nothing really starting to becoming something now."

"Right."

And through the green door of legend.

Which turned out to be a total let down as they walking into a simple grey corridor, not even a very long one, that terminated in a plain grey door, that in turn lead straight into another short bland corridor and to another door that opened into the lobby of his building. And straight into the line of fire of a dozen cameras and that calling crowd that were only blocked from entering by a wall of glass and metal and a coded entry pad. The three of them hustled across the tiled floor with Eduardo positioning himself between Rick and Beckett and the unwanted attention. Given that Rick was more than head and shoulders over the top of the older man it didn't block the view the paparazzi got as they hurried through the exposed space of the lobby, but the nobility of the gesture was humbling. This was his building, his people, and he would defend them in any way he could, even if they had brought it on themselves. Even if it meant all the man could do was stand between his people and the world outside. And he was going to be called upon to do just that over and over in the coming weeks. He would do it too because Eduardo was a one in a million guy. Rick felt a new well of guilt rise up inside him.

Then they were at the elevator doors and his doorman was pressing the button. The light flashed slowly indicating a decent to the ground floor. He watched it pulse. Too slow. Come on. Come on! And all the while behind him camera's flashed and he caught snatches of voices calling, for him no doubt, but he did not turn around. Instead he hunched his shoulders, trying to hide himself without being too obvious about it and inviting yet more images to hit the web of him cowering behind an old man and a police officer. Shit. Beckett suddenly squeezed her fingers around his arm where, he now realised, she had never relinquished her hold. The press of her fingers through the cloth went a little way to soothing his nerves, but behind him the damn media mob was still in his peripheral vision along with the flares and sparks of their cameras. And though there was at least 20 feet between them and those cameras, and a wall of glass as well, it still felt as oppressive and intrusive as if they were right at his back.

Where was the damn elevator?

And suddenly there was second hand on his arm, sliding around his forearm, and the length of Beckett's body pressing into his side. It was a quiet, subtle movement. Something that, on this angle, the cameras and roving gossip hungry eyes would not be able to see. It was just for them. For him. He pushed back, just enough to let her know how much he appreciated her presence, and felt an answering squeeze of her fingers. He didn't need to to see her face to understand the message. Partners. Still. And the tension that had been squeezing at his back, his neck, relaxed its hold as the elevator finally arrived with a ding and the doors lurched open. Eduardo hung back, his hand holding the doors at bay for them to enter.

"Eduardo, did Alexis and my mother make it inside before the press got here?" He asked, as he entered and turned back around.

"There were a few already here Mr Castle, but your ladies are formidable women." The doorman responded with a smile that was infused with admiration and aimed right at him, intending perhaps to reassure. But that wasn't really the answer Rick had been hoping for and he couldn't return it. Instead, visions of leering men and women, and the sword thrust of a camera in his daughter's face, jostling his mother, balled up in his chest and throat. He had to get up to them. Now.

"I'll speak with the 12th about a security detail Eduardo." Beckett spoke up from beside him. "See what we can do about clearing the front of the building. Does the body corporate for these premises have a private security arrangement at all?"

"They do. I have notified our people." Eduardo nodded, "But the presence of some of our city's finest would be faster and would be appreciated, Detective. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Happy to help." Beckett said, releasing one hand from Rick's arm and fishing her cell phone out of her pocket to thumb up the contact details that would link her straight to Esposito. Eduardo nodded again, a smile on his face. Nothing would make him happier than having his building back under his control again. Then the older man stepped back and the doors slid closed. And Rick let out a long exhalation as Beckett spoke to the Precinct.

"They will be here within the half hour." Beckett suddenly said and Rick realised he had been death staring the slow, slow, too slow flashing arrow that told him they were moving at a far too leisurely pace up to the loft. He looked down at her as she tucked the cell back into her pocket.

"Thank you." He said. For everything. He watched Beckett catch his subtext, without looking at him, and duck her head like she did when unexpected words of gratitude slid past her schooled defences. And on everyone of those occasions, he was reminded that Detective Kate Beckett did not do appreciation well. But he left the words hanging between them, left them there to settle and sink right in because she needed to hear them. And he needed to say them. And it was nice to know that sometimes, just sometimes, he had some control over himself around her, enough to know when it was the right time to shut up.

"Like I said." She said after a moment, and he could hear the smile. "Happy to help."

The elevator stopped.

He was home.

CastleCastleCastleCastle

"Dad!"

"Richard!"

Alexis and his mother bailed him up just inside the door to the loft (which smelled heavenly with a perfume of chicken noodle soup) and he was happily grabbed around the waist for a hug by one, and had his head pulled forwards for a motherly perfumed kiss by the other. His entire body protested at being squeezed and tugged, but he held his lips closed over the stabs of pain through sheer force will, and let the two of them pull him deeper into the loft. Let them smother him for a long appreciative moment. Then his mother stepped back to look him over. Uh oh.

"Dad!" Alexis spoke up from around his midriff, her voice blurry but still decipherable. "I'm still mad at you for sneaking off from the hospital, but I am so glad you're home."

"Me too pumpkin." He said honestly, kissing the top of her head, his arm snaking around her to pull her tighter against him. "And I'm sorry about the sneaking. Won't happen again."

"Better not." Alexis retorted without any heat in her words. She didn't let go.

Rick looked over her heard at his mother as she continued to critically, and unsubtly, evaluate the state of him. He decided to get in first. "Are you all right? Eduardo told me the press were waiting for you in front of the building when you got home."

