10th February
There it is again. That resounding clatter, the insistent drone and the increasing volume has penetrated her subconscious, yet again. That stupid alarm clock just doesn't know when to quit it. But as she forces herself to wake, slip into consciousness, it decides to prod her skin, shift her body. It's so demanding this time of the-
Wait, shift her body.
Her alarm clock can't do that.
Her phone doesn't even do that. Sure, there is an irritating buzz when she wakes to find her phone pressed against her stomach or beneath her shoulder blade, or once even at the side of her face, like she'd fallen asleep on the phone. But the jerks which result from those wake-up calls are from the rapid contractions of her muscles, the impulses firing along her nerves as the phone fires its own signals, disrupting her sleep.
This is different.
Then she's prodded again and she opens her eyes, wide, rolls onto her other side, suddenly alert. People prod.
"Castle."
She jerks a little, away from him shocked. Why is he here, in her room, in the middle of the night?
She hauls herself up, sitting in the sheets but perching herself against the cool headboard as she regards him in the hallway light. He hasn't said anything but he looks worried, she clears her throat so she can speak, finds it dry. There is no way to avoid the husk, or the bark that will follow speech.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" she says them quickly, hoping to get out her third question before the bark overcame her again, but failed.
He's shaking his head in response, gathering the glass of water on her nightstand and putting a knee on the edge of her bed so he can pass it down to her, regard her at her own level. He still looks worried as she takes the glass and drinks deeply.
She swallows the water and speaks quickly. "Is everything alright?" she asks before taking another glass. "Is Alexis okay?" She stops another bark with a gulp of water.
He shakes his head again and sets a hand on the knees she curled up to her chest as she barked, trying to gain control of her body, a knee-jerk response she can't explain.
"You're sick," he offers quietly.
"I'm fine, Castle." Her voice is softer, avoiding the husk, avoiding the risk of coughing again. She sets her hand atop his own, sliding her fingers around his and giving a gentle squeeze, reassurance. He came back, in the middle of the night, just to check or to offer something he remembered once he got home.
She tugs on his hand, moving to shift across the bed a little so he has enough room to sit properly on the edge. But he stops her with a look, a shake of his head. "Later," he says it so softly she's not sure she heard it.
"Later?" she echoes, curious. She just wanted him to explain, to sit beside her so she isn't dizzy with looking up at him like she has been.
"I've got something to do first, just drink some more water and I'll come back," he urges gently, sliding his fingers over the hand which somehow ended up atop her own knee not covering his. He must have shifted.
She goes to speak, feels her throat clench just at the prospect of an open mouth. Right now, words aren't an option. So she just nods feels him let go of her hand, brushing his fingers over the back of her hand as he retreats.
Then he's gone, headed down the hall. She finishes the water and sets the glass on the bedside table, flicks on the lamp and curls back into the sheets, closing her eyes and waiting for him to come back.
He stops in the doorway when he returns, admiring her sleeping form. Then he realises she isn't sleeping, her shoulders are too tight, her body relaxed but not quite enough.
He sets the new glass of water and the cup with the cough syrup he brought earlier on her bedside table, picking up the empty cup.
When she opens her eyes, giving a soft smile before closing them again and shifter deeper into her bed sheets he wants to do nothing more than curl his body around hers, kiss the side of her face and whisper reassurances to her. But she won't let him do that, even if she may want the same, he knows he shouldn't push this too far. She's sick and sure she wants the comfort, needs the comfort, but if she wakes in the morning, ready to go back to work and finds his body twisted around hers, sharing her bed, she might just make those walls a few stories higher. He's only just getting to the top of them now.
Showing up here was a risk. He knows. But he has to hope she'll understand once he comes back, why he decided to show up in the middle of the night. Then he'll let her be, let her sleep and head back home, able to crash in his own bed. He'd expected her to be awake, or dozing on the couch. So his knock on the door would rouse her, but she didn't. So he'd slipped the key from his pocket and crept inside. Boiled the kettle on his way past.
He sighs as he watches her, then turns on his heel and heads back from the room to grab the things he brought with him and the things he's found here, all for her.
He squirts a little of the lemon juice into the cup, squirts the honey through it and fills it with the water from the hot jug. He's glad he let it stand for a few minutes, it needed to cool a little. He stirs them all together, the aroma filling his nose. When he'd still been at the loft he'd gone to the kitchen, in his procrastination, to find something to eat and stumbled upon the honey. Then remembered lemon juice. The crucial ingredients his mother had always given him as a small child, to soothe his throat and clear his sinuses. How had he forgotten that when he pooled those bits and pieces together?
