Fifteen minutes later, Castle's sitting next to Beckett as her twitches grow more and more frequent. Lanie deserves more credit than he'd have given her; the doctors and nurses are all well aware that Beckett is NYPD injured in the line of duty, and she's somehow gotten a private recovery room as a result. He's secured a rather comfortable chair, which he's slid right up next to the bed. He was trying to be good and at least less creepy than usual and maybe read a magazine at a respectful distance, but that had lasted all of two minutes. Then Beckett had made a noise, a shuffled, whistling whoosh of air, and Castle had had to go check all the monitors, and then a minute later she'd shuddered a little, and then her eyelids moved, and soon Castle had decided to just stay nice and close so he could reassure himself of her breathing and perform CPR immediately should any post-anesthesia complications occur.

She has a rapidly darkening bruise on her left jawbone, and another on her right elbow and another on her left wrist, and for some reason he hasn't been able to stop staring at the broken capillaries. It's maybe even creepier of him than staring at her chest, he tells himself, and tries again to read a battered issue of The New Yorker with no success. He can't turn off his stupid writer's brain, which keeps running through scenarios where she tumbles down the stairs and the dumbass suspect who somehow can't manage staying on his feet while running away from the cops comes down on Beckett's neck instead of her leg, and worst of all (no, not worst of all, but still) wouldn't that just be the most ridiculous way for her to die.

Thank God, Beckett heads off his morbid thoughts by finally, briefly blinking her eyes open. "Fuck," she slurs quietly. "What the fuck."

"Are you thirsty? Are you okay? Can I get you anything? That was a hell of a spill you took, apparently, not that I would know. See if I ever blow you off for one of Alexis's parent-teacher nights again," Castle rambles. Shut up shut up shut UP, his brain tells his mouth.

"Mmmfh. Castle," she mumbles. Castle watches as her eyes gain more and more awareness, flicking open for longer periods of time.

"Water? Ginger Ale? Vodka tonic? I am the possessor of all things liquid and served in tiny plastic cups with straws."

"Got any tequila?" Beckett murmurs, and Castle's breath catches despite himself.

"I can probably rustle some up. But how about some Ginger Ale while you wait?"

She nods slowly, staring at him sleepily, a little vacantly, before sipping from the straw that he carefully guides into her mouth. Her eyes are cloudy from anesthesia and from the morphine the doctors said they gave her to keep her from having too painful an awakening.

"I really," she giggles, "I don't feel much of anything. Is my leg actually broken or did I dream it?"

"I think you'll feel it soon enough," Castle responds gently. "It's broken. You're going to be an absolute champion on crutches."

"I get to leave, though, right? I wouldn't let them put me under 'less they swore I could go home." Her brow furrows in consternation. "I really hate hospitals."

"Okay, so there's this catch."

"Noooooo," Beckett moans. "No catches. I hate catches. Just give me my freedom." She stretches out the "e" in freedom. Castle can't stop himself from smiling.

"You can leave, but you've got to come with me."

She looks at him sadly. "You have a Gina," she says, still slurring just slightly. "You can't say things like that anymore."

"Gina will understand. You need help for a little while, Beckett."

"Don't, either. I'll be good. Always am."

Castle wants to throw something, and he's not sure whether it's at her or himself. "Look, I think you'll be more comfortable at my place. Someone will always be around to help you out and we have things like, I don't know, an actual tub so you can bathe with that cast on, and I know your sublet doesn't have that. But if you really feel like you can't be there I will call Alexis and I'll tell her not to expect me home for a while and I will sleep on your couch or your floor until I am absolutely certain that you won't kill yourself trying to hop to bed while carrying a glass of water."

Beckett thrashes a little in the bed, petulant. "I don't like any of this," she says. "Where is everybody else?"

"Body," Castle replies, "And no, I have no details so don't bother asking. They didn't want to leave you, though."

Beckett finally heaves a sad sigh. "I'll go to your home. But only for just tonight."

Castle's shoulders slump, and he tries to tell himself that it's in relief that she's agreed to go home with him and not in disappointment that being helped by him has somehow become her last, most desperate resort.