Close Encounters 28

Castle's head lifted when the door chimed, signaling someone coming or going. He stepped out of the kitchen and halfway towards the front entry, listening, but it had been a departure. Probably Kate with the baby, unspoken leaving, after everything. He probably deserved that.

He tossed the dish rag back towards the counter, suddenly weighted down far too heavy to do a single thing more. Let the dishes soak in the sink, let the crumbs stay on the floor under James's highchair. He'd clean up tonight, after they swam in the bay while the sun set, after things had balanced out and floated away and everything was lighter again.

"Rick."

He spun on his heel in the kitchen, surprised to find her there, mouth dropping open as he took her in.

She was wearing his black t-shirt; it barely dusted the tops of her thighs so that her legs were forever, ages. He sucked in a breath but his fingers were nerveless, and she came stalking towards him with the shirt falling off one shoulder so that he could see the red strap of her bra.

He was most definitely certain she had not put on a red bra this morning. Red. Fuck, what color were her panties? Was she even wearing panties?

He swallowed when she stepped into his space and his hands came automatically to her hips, a flare of claiming that surged in his blood. Mine.

"Dad took James to the boat to explore. Hours."

"Hours," he repeated.

"I locked the doors. I set the alarm; you think that's enough of a do not disturb?"

"Oh, hell."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Kate-"

"I'm going to bed," she whispered, leaning in so close that he could smell the butter from the toast on her lips.

"Bed," he croaked, unraveled by her.

"You won't let me nap, so you better come to bed with me, don't you think? Make sure I stay awake."

"Yes," he rushed out, like a groan. "I'd better supervise."

She chuckled and it made his body leap in response; he clutched her hips and dragged her against him, both of them gasping at the intimate touch, the collision of want.

"Oh, that's good," she whispered.

He enfolded her in his arms, closing his eyes against the kitchen, the sea-light, the reminders of lunch. "I love you, too. That's why. Why I-"

"Why we mangle each other so much," she sighed. He wanted to fall to his knees but she held him up, a kiss of teeth against his jaw rather than his mouth, another at his ear, a biting punishment that wasn't gentle. "Come make it up to me."

He coasted his hands down fast and gripped the backs of her thighs, pulled her up against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and already he was walking her down the hall, his mouth feasting on her neck, burrowing down the collar of that shirt, nipping the bra strap, her skin, finding his way by feel.

She squeezed with her knees and he took direction like a soldier, turning them into the bedroom and slamming the door shut with a kick of his bare foot. She arched and he collapsed them both down against the mattress, something feral scrabbling to life in his guts.

"You need to get undressed," she said. Her eyes were dark - the shadows under the leaves in the middle of the birch forest, too dark for sunlight.

"No," he countered. "You're going to do it."

She sat up with him, her fingers already scraping at his abs as she reached for his buckle. She was going to make it hurt; she was going to be too fast.

That was perfect.

Castle groaned when he hit the floor, laughing as she collapsed on top of him, both of them surprised to have fallen off the bed. His arms came up to catch her, palms pressed to the sweat-slicked tendrils of hair down her back. "Okay?"

"Getting there," she gasped, leaning forward into him. Skin to skin, flushed, not enough. Not even close to enough. "You?"

"Getting there," he echoed, touching his lips to her cheek. Her body went still, that reflex that had developed between them lately, these last few weeks, for her to pause and wait on him, as if she needed direction before knowing where the danger lay. He hated it. It wasn't Beckett.

"You're mad at me," she whispered, naked in his arms.

He buried his mouth in her neck, closing his eyes. "No. I'm mad at me. At him. At tainting the whole damn island with this when it was supposed to be the only way I could say thank you for killing yourself just to give us a son."

Her head lifted so that his lips brushed against her cheek, and then she was gripping him by the back of the neck. "No." Her nose nudged in against his and her mouth went to his but paused, halting. "No. Nothing is tainted."