He had decided it wasn't too ridiculous to go over there and tell her the story, share a snippet of his life she hasn't heard before, let her know too he too has walls he's letting her into. His walls are more like the trimming around a small garden, but still, they exist.
He grabs the blankets off the lounge stuffs them, along with Alex, under his arm. He'd spied the bear on the couch amongst the blankets when he'd stepped into the dark apartment, his small, tan form the only discernible feature in the poorly lit room. He'd been curious when he purchased the bear what significance it would hold for her, but he knows she hasn't found the other portion of that day's gift yet, still nestled safely in the spare pillow on her bed, unlikely to be discovered until her next day off, where she has time to change her sheets. He likes it that way, a lingering gift, a hidden surprise. It may not even be discovered until he's finished with these small gifts, the plan hasn't got much further to go, only four days of small things, he keeps swapping them around, switching ideas as the mood anticipates.
The mug of hot water he's got balanced in his fist was most certainly not on his list, nor were the gifts yesterday. But the other gifts seem stupid in comparison to these. Especially now that she's sick. Sure, she's not dying and she'll be completely over it in a few days. But right now, he has to show her, as much as she'll let him, that he is here, whatever she may need. He certainly won't be complaining seeing as she seems to want him to sit in bed with her for a while. He wants to let her know about at least, before he leaves for the evening.
She opens her eyes when she hears him shut off the hall light, smiling as she notices him using his elbow, his left arm laden with blankets, her own included. She doesn't miss Alex tucked under his arm and wants to roll her eyes, she probably should, but she's distracted because he's moving around to the far side of the bed.
He raises his eyes slightly in question as he reaches the edge, his knees against the mattress, and shins against the frame. He's nervous and its so tempting to joke, at his expense of course, but she can't. She's almost certain she's never seen him so controlled, so cautious and so deliberate in his actions. He's nervous. She isn't sure why exactly, but it's about this. The fact he's unlocked her door in the middle of the night to do nothing more than bring her coffee, or tea. It smells like tea.
"Here," he says softly, kneeling across the bed to pass her the mug.
She pats the space beside her. "Sit down," she offers as she takes the mug. He still hasn't moved, eyeing the space warily like he's having some internal debate about overstepping boundaries. He unlocked her apartment in the middle of the night, waking her up to give her tea… tea with honey. She blows onto the hot liquid as she takes a small sip, it's not too hot, considerably cooler than she drinks her coffee, but still, her throat is too raw to let too much go down.
"Lemon and honey?" she asks him quietly.
He nods and finally settles onto the bed, depositing the blankets to the side, setting Alex beneath the sheets just like she found him the other day. He's too far away, but he's sitting on her bed, leaning back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him as he watches her take another sip.
"Mother used to make it for me when I was younger. She swears by it, soothes sings vocal chords or something. I just think it tastes good." He shrugs and smiles, finally relaxing. "And I was writing and went to get something to eat and… I realised I should have made it for you this afternoon." He shrugs his shoulders again, like it's not a big deal that he came over here at one in the morning to make her a hot drink. He could have done it at the precinct, but then she peers into the cup, decides things like this shouldn't be at the precinct.
He can't read her expression exactly; there are too many facets to it to name them all. She doesn't look annoyed enough to kick him out, maybe disgruntled by her awakening but not mad. She seems slightly amused at the thought of his mother getting him to drink it as a child, probably remembering something her own mother did. That would certainly explain her far off smile, just a tiny hint. But he also can tell how tired she looks, like she just wants to collapse back into the sheets and not resurface until noon the next day. He can't help but want to join her, sit here beside her while she sleeps. He's perfectly content with that.
Then there is a new expression for him to read, but it is unhidden, unguarded. He's a little shocked. She's draining the last of the liquid from the mug. He is grateful she appreciated it, even if it is one in the morning and ignoring the fact they should both be asleep in bed, separate beds, in separate apartments not in her bed, watching each other. The expression on her face turns to action once she faces him again after setting her mug on the bedside. She pulls the bear from beneath the quilt and sets him on her lap, absently burying her hand in the fur and playing with a soft ear.
