PROMPT: taking extra care of their significant other (sick Beckett please).

In sickness and in health

Nine weeks ago an unrelenting virus had started the making rounds among the men and women of the twelfth precinct, taking down half a dozen employees at a time, confining them to their homes for days on end.

Two weeks ago, when it seemed they had all seen the last of the nasty bug, he jinxed them. She didn't believe in jinxes. But, if she did, this was definitely his fault.

"We must be immune or something," he joked, holding his fist out to her, no doubt expecting some sort of celebratory fist bump.

Three days later he could barely get out of bed.

She hadn't seen him since. He had insisted that she stay away, stay healthy, and with the extra hours she had picked up over the chaotic few months, she was too exhausted to do anything more than go home and go straight to bed. Some nights she didn't even make it that far, crashing on the couch instead.

But it was too late. When she woke up with a scratchy throat and a pounding head, she silently cursed Castle and his stupid fist bump for tempting fate.

She was on day five of this hell and only seemed to be getting worse. Every muscle in her body felt tight, in need of a good stretch, but any movement made her entire body ache. She was feverish, yet freezing cold. Fatigue made her eyes heavy, everything uncomfortable, but she could not succumb to sleep. And with each cough that rattled her chest, throbbed through her pounding head, her malaise only intensified.

Her phone began to buzz against her thigh.

"Be-" she choked into her phone.

She braced herself, forcefully cleared her throat and winced slightly at the pain that ricocheted through her skull in response.

"Beckett," she tried again, more successfully this time.

"Wow, you sound like hell," Castle said bluntly. "I'm coming over."

"I'm fine-"

"When I said I'm coming over, I actually meant I'm here."

The knock at her door forced her to her feet, ruefully leaving the cocoon of blankets she had nestled into on the couch. She leant against the door, peeping through the hole. It was nice to lay eyes on him, even through a fisheye lens.

"You shouldn't be here," she said softly into the phone that was still pressed to her ear.

"But I missed you," he replied instantly.

She watched the smile grow on his face as he realised she was watching him. He stepped closer to the door, looking at the peephole as if it were a window into her heart.

She missed him, too.

She hung up the phone, stepping back to open the door just enough to rest her body between it and the frame. Not an invitation inside, she just wanted to see him, all of him.

His eyes drifted over her, taking in her appearance. She hadn't looked in the mirror in God knows how long, she didn't even want to think about how horrid she probably looked right now.

"Can I come inside?" he asked after allowing himself a few moments to study her.

"No." She shook her head, she would stand her ground. "You've only just recovered."

"Surely that means I have some sort of immunity, right?"

She laughed, weakly, but the sharp expulsion of air from her lungs was enough to trigger a deep barking cough. She shut the door slightly, trying her best to hide behind it - she didn't want to be seen like this - but he slipped his foot forward, keeping it ajar.

"Kate-"

"I believe the last time you tempted fate with the notion of immunity, you got us both struck down by karma," she jested, cutting him off, trying to ignore the burning of her throat.

He read her cues, thankfully, and removed the pained look from his face.

"I thought you didn't believe in fate."

Her eyes dropped to his lips, the smug smirk residing there.

She hated how much she loved that smirk.

"I don't," she assured him. "But, still, it's not worth the risk."

He moved forward, pressed his palm to her pale cheek and brushed his thumb along the prominent bone as she melted into his touch.

"You are worth the risk." He pulled her closer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. "Besides, it's Valentine's Day and I didn't want you to be alone."

She sighed, he had already won this battle the second he showed up, they both knew it. "Can you stop being so sweet when I'm too weak to fight against it, please?"

"Does that mean you're letting me in?"

"Well, you're way too close right now. You're bound to be contaminated." She took a step back, pushing the door open as she did. "At this point, sending you home is just putting Martha and Alexis at risk."

"Exactly," he agreed enthusiastically, walking into her apartment before she could change her mind. "We wouldn't want to put them at risk, now, would we?"

She closed the door, leaning back against it once it clicked shut. She was physically and mentally drained, but just having him here already had her feeling so much better.

"Okay, back to bed," he ordered.

"I was on the couch."

"Fine, back to couch then." He grabbed her hand, pulled her from the door and guided her toward the abandoned cocoon. "Get comfy, pick a movie, I'll make you lunch."

"Thanks, but, I'm not hungry," she whined just thinking about the painful battle that was trying to eat. "Help yourself, though."

She lowered herself onto the couch, tucked her legs back into her cocoon and began to make herself comfortable again.

"When did you last eat?" he asked, noting the trash was full of empty medicine packaging and used tissues.

The obvious lack of any traces of food - no packaging, no scraps, no takeout containers - and the dish rack clear of any dishes was concerning to say the least. She had been sick for days, he highly doubted she was worried about keeping on top of her household chores at this time.

"It hurts," she justified.

"That's not what I asked."

She flopped her head down on the pillow, pulling the blanket over her head in true melodramatic style.

He shook his head, made a mental note to limit the amount of time she spent with his mother.

But her silence was an answer in itself.

He sighed, moving toward the fridge. He opened it to, thankfully, find an assortment of ingredients available.

"I'll make soup."

"Thank you." He heard muttered from under the thick pile of blankets.

He didn't hear a peep from her as he prepped the vegetables and soaked the noodles. Every time he peaked over to the couch to check on her, the lump of blankets remained unmoved. He added everything to a large pot, leaving it to finish cooking without disruption.

He crouched in front of the couch, gently pulling the blanket from her face to find her fast asleep. Cheeks flushed, mouth agape due to her inability to breathe through her nose, the corner of her mouth wet with drool that threatened to escape at any second: she really was a sight to see.

He brushed her hair back from her face, accidentally startling her awake.

"I'm sorry," he soothed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Her eyes darted around the room as she regained her bearings.

"Sorry." She pulled her arms from under the blanket, tried to scrub the weariness from her face. "Must've dozed off."

Her eyes rolled involuntarily as she tried to fight off the fatigue, stretching her body out despite her protesting muscles.

He reached out for her hand, brushed his thumb along her knuckles while his other hand soothed fingertips through her hair.

"Close your eyes," he encouraged in his hushed tone. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

She rolled slightly, hugging his hand to her chest.

"You just wanna snoop through my stuff while I sleep," she mumbled with eyes closed.

He smiled, leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Obviously," he whispered.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.