Path to Paradise

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Her hands were shaking.

Kate crossed her arms and stood very still before the loft's gorgeous windows, absorbing what little light remained of the day. She had bailed on the active case after her therapy session; she had simply not returned to the precinct.

She hadn't even called them. She never not called.

Kate had expected to find Castle at home, but he hadn't answered. Her text had received a short reply, on my way, and she'd let herself in with the key he'd given her when she had driven him home from the hospital that first day. (He had patently not allowed her to give it back: what if I fall in the shower and I need you to come get me up? Big leer, get me up, get it?, drugged-goofy smile, and she had leaned in over him and softly kissed his mouth and agreed.)

With her arms crossed, at least she was managing to hold herself together.

They had to talk, get this clear. She didn't know how to be good for him in this, and that scared her. She didn't know where to start, and she wasn't sure that Castle did either, and already she was in too deep - deep enough to drown. Deep enough that a year or two of therapy wasn't going to make a dent in the damage if they crashed and burned now.

Afraid, afraid, afraid.

Everywhere she turned, she was afraid. There was a sniper out there who had her number, hired by a Dragon they had no name for, and the only thing standing between them and death was a man with a file she didn't even know the contents of. A man who had threatened them in Castle's hospital room.

That wasn't a fear she lived with easily. It had a slick, oily cast to it. A new and terrible dimension rooted in a very real and vivid trauma.

Losing him.

Losing him to this. To any of this - the tragedy that followed her. To pain pills, to not knowing, to her own emotional ignorance, to being unable to help, to falling down a black hole. Losing him to something so humiliatingly earth-bound. How banal and awful and not fair after everything they'd overcome, for them to fall apart because he loved her so much he'd taken a bullet for her.

Afraid, afraid, afraid.

The key scraping the lock had her startling from her death spiral, and she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to get a handle on herself. Dr Clark had been so calmly assured that she could do this, she could talk to him, and now she mentally rehearsed the salient points she had to make.

Salient points wouldn't come to mind right now. All she had was: I need you. Please, don't do this.

She sounded pathetic even in her own head.

The door came open and Castle stepped inside, his eyes lighting up, his body somehow filling the void. The darkness vanished, swallowed up by the beam of his smile at seeing her in his loft.

"Beckett." He shut the door after him, flipping the lock without looking, his eyes only on her.

She found an easier breath, and her mouth loosened enough to smile, close-lipped though it was. "Welcome home."

He made it across the threshold and into the living room, and she came the rest of the way, her movements less graceful than she would have liked.

He palmed her shoulders, a brush of a kiss across her lips. "You're playing hooky?"

"I thought we could talk," she answered, smoothing her fingers down his tie before she stepped back. "I came from therapy."

"Good session? How's Dr Clark - still as deadpan as ever?"

"Good, yeah, he's the same," she smiled, shaking her head. Trying not to get distracted by his smalltalk, by how easy it would be to gloss over what had happened and pretend nothing was wrong.

"Did you eat lunch?" he asked, still plowing through, loosening his tie and folding his expensive jacket over the end of the couch. "I have pasta salad from last night, and we can make up some croque monsieur."

How stupidly she loved him in this moment, watching him unbutton his cuffs a little clumsily, hearing him use a fancy name for a melted ham and cheese sandwich.

"Yeah, I forgot lunch," she admitted, following him into the kitchen. Clark had fit her into an emergency session at eleven, the only time available, and she had basically taken a half-day from the precinct. Hinted it was for Castle, some appointment he had that she had wanted to be at. But maybe he actually had been at an appointment. "Where were you?"

"Out and about. It's a beautiful day. October is my favorite time in the city. The crisp air, the leaves changing, the sky still so blue. Halloween." His eyebrows wriggled. "Well, except perhaps Christmas holiday season, which - oh, Beckett - we are going to do it up right. Lights, decorations, a massive six foot tree. And ice skating-"

He came to a comical stop, abruptly about-facing and staring at her.

She quirked an eyebrow in question, though her hands were back to shaking again.

He swiped a hand down his face. "Christmas. We haven't really talked about Christmas. With your mom - I mean, that's a special memory, I get it. I don't want to infringe or seem like I'm trying to overwrite-"

"No, no, Castle," she murmured. Though her mouth was dry just thinking about Christmas. Christmas. She couldn't even begin to untangle that one. Therapy was going to get expensive; she should just go ahead and slot appointments twice a week with Clark during the holidays. "So you were just walking around?"

He was pulling leftovers from the fridge as he answered. "Well, trying to walk around. My physical therapist said I needed to increase my endurance. And the acupuncturist said the same - and usually they never agree. So I thought it would behoove me to follow their not-so-mild suggestions." Castle batted her hand away as she tried to help. "I got this. Sit, Kate. You wanted to talk?"

She let out a breath and slunk around the granite counter to the bar. She stood there a moment, observing his movements, the stiffness in his shoulders and the set of his jaw as he doggedly went about preparing a late - extremely late - lunch. His shoulders were lopsided, she realized. Crooked. Like he was holding one up near his ear. She wondered if he knew he was doing that.

"Did you not eat lunch either?" she tried.

"No," he said.

Nausea? she thought fearfully, and banished it.

And then brought it back. Talk to him. "Were you - feeling bad?"