"It's all tainted. I brought someone else into this-"

"You didn't," she insisted, rocking her hips into his so that his concentration scattered, like sand in the wind. "You haven't. We're not responsible for how other people feel - that's not on us."

"Then why do you act like it is? You carry it around, Kate." He pressed his fingers to her collarbone, skimming down over her heart. "You carry it here. I can feel it, how heavy it is, a thing between us."

"No," she said, pushing into him, the movement of her body against him driving all rational thought out of his head. One round wasn't enough, had never been enough, and all this damn talking was doing nothing at all to help.

He gripped her hips and nudged closer; she moaned and dropped her forehead to his, her lips skimming his nose.

"I love you," she whispered. "And I know you do too. Feel that instead."

She twined an arm around his neck and down his back, rocked into him. He growled and surged to his feet, took the four steps back to their bed and pressed her into the mattress.

Maybe he was angry with her. Maybe that was there too.

Her hand lifted and traced lightly over his lips; he stared down at her, violence brimming in his lungs.

"Do it," she whispered. "I did it to you."

"You did," he harshed. "It was good."

"Always is," she promised, lifting her head to kiss him. Her fingers were in the way at first, little things, enough to change the angle, make them both have to work for it.

All it was. All it would ever be.

Change the angle.

Castle stood up slowly, dragging his fingers down her legs as he escaped her kiss. She stared up at him, fearless, coming up on her knees to follow. He leaned in and snagged her around the waist, carried her off the bed.

Pressed her against the wall. Her eyes opened wide, flecks of gold in the green, sunlight shifting through the trees.

Kate stroked her fingernail along his neck and down. He grunted and she shivered, and there they were.

This was going to leave bruises.

Kate drew her knee in and nudged into his hip, his body heavy over hers. "Rick?"

"Gimme second."

Slurred. Breaths deep, slow. "You can't fall asleep," she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair. "I'm not allowed to sleep, so neither are you."

He grunted something and rubbed his cheek against her, finally lifting his head. He had a bruise forming around his eye, and she skimmed her fingers around it, not at all sorry for it.

She had bruises on her spine, for sure.

"Not asleep," he said, gruff, eyes closing at her touch.

"Close."

"No." He turned his mouth into her fingers and nipped, laid his head back down on her chest.

She rubbed at his ear and circled around and around, sighing a little as the satiety stole over her, made her lethargic.

"Not tired," he said. Somewhat too mellow for insistent, but insistent it was. "Unwilling to move."

She smiled, the afternoon light soaking the room, the walls, their bed. She was overly warm, but it didn't matter. "Fine distinction there," she murmured.

"Yes."

Mm, one-word answers from him. Good. She liked that. She shifted under him, draped her knee at his thigh and he moved just enough to give her space, his arm curling at her waist. He was playing with her hair.

"Are you jealous?" she asked.

"No." His mouth rubbed against her collarbone and he nuzzled in again. "But you're mine."

"Fait accompli."

He laughed, a quick huff of breath, and he lifted his head and looked at her. "Oh, yeah? Done deal?"

"Done deal," she admitted. "But you know that." She traced her fingers around his scratchy chin and back behind his ear, tugged him down to her chest again. "You'll write more story for me?"

"Such pretty words," he murmured, laughing at himself.

She yanked on his ear and he grunted, stopped laughing. "Don't mock my story."

"No, never," he amended, kissing the inside of her wrist. "I'll write more story. The artist. You know he wants to make her proud of him."

"You know she just wants him."

He laid his head down against her, no words, and she cupped his ear, soothing the places she'd tugged. Her fingers trailed down to his eye again where the bruise was warm. It would disappear, for the most part, in an hour or so. Regimen.

"Are you still tired?" he said then, fingers rubbing against her ribs.

"Yeah."

"The infusion."

She sighed, heavy, closing her eyes.

"Please, Kate."

"It hurts him," she whispered. "He cries."