She's doing it deliberately. Toying with the ear and watching him through her hair, like she's toying with him a little too. Like she's trying to convey something she can't put into words. Except what she doesn't realise is he's not making assumptions, he's not even going to take a guess. This is under her control, he'd even waited for her approval before sitting on top of her bed, taken a moment to enjoy it once he'd told her about the mug of honey and lemon, but then he'd realised he had no other reason to be there and he was struck once again by how odd it was to be with her at one in the morning, be on her bed, with her beside him, after he'd unlocked the door and invited himself inside. He's certainly done enough this morning in terms of progress.
She doesn't know what to say.
"Thanks, Castle. I didn't exactly need it," she teases softly, "but it was an interesting gift." She's not going to mention oddly comforting to wake up to find he's made himself in her apartment. A little creepy but still comforting.
"What's wrong with Alex? You seem to have been needing her more than I thought you would have."
He's toying with her, watching her fiddle with the soft fur of the bear's ear. She doesn't bother to stop, just flicks her eyes to the bear on her lap, making it apparent she's regarding it, considering its feelings. If he wants to toy with her, she can dish it right back.
"She's a pretty good listener." She shrugs as she looks at him pointedly. "Plus she doesn't snore, or hog the blankets." She deliberately flicks her eyes to the pile he's left folded behind him. He's not exactly hogging them, and she doesn't even need them, but the opportunity is there, so she's taking it.
"I bet she doesn't like your snoring." Now he's barely concealing his teasing.
"I don't snore." She sounds too defensive, she knows. But she angles her body away from him. "Alex would have told me." She throws it over her shoulder with defiance, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder and stick her tongue out at him.
"Only when you're sick." She feels the depression in the mattress as he shifts up behind her a little.
"Been watching me sleep Castle?" She knows he hasn't. He's seen her asleep on a couple of rare occasions.
He chuckles and touches her shoulder, she's barely turned away from him, angled just enough so he can't see her face. But apparently that's too far away.
She rolls back, mimics the shape of his body, stretched out flat on her bed, but with a gap, just an inch, and her sheets, separating their bodies.
He's shaking his head, no. "I just know."
She rolls her eyes, of course he does. Of course he pays attention.
"Also," he says softly, sliding an arm behind her, apparently suddenly daring now she's turned back to face him, her proximity too much to resist. She's glad. She'd been about three minutes from scooting against his side, setting her head at his stomach and sliding her arm under the pillow below his back.
She realises he's still speaking, teasing really.
"Huh?" she asks, peering up at him.
He chuckles. "I never took you for the type to cuddle with a teddy bear on the couch."
"I wouldn't exactly call you a teddy bear…" she taunts. Such an easy opportunity. Too easy to dodge his question. She won't be sharing the fact she'd gone back to her bed and grabbed the bear before she curled back up on the couch. She'd set the bear on her hip and laid back to watch TV, enjoying the heat his body had left in the cushion. The heat and the faint traces of his aftershave, almost made it feel like he was still there.
That earns her a poke to the ribs and she twitches closer to him. She should have expected that response, but she'd been expecting it from his other hand, the hand she can see on his stomach, not the one which had been rubbing gentle circles on her elbow.
She's flush against his side now, an arm wedged between them, her shoulder under his arm, he's glad he slide down the mattress a little when he scotched closer.
She's shaking her head at him now and not bothering to contain her smile as she slides the arm from between them across his back, wedging it into the pillow under him, abusing the fact he's over the gap, resting her hand between his shoulder blades.
"You didn't drink the cough syrup," he chides as he flicks his eyes around the room, taking in the details, the things he'd been too intent on avoiding the other day.
"It tastes gross." She screws her face up is distaste.
He can't help but laugh. "You sound like a child. I used to have this fight with Alexis." He can't help it, he pulls her closer and presses his nose into her hair, a futile attempt to conceal his laughter, kissing her head as he retreats.
She'd been laughing with him, soft and hesitant, until he'd kissed her head.
Then she pulls away. He thinks he may have overstepped, reaches out to touch her retreating back, shivers when he grazes his fingers over the thin material of the t-shirt, realising, for the first time, she's in her pyjamas. An oversized tee and he doesn't even know what, doesn't even know if there is anything else. But his attention is stolen again and she raises the small medicine cup in a soft toast before tipping her head back and swallowing the mouthful, screwing her face up in distaste, in disgust.
"The taste would have been washed away if you'd drunk it earlier," he teases softly, not hesitating to pull her back to his side now she's swallowed the supposedly horrid substance. "The honey would have washed it away."
