A/N:

THANK YOU!!!!!!! Chapter 6 is almost finished. Just a couple more chapters until you find out why Beckett hates hospitals. Enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 5

"Did you really bring soup?"

Beckett's question makes him giddy. On the surface, it seems simple enough but Castle knows it's anything but. Inch by stubborn inch he is gaining her trust.

"Chicken soup as a matter of fact. Now, before you pretend not to want any, I should tell you that it's from that little place around the corner from the precinct. I happen to know it's your favorite and you are unable to resist it. Sort of like me."

"Always so humble Castle." The huge smile on the writer's face makes it impossible for Beckett to hold back one of her own. It's not really a surprise. He's always makes her smile, even when he's irritating her. The only difference is that she usually has enough control not to give him the satisfaction of smiling back.

Beckett watches as he pulls a linen napkin out of his bag. He moves to take a seat next to her on the bed, gently placing the napkin across her lap. Then looks at her with eyes so intense, she struggles to steady her breathing. It's a look he's never given her before. A look so distracting, she doesn't realize until it's too late that his fingers are on her waist.

"Castle"

His heart starts to race at the breathlessness of her voice. He can't take his eyes away from hers. Not that he wants to. He could look at her for hours. He feels her breathing speed up as his hands brush against her sides. He tucks the blanket tighter around her body. It's the closest he's ever been to her, the most he's ever touched her. It's intoxicating. Slowly, he pulls the blanket up until it covers the paper thin gown, stopping only when he feels the pressure of her hand on his.

She's mesmerized. Not really sure why she's holding onto his hand. She searches her memory for the last time someone tucked her in, "I'm a little too old to be tucked in don't you think?"

"Not at all," His eyes linger a little longer on hers before shifting to the offensive mix of yellow and green on her forehead. Not wanting to upset her, he doesn't give in to the frown his lips try to show. He can't shake the feeling that if he had been there today, things would have been different. The woman next to him isn't one who needs rescuing, yet, more and more, he finds himself wanting to be the one to catch her should she fall. He wishes a simple kiss could make it all better for her. The somberness of his voice reflects the sadness in his heart that it could not, "Tell the truth. How bad does your head hurt?"

"No worse than it does after a day in the car with you Castle." Like her gun, sarcasm is there to protect her. Only, instead of protecting her from the bad guys, it's protecting her from the intensity of this thing between them. She lifts her hand from his and shifts uncomfortably in her bed. Looking away, she's determined to hide the emotions that she seems less and less able to control.

Castle's disappointed. For now, though, he's willing to follow her lead. He stands up and pushes the bedside table over to her, "You're always so grumpy when you don't eat Beckett."

"And yet, you still haven't given me my soup." Beckett begins to relax again, much more comfortable with Castle at this distance. Normally, she doesn't mind being close to him but tonight, in this room, under these conditions, it's making her feel naked.

Stifling a laugh, Castle marches over to the bag holding her prize. He opens the soup, blowing on it as carries it over to the table. "Just out of curiosity detective, when exactly was the last time you ate?"

As soon as he places it on the table, she wraps her hands around the container, her cold hands soaking up its warmth, "Um…"

"Keep in mind, toast doesn't count." Standing there, watching Beckett snuggled in a blanket holding onto her soup, he feels like he should be smoking a victory cigar.

Truth is, she can't remember the last time she ate anything besides toast. All she knows is that she drank coffee, lots and lots of coffee. "Tuesday I think."

When he came into the room, he thought she looked thinner but dismissed it as his imagination, "It's Friday. You take terrible care of yourself."

Beckett rolls her eyes, "Oh Castle, how have I survived this long without you?"

"I really have no idea. Lucky for you, you won't have to do it anymore." In an instant, Castle knows he's overplayed his hand. He holds his breath waiting, hoping his mistake doesn't erase the progress he's made tonight.

"You're not eating?"

"I'm good." And he is because she's pretending to let his slip of the tongue go unnoticed and she seems content with him being here, "Of course, I'm more than happy to feed you, if you're too tired to lift the spoon."

She coughs, choking on her soup, "I think I've got it Castle."

"Well, if you change your mind, all you have to do is ask." He takes a seat in the chair next to her and, for the first time, allows himself to really take in her appearance. Her eyes are glassy, her nose red, her skin pale and her eyes are missing that sparkle he loves so much. Worst of all, there is a red puffiness surrounding them that makes him wonder if she's been crying tonight. His heart hurts as he does his best not to react.

Beckett feels Castle studying her. He does it all of the time but today it's making her nervous. Suddenly, she's all too aware of just how disheveled she must look to him. After her shower this morning, she was so tired she threw her hair in a ponytail instead of blow drying it. She wonders how bad her makeup looks. The best she can hope for is that it's all worn off instead of smeared across her face. Biting the inside of her lip, she places a stray hair behind her ear.

"No need to worry. You're as beautiful as ever." Castle's spent enough time around women to know when one is feeling insecure about her appearance. Until now, the only time he'd seen Beckett that way was at the Nikki Heat launch party and when they were undercover. He watches her cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink.

Beckett stares into her soup, "Now who's the liar?"

"It's true. You always do." That the words rolled so effortless off his lips shocks them both. It's not as if he doesn't believe them. He does. It's no secret that he's thought she was beautiful since the night she crashed his party. What surprises him is that even on her worst day, he truly believes she is stunning.

She's staring at him now, not sure what to think. Is it Castle the writer talking to her, Castle the partner, Castle the playboy or the Castle she sees glimpses of but doesn't quite understand? She hopes it's the last one. He's the one that sneaks into her dreams at night, the one that comes out on the phone with his daughter, the one that offers her comfort when she doesn't want to admit that she needs it.

Looking at her, he sees she's biting her lip. It's barely noticeable, and, although she never does it at the poker table she can't seem to control this particular tell in real life. At least not with him anyway. "Finish your soup before it gets cold."

They fall into a comfortable silence as she eats. It's new for them. Usually, their silence happens for one of two reasons. She is doing paperwork and has yelled at him so many times for interrupting that he stops talking or because he would rather just observe her. Is this what life would be like if they were dating?

When she's done her soup, they fill each other in on what they've missed over the past week. In his very animated way, he tells her stories of people he met in LA and how he sat in meetings wishing he were at crime scenes. As always, he paints an elaborate picture. The only detail he omits is the number of times he picked up his phone to call her, each time losing his nerve.

She feels her spirits lifting with each story he tells her. Who needs Derek Storm books when you have the writer sitting next to you. She tries to keep up her end of the conversation but the long week is taking its toll. Still, she goes over her case with him in meticulous detail anxious to hear his theories no matter how ridiculous they may be. This week, the realization of how much she depended on him at work irritated her but here with him now she can barely remember the days she enjoyed her work without him.

As she talks, he listens for every detail that might let him know her better. He's made a good living getting people to tell him their stories and turning those stories into pages filled with plotlines and backstories. He's successful because he loves it. Their stories intrigue him. She may be his muse but he knows it is different with her. With her, she is what intrigues him not her stories.

In spite of her best efforts not to let him, he's impressed her tonight. It seems he's thought of everything. With a blanket, her favorite soup, a deck of cards and a few stories he's managed to put her at ease in a place where she feels anything but. Really, she is amazed that he is here at all. Surely Esposito, Ryan or the Captain had told him how much she hated hospitals, and, he likely overheard some of her heated conversations with Ryan, yet, he never once brought it up. Times like this she can't help but wonder if it's the real Rick Castle or if he's playing a character from one of his books.