"He falls when he runs, smacks right into the corner of the doorway, falls down the stairs, he even drowned a little in the ocean. Not once did you say, carry him everywhere we go."

"That's not the same."

"It is the same. And besides that, if he knew, if he thought his mother needed-"

"He's a baby," she growled, pressing her hand against her eyes. "He's not old enough to choose and so we choose for him, and Castle, we have to choose right. We have to choose what's best for him."

"A mother. I choose a mother for him. That's what's best. The stick of a needle in his foot is nothing compared to having you healthy enough to be his mother."

She swallowed, rubbing her hand down her face, but Castle had lifted up now and was hovering over her. She opened her eyes to see him, made wordless by the ferocity in his gaze.

"I'm furious with you," he growled. "You could have been strong enough to handle all of this, everything, had you taken the damn infusion three weeks ago when I asked."

Her mouth dropped open.

"All this time, watching you struggle. I hate it. Falling asleep in the middle of the day, stumbling on the path down to the beach, nearly going under that wave-"

"One time," she gasped, protesting. "Only once-"

"And me afraid to leave you for a second, afraid to let you do anything, go anywhere, and that creeps into everything we do, Kate. It makes it impossible to trust, you or myself, and on top of that, on top of that, I'm purposefully hurting you."

"You're not hurting me-"

"Don't lie," he growled.

She twined her leg around his, afraid he'd move, leave her bare. "You're not hurting me now."

"Oh, no? I wish I was. Maybe if I hurt you, you'd wake up and understand."

"Castle-"

"I made him. Colin fucking hunt. I cultivated this sick unrequited love shit, and you're the one who carries that responsibility. Not me. I don't care that he doesn't get to have you. In fact, it makes me fucking pleased. But it hurts you. It hurts you and I'm a fucking hypocrite, telling Colin that the people who love you are entrusted with the preciousness of your trust, to not hurt you, to never hurt you-"

She hushed him, hushed him, mouth to his forehead, his cheek, his bruised eye (her roughness, she hadn't meant to, but she didn't regret it). He was shaking with every breath and she had been selfish too long, not seeing, only feeling it, feeling guilty and trapped and not seeing what she was doing to him either.

"Okay," she got out. "Okay, Rick. The infusion. You haven't hurt me. I hurt myself. We'll do the infusion."

He took in a huge breath, shaking with it, and turned his face into her chest, arms wrapping around her so tightly she couldn't move.

She pressed herself into him, giving over to it, nudged down until her cheek was against his, the scruff he hadn't shaved yet, hiding her face to his, the darkness of them together. She hadn't thought her recovery had anything to do with this, but that had been stupid, incredibly stupid, and she was sorry.

She was so sorry.

"I love you," he said into her. "I love you-"

"I know," she murmured. "I know."

"It'll be better," he said.

"I know."

Now that Colin Hunt was leaving, it would be so much easier between them.

Castle spread his hand out over the boy's stomach and quickly snapped the cloth diaper into place with the other, watching his son's eyes as they drooped with tiredness. "Not yet, son. You and Mommy are breaking this terrible habit."

James's eyes flared open, staring up at him, completely dazed. Poor guy; he was so very worn out.

Castle stood James upright on the floor - they had no changing table - and tugged the little jeans up over his diaper. Pulled the shirt down. He tossed the dirty diaper into the laundry hamper at the end, though he knew he needed to get to it quickly. Just not right now. Things to do.

"Hey, wolf, I know you're tired." He rubbed his hands with eucalyptus oil, the natural antibacterial agent, and then gathered the wipes and shoved them into the cloth bin they used as a changing station. "James. Come here."

The baby was swaying on his feet; the rest of the evening was going to be spent gently shaking him awake, Castle could see it coming.

He reached out, tugged on the pockets of the boy's jeans, pulling him forward. "Come here," he said, softer now. "I know you understand me. Some of it. I know you feel - feel things. Something. I know it's there. James, come here."