"Yes," he answered, and then she was given a helpless look over his shoulder. A kind of I don't want to do this. But she didn't know if the this was talking, or if the this was to you.

"Castle," she started, and his face went bleak and she had to sit down.

She had to take a moment, gather her courage. This wasn't about her, it was about him. Get him help. If he needed help - of course he needed help even if it wasn't NA help, just help.

And not from over here, with a counter between them. Not with him suffering through just to prove something to her that didn't need proving. Beckett got to her feet again and came around, touched his back, low on his spine, for his attention.

"Almost ready. But you could dish out the pasta if you're famished," he said quickly, cheerful smile. The thing about Castle was that the smile wasn't false. He was trying so hard that it was real to him, even if it was forced. "The skillet is heating up, the sandwiches will be ready in moments - I've got cheese here and the ham was from the market-"

"Babe," she said softly, taking his busy hands in hers. "Listen to me for a second. This is serious."

He went still, his throat working, his eyes avoiding hers.

She was afraid, but so was he. How had she missed it?

Beckett released his hands only to slide her arms around him, stepping into his space and embracing him. In her heels, their cheeks brushed, her leg slotting between his, hips bumping. She carefully curled her hand at the back of his neck and stroked the soft skin under his collar. Warm skin. He smelled like wind and leaves.

Castle shuddered and clutched at her, hands massive on her shoulders, a wild beast she was trying to tame.

"Are you in pain right now?" she started quietly.

"I - yes."

"How bad - use the pain scale. How bad is it?"

"It's all relative," he grumbled. His voice cracked at the end.

"Don't compare yourself to other people. Just for you, Rick. Everything you've gone through, the healing and physical therapy and all of it. Right now, standing here. Tell me."

"It's six or seven," he mumbled, turning his face into her neck. She stroked at his skin, skirting his spine and slipping farther down his back, trying to reconcile herself to a pain that was six or seven and he'd not said anything to her. He seemed to curl in around her. "It's not - it's worse on PT days. I haven't been doing the exercises at home because they hurt, and that's my fault-"

"No, hush," she whispered. "It's not your fault. It's completely understandable. It should not be a six or seven. We're going to get help, Castle. There's supposed to be a management schedule, a specialist. Drugs that work, that you don't have to pop like candy just for relief."

He gripped her shoulder, his other hand dropping to her ribs as if he could wrestle comfort out of her body. She hoped he could.

"Will you talk to me?" she whispered.

"I... am I not?"

"You're kind of just hanging on here."

He gave a weary laugh, but his grip eased. "You're right. You're talking to me and I'm standing here. I'll do anything you want, Kate. Anything you think is necessary. You just tell me. I'll do it. Just-"

Just don't leave.

She heard it so clearly in the desperation in his voice that it squeezed her heart. This was all so new, so fragile to them both, and it was such work. It was always such work to make herself be the kind of person who could let herself be vulnerable in those grief-filled places like Christmas or absentee fathers or unsolved homicides. And if he thought it was work too, what kind of job was she doing on her end?

"Castle, I'm trying," she heard herself say. Heard the helplessness in her own voice echoing the desperation in his. God, they were pathetic. "I'm trying, I went to therapy, I keep going to therapy, doing what he says to do, doing the work, and I swear I'm trying."

"But?" His hands dropped from her and he stepped away - as if forcing himself to.

"But I just keep messing this up," she admitted, feeling cast adrift in the middle of his kitchen. "I'm dropping the ball when it comes to you. To loving you. And I don't even know where."

"What?" he blurted out. His head had jerked up, his startled eyes catching hers. He rubbed both hands down his face, as if he couldn't believe what was right in front of him. "Kate. No. You're not. You're not dropping the ball. You love me. I'm so damn grateful that even though I'm - this is not the best timing, and being shot and healing is a rocky way to start out. I haven't been myself and yet here you are."

Her mouth opened, but the words were entirely gone. And yet here you are? Where did he think she'd be? She was the one messed up, fighting a vicious self-destructive urge just to remain standing in one place with him - and yet here he was. Wounded for her and still here.

"I could say the same of you," she sighed, and turned her head, a break from his searching gaze and all the recriminations his eager relief spelled out for her. "Why are you still here?" She bit the inside of her cheek at just how terribly desperate even that sounded, and she closed her eyes.

Castle let out a derisive snort. "Beckett, the self-deprecation isn't attractive. On either of us. Honestly, I'm not built for anything less than total arrogance, so can we dispense with the pitiful and disgracing lack of self-confidence when it comes to each other?"

Kate giggled, slapped a hand over her mouth as it came out. A little horrified.

His lips twitched, though she saw the faint tracing of pain in the corners of his mouth.

She leaned in and very lightly kissed him. "You're right. I love your arrogant jack-assery."

"Did I say jackass?" he gasped. "I do not recall using such a term. I think I've been insulted."

She laughed again (oh, it was giggling, really), and she drew her arms down between them, playing with the loose edges of his tie. "I do love you, Castle."

"I know. I do know. I think sometimes it astonishes me still. That we're here. We made it. Same page. And no, Kate, I'm not astonished that you love me, of course you love me. How could you not?"

She smirked and rewarded his confidence with another light kiss, lingering at the corner of his mouth where the pain haunted. "How could I not?" she echoed softly.

"Love at first sight."

"In your dreams, babe."

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