"Oh, please." His mother waved away his worry with a swat of her hand. "I've had more enthusiastic autograph hunters waiting for me outside my dressing room for my last off off off Broadway production. And Alexis handled them like a true chip off the not-so-old block."

Rick pursed his lips, not entirely convinced. And not happy at what his daughter had had to face.

"Really Dad." He looked down to see his daughter looking up at him with those big beautiful eyes that got him every time. "It was fine. We're ok."

"But you on the other hand," his mother went on. "You look ready to drop. Alexis has been cooking up a storm in the kitchen and it smells heavenly, but she won't let me taste a drop. It's all for you Richard and you look like you need it. Then, oh dear," she wrinkled her nose " a shower is definitely on the cards. And then straight to bed with you. Doctor's orders. And better than that: mother's orders."

"And daughter's orders."

"Yes mother. Yes daughter of mine." He said with a quick grin. He knew when to obey. And when he could get away with openly enjoying a bit of TLC.

"And we got the meds from the hospital Dad." Alexis went on, finally pulling back from her monster hug and sliding around and under one of his arms. She tucked herself there like she meant to stay. Her arm was a warm pressure against his back. "The doctor said you needed to have them with something to eat. So I made chicken noodle soup."

"With extra noodles?"

"With extra extra noodles. There are so many noodles its sort of not a soup anymore. More like Chicken noodles with suggestion of soup."

"My favourite kind!" His grin broadened until his face ached, and he gave Alexis a grateful squeeze of his arm. It was good to be home.

"Ah yes." His mother nodded. "The medication. It's in my purse. Oh Katherine!" His mother had evidently spotted Beckett. She stopped, then disappeared behind him. "Oh my dear, thank you so much for delivering my wayward son back home."

Rick turned around in time to catch sight of his mother throwing her arms around Beckett, and seeing Beckett do her head ducking again, a soft flush colouring her cheeks. Adorable.

"It was no bother Martha. I had some time."

"Nonsense! I am sure that the press didn't make things very easy for you." Martha drew back from the hug. "I know what they can be like once a story like this breaks. It can be like wading through a pack of hungry dogs." Rick winced as he watched Beckett squirm under the full beam of his mother's affection and appreciation. Though his mother didn't see it, it was there in the subtleties of expression that Rick had had months to study. And he had cracked some of the Enigma Code that was Detective Beckett, at least enough to know that it was time to step in.

"Detective Beckett is a pro mother." He interjected. "She can handle herself around the press."

"Richard! A little gratitude."

"No, he's right, it was fine." Beckett said, taking the opportunity thrown to her to gather herself and gracefully deflect the conversation to the side. She flashed him a look threaded through with relief and a thank you. "We deal with the press, with crowds, all the time. I've seen it much worse."

"Well," his mother spoke, accepting it for what it was. "We are grateful anyway. Thank you."

"Thank you!" Alexis chirped from his side.

"You're both welcome." Beckett said, to both his mother and daughter. A small, but genuine and warm smile touched her lips. "And Eduardo was magnificent. I had no idea there was a third entrance into this building."

"Ah Eduardo!" Martha nodded. "He is amazing, isn't he. There is nothing he doesn't know about this building. Nothing he wouldn't do for the people who live in it. I will have to have a word with him again tonight."

"Will you stay for some soup Detective?" Alexis asked.

"Yes! Soup!" His mother seized upon Alexis' kind offer. "It's the least we can do before you head out into the fray once more."

"Ah, thank you, Alexis, Martha. I would love to, but I have to be back at the precinct in about 20 minutes."

"Carmichael?" Rick asked.

"He's lawyered up." She nodded. "Some big shot defence attorney that costs more than my annual salary. Looks like you were right Castle."

"Glad to be able to help out." He held her gaze, smiled into it and felt the warmth coming back his way. They were going to be ok. It was going to be ok -

"Well, then you have to take some soup with you!" His mother had a one track mind!

And Operation Feed Beckett went into full swing and neither he nor the intended target were going to get a say in how his mother expressed her gratitude anymore. Not for another second. It was going to be soup. And soup it was. Within a minute Beckett was at their front door cradling a large red thermos of Alexis' noodles with soup creation, making her goodbyes, and he was being dragged to the dining table by his daughter. He had time to raise a hand to his ear, thumb and little finger extended: call me! to Beckett (much to her amusement) before Operation Now Feed Richard, took over and he succumbed to delicious homemade soup and the attentions of his two favourite redheads.

A short time later, muzzy and floaty with pain meds and lying in his bed under the watchful eye of Linus, he thumbed his cell to life and found Beckett's details.

R: How's case going? That lawyer worth the money?

B: Stop asking about case. Why aren't you asleep?

R: Will be soon. Drugs good.Wanted to know about case? About you?You k?

B: Everything is fine. I will talk to you through it tomorrow.Go to sleep.

R: Promise? ? ? fg

B: Yes.

R: Siure? Sory Speeling no good. gpod drugs.

B: I can tell. Sleep.You.Now.

R: yo[re pushy parner. &^fj f

B: Yep. I have to go.In for round two.Thank your mother and Alexis for the soup tomorrow.

R: Tom r?do now

B: No. Go to sleep.Soup compliments can wait.

R:

B: Castle?

R:

B: Night Castle.

End

More to come of course. Its not over yet! Hope you like it and I appreciate all comments and feedback.