The boy stumbled at Castle's knee and fell into his arms, giving a pathetic, tired noise. Castle let him cuddle close, laying his head heavy on Castle's shoulder. He stroked the back of the boy's neck, pressed his kiss to the warm cheek.

"This is about Mama," he said.

"Ma-ma-ma."

"That's right," he whispered into the little ear. A soft shell, pink from the sun. Jim must have forgotten to put sunscreen on his ears, or else Castle himself had missed it one day this week. "Mommy needs your help. I need your help."

James rubbed his face into Castle's shirt. Castle didn't get up off the floor, he just stroked the fine, dark hair at the boy's neck and talked.

"It's going to hurt at first. Papa said you cried the last time. And it will make you sleepy, but you've done it a few times now. You'll be just fine. You believe me? Nothing will hurt you for long, little wolf, because you're just like me. Even if you don't know the words, feel how much I love you, how I'll protect you."

James was breathing noisily against Castle's ear, so he jostled the baby a little, startled him awake again.

"Sorry, but I'm not sorry," he whispered, rubbing his back now, softly. "Actually, you're better off than me. We're very grateful. So when Logan gets here, he's going to stick your foot with a needle and get some blood. But I'm gonna let you eat ice cream when you're all done. How does that sound?"

James mumbled something that could have been 'ice cream' or it could have just been the advent of dreams. Castle nudged him awake again, tugging his little ear to get a response. James roused and gave a sigh, rubbed his face into Castle's shoulder.

"Listen, son," he hushed. "Listen, now. This is important. It's about your mom."

"Mama," the boy mumbled, fading off as the word left his mouth.

"Mommy might not get any better than this," he got out, frowning fiercely into the boy's room. It was long afternoon and the light was turning the walls golden. "Mom might never really recover her full... it might be like this. And it's up to you and me to make it easier on her, best we can. Okay?"

James was heavy again, asleep. Castle stroked the back of his head and then shrugged his shoulder so that the boy startled, head lifting in surprise, coming awake. He pushed up with both little fists against Castle's chest, turned his head to his father, his grey eyes so clear.

"She did this for you," he whispered. "She did this for me. We're going to do this for her."

James blinked, solemn and listening. Always so ready to be serious.

"Okay, I know. Let's take Mommy down to the bay, and we'll swim until the sun sets over the water. Wake you both up a little. Papa gets to come, too. And Sasha will probably slink out of the trees like the ghost wolf she is."

James gave him a shy little smile and then ducked his head down to Castle's shoulder, collapsing there again.

Castle cupped the back of his head and stood up finally, turned to move for the door.

Kate was standing there, the loose white wrap skirt around her hips, the black bikini on, a tank top on over it. She was watching him. He wondered how much of that she'd heard.

"I'll take him while you get swim trunks on," she said, reaching out for James.

Castle handed him over, rubbed his hand over the boy's head. "Don't let him sleep."

"I won't," she said, chiding him in it too, her eyes flashing to his.

She'd heard some of it. How much, he didn't know. Enough that she wasn't going to say anything and risk collapsing the work they'd done after lunch today. Rebuilding.

He leaned in and lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. "Be ready in a minute."

Castle moved past her for their bedroom to change.

It might be like this.

Kate caught her breath as she felt his soft words go through her again, watched her husband's back as he walked down the path to the bay. The light was rich and forgiving this late in the day, the sun behind them and gloaming the softly-waving sea-grass. Her feet were bare against the warm dirt path, the whole island spotless.

They were striving to keep it that way. It was beautiful here. Unspoiled.

It might be like this.

She had never really considered the fact that she might not get any better. That her exhaustion was permanent, that her mitochondria might remain sluggish and work at not-quite-full capacity the rest of her life.

Mitochondria. Two years ago she hadn't even known what they were - something to do with the function of a cell. When she'd looked it up, all she'd gleaned was powerhouse, having no idea what that really meant. A battery.