He feels her shrug against his chest, notices how she's basically curled into his side again, a hand on his chest, the other back between his shoulder blades, fingers sliding softly over the material as he touches the skin at her elbow, fighting the urge to toy with her fingers.
They're quiet for a long while and she's basically drifted off to sleep again, head against his shoulder, fingers toying with the material of his shirt as it rests on his chest when he jerks suddenly.
She forces her eyes back up to him, finds it hard to focus on him. Whatever he gave her was a night time option.
"Cold?" she asks, betrayed by the husk of her throat.
"Mm, a little," he confesses softly. "I probably should head home. Alexis might worry if I'm not there when she wakes." He doesn't sound very convincing. He wants to leave as much as she wants him to go. She wants him to stay, she's not sure if it's the drugs or the closeness or even the pure platonic nature of this, but she doesn't want him to go.
"There are enough blankets over there." She flicks her eyes to the pile beside him. "You can stay if you want, Castle."
He shakes his head. He doesn't want to. She's okay with that. It's probably for the best anyways.
"It's your call. Not mine."
She watches the rise and fall of his larynx, his nervous energy apparent.
It is her call.
"I don't know, Castle…" She sits up a little so she can watch his face. "Is this a good idea?" She reaches over him a pulls the pile so it's basically splayed him. She toys with the corner of one of them.
"I don't know." She hears his confession, hesitant and soft, and knows she's made her point.
"I think it'll be fine." She doesn't miss the smile he contains quickly, not wanting to seem too excited by the prospect. She wants to laugh. But decides she has to set the ground rules, remind him, that there are still some obstacles they've got to overcome. But they won't be doing that tonight, not at all. "As long as you can control yourself."
He nods vehemently.
"My alarm will go off in four hours and it's possible I'll get a call before that. Yesterday was three," she offers this piece of information, watches him glance at the clock as he processes the fact he'd barely get a powernap if history were to repeat itself. "So be prepared to be kicked out early." She unfolds a blanket as she speaks, letting him know her mind has been made up. He's staying, sleeping in his sweat pants and tee, on top of her sheets while she curls against his chest.
He watches her quietly as she does it, opens the blanket over his body. He doesn't even know what she's saying anymore, watching her throw the blankets over him. She leans across and turns off the lap, surrounding them in darkness but he doesn't miss her stealing the edges of the blankets and dragging them over to herself, covering her arms as she slides them around him.
He smiles when she settles her head on his shoulder again, already closing her eyes, a silent goodnight. He can't help it. He cranes his neck and kisses her cheek, soft and light, several times, until she opens her eyes again.
"Hmm," she hums as she rolls her head so she can face him. "Night Castle," she mutters as she arches her neck to kiss the corner of his chin. Then her hands are moving, the hand at his back curling her fingers along his skin as its withdrawn, brought between them, skimming his hip, causing him to shiver. The other hand, on his chest, slides across his other shoulder as he watches her shift a little, rising up. She kisses his cheek, forcing him to turn his face closer to hers, just to make it easier for her, less distance to cover.
Then she kisses him, soft and feather light, like that afternoon. He tugs her closer, resisting the urge to crush her body against his and haul her up onto his chest so he can kiss her properly, but they're not there yet.
He forces himself to blink, realises it was so quick, so sudden, that he never even realised what was happening until it was over.
He steals her lips just as she's about to settle back against his chest, a little more definite, more certain. She presses her mouth to his again as he pulls back, definite and certain, again, but then she's gone. Her head back against his shoulder and her eyes closed.
"Night Castle," she mutters.
He presses his nose to her forehead. "Until tomorrow," he responds.
She scoffs a breath. "It already is tomorrow." It's more a stage whisper than anything else.
"Hmm, but that's not what I meant. Tomorrow I'm taking you for dinner. Sick or not we're going out. You've got thirty-six hours."
She sighs and he watches her smile, nuzzling her nose against his chest as she settles in for sleep.
"Thirty-nine. I'm not going to dinner at three in the afternoon."
He chuckles and pulls her closer, sliding his fingers over her forearm, enjoying the fact he can feel her foot twitch against his ankle as she settles in for sleep. There are several layers of blankets and sheets and clothes between them, but he's content to do this for the rest of his life. He'd never need anything more if she laid with him, letting him listen to her breathing even out, that's the best gift she could offer. It's the only thing he'd ask for in return.