Well, her batteries were low, and instead of recharging like they ought to, they weren't making it back up to full strength. She had talked with Logan after Castle had made the call to bring him in for an infusion; he'd described it like a cell phone battery. If you let it drain down to nothing, and then full charged it, it discharged properly. But if you kept plugging your phone in when it was at half-power, three-quarters, then it grew weak over time.

It died faster.

She was dying faster.

Not dying. But in the way that all cells eventually died, from the moment of birth. She was just doing it faster, never letting her mitochondria get up to full strength after they'd been so severely, severely depleted. She kept plugging herself in and then jumping into the fray, draining what little battery she had.

Most people never got that far down. Chemotherapy did it, other things like that, and he'd told her you need to give your body the chance to recover.

She had been doing that. She really had been trying - not carrying her son, not doing the heavy work, not even doing the work period. She'd rested and slept and she had been good, and apparently it meant nothing.

That had been work for her; that was such damn difficult work - doing nothing, being still, crushing her every last instinct.

It made her want to sob. Her frustration had reached its zenith but there was apparently no downhill slope to ease her guilt-wracked conscience. She was stuck.

It might be like this.

God help her; it could not be like this. She wouldn't survive it. She loved the man, she did; she loved her son. But immobility she would not survive.

"Katie?"

She turned her head quickly and saw her father watching her from behind. He reached out and gripped her elbow as they went down a slippery too-smooth slide of grass on the path, ostensibly for his balance but she knew it was for her own.

"Thank you for giving us the afternoon," she told him. "It's fixed - being fixed. You were a big help."

He patted her back as he drew up beside her. "Of course. Thank you for taking my help. There were times, in our recent past, that I never expected to be able to be your father again. Your dad."

She let out a shaky breath. It was all too true, and she wouldn't deny it. "I still sometimes - it's there, I know. But it works for us, you and me, Dad. It's part of our story." Their secret life. That's what it was; the rich, quiet grief that had struggled between them still held, but it wasn't malignant. It was a force for good. "You're my dad. You taught me to tie my shoes with the tree and the bunny going around its trunk."

Her father chuckled, eyes glancing at hers; his were silvery brown, and she wondered if that was where James got his own coloring. Recessive genes tucked away in her father.

"You were the one who would tuck me in at night because mom got fed up trying to answer all my questions. But not you - you answered them." She turned, giving him a sly look. "You do know I was just trying to postpone bedtime."

"Oh, I know," he grinned. "But I enjoyed answering. And often as not, it put you right out."

"I remember asking you what the difference between stocks and bonds were." She felt her own smile threatening to break the surface. "And once, I had you explaining a combustion engine."

"My favorite was when you asked how come your friends believed in Santa Claus. That took a while."

She huffed a breath, wrinkling her nose at him. "How old-?"

"Three. You were precocious."

Castle was laughing; she could hear him. He called back to them. "Precocious is a nice way of saying you were too clever for your own good."

"That could be true," her father admitted, nodding sagely.

She slapped his shoulder and glared, and he chuckled, Castle joining in. James joining in, the little parrot.

"You were clever," her father said suddenly. "Smart and stubborn and undaunted. Tireless."

She let out a sigh and tilted her head into his shoulder even though the way the path wound down, she was taller than him. "I hope to be tireless again."

"You still are." This from Castle, turning around at the bottom of the sloping path, his feet already in the sand. He held James against him, but he was focused on her. "You still are, Kate. Tireless. That has nothing to do with needing sleep."

She stared back at him and her father subtly tugged James out of Castle's arms and kept on going, leaving them alone. Castle reached out for her and folded her into his embrace; she could smell the salt on his skin, the light.

"You haven't changed," he murmured into her temple. "The essential of Kate. The original of Kate. No matter what the regimen did, the pregnancy did, what the chelation did. No matter being my wife or James's mom. You're still you, layers upon layers, but still you. Good and pure and strong."

Kate wrapped her arms around him and cut off his orison with her kiss.

She didn't need to hear a single thing more; it was enough.