NINE

Kate awoke the following morning to the sound of a muffled curse. She opened her eyes to see the writer hunched over at the end of the bed, his fingertips resting against the mattress. "Are you okay?" she gasped, shoving the sheets off her as frantically as I could.

"'m fine." He uttered through gritted teeth. "Just caught my toe against the edge of the bed when I was losing my balance."

She hurried over to him, locked her arms around his waist and pulled him against her. "You should have woken me up."

"You were so cute sleeping I didn't want to." He replied simply. She rolled her eyes as she slipped an arm around his back in order to help him. Once they made it to the bathroom door he grunted out, "I got it from here." So she held herself back and waited patiently for him to use the bathroom in peace. Once he reappeared in the door, he only needed to lean a hand against her shoulder to make it back to the end of the bed.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

He nodded his head. "Physically—better. I'm actually a little hungry."

She smiled. "That's a good sign."

"It is."

"And…how are you feeling other than physically?" she asked cautiously, not wanting to outright say, "how do you feel about your mother's death this morning."

He offered a meek smile. "As okay as can be expected, I suppose. I know that grief is a process so I'll just keep moving through. Maybe Alexis and I can talk this afternoon."

Kate nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. And you know if you ever-"

"I know." He smiled.

After she mirrored his expression she said, "So…should I make you some eggs? Or would you like something else. I'll bring you whatever you're hungry for."

"Kate." He cautioned. "Please…I feel like a total shut in. At least let me sit on the couch."

She nodded, knowing that Alexis would appreciate seeing her father up and about as well. "Sure, Castle; c'mon." Then, she slid her hand beneath his arm to guide him on the two room journey.

As predicted, the young red-head was quite thrilled to see her father out of bed. Since Castle reclined on the couch to eat his eggs and toast, the two women joined him: Alexis by his feet and Kate on the chair nearby. The weight of loss still heavy in all their minds, they tried to keep the conversation light, but the subject of the missing red-head was eventually brought up so their breakfast ended on a rather somber note.

Once Alexis went off to work on her missed schoolwork, Castle informed Kate that he wanted to take a proper shower—well, as proper a shower as he could take while seated in the chair she'd acquired. She cautioned him about resting more, but he continually refuted her. He wanted to shower and feel clean, and then he would rest.

"You're sure you're okay?" She asked, hovering by the bathroom door as he reached a long arm into the glass shower and cranked the water on to an acceptable temperature.

His annoyance evident he said, "I can take three steps on my own, Beckett."

"I was asking more about pulling off your pants."

"Your continued desire to see me naked is flattering, but I swear I'll be fine."

She gave him a look but then nodded in agreement to letting him have privacy while he showered. "Okay, but I'll be right outside the door if you need anything."

After stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door, Kate turned to face the bed and realized that in her haste to make the writer breakfast she had neglected to return and tidy up the side she slept on. She pulled the sheets and duvet cover back into place and then fluffed the pillows before stepping back to admire her work and make sure everything looked as it had before she slept in the bed.

With nothing else to do but wait for Castle to finish showering, Kate sat down in the chair beside the bed, folded her legs and closed her eyes. She shouldn't have been tired. All things considered she had a decent amount of rest, but she was still behind as far as sleep went for that week. By the time she caught up she'd probably pull the graveyard shift again, but such was her life. She could sleep when she retired.

Kate doubted she had been sitting in the chair more than seven or eight minutes when she heard a loud thud and a crack emanating from the bathroom. She jumped up so quickly that she nearly stumbled to the ground when trying to untangle her legs. Rushing to the entrance of the bathroom she called out, "Rick? What happened?"

"I'm fine; I just slipped."

"Slipped, wha-" But her words were stolen by a grunt, groan, and smacking nose coming from the bathroom. Without second thought she opened the door. "I'm coming in."

"No, I'm fine; I'm fine."

But when Kate opened the door she saw that the writer was not fine—not fine at all. Through the opaque glass tiles she could see his body low in the shower and assumed he was on his hands and knees. The chair, which had previously been very close to the shower spray, now rested several feet further back. As she stepped in the room, trying to take in the scene, she could see the outline of the writer move, but only for a moment before he grunted and the chair slid further back.

"Jesus, Castle; let me help you."

Without second thought she charged into the shower to find the man on his knees, desperately griping to the chair with wet hands. She assumed he had been trying to use the chair as leverage to stand, but thanks to the slippery shower and his large frame, the chair simply had refused to cooperate. How he ended up on the floor of the shower to begin with was still a mystery, but one she could not deal with at that moment.

As he tried and failed to stand using the chair for a third time, Kate said, "Hold on. Just stop. If I brace this chair against the shower wall then you can probably use it to get up, okay? Just rest there a minute while I move it closer."

Nodding, the writer released the chair. Kate picked it up and turned it so that instead of facing the shower head, it faced the front shower wall which pushed the chair back against the opposite wall thereby making it more stable. When she turned back to Castle, she saw that he had sat back on his haunches. Given that he was naked, she inadvertently caught a full frontal view of him and let out a soft, "Oh," of surprise. Well, there he was; Richard Castle in all his glory.

Knowing that was not the moment to stare unnecessarily, she cleared her throat and asked, "Ready?" He nodded and she stood back so he could use the chair to hoist himself up. Fortunately, her idea worked and the chair did not move. Still, in his exhausted state, Castle only had enough energy to sit down in the chair and remain in the shower. Kate reached out and plucked the steel gray towel from the nearby hook and held it out to him. He rubbed it across his face before moving it down his body to soak up the remaining water droplets.

"Sorry I'm so pathetic."

"You're not pathetic." She reminded. "You're recovering from a traumatic event."

He grunted as though he didn't believe her. "But it's so ridiculous. I wasn't hurt—why don't my legs want to work?"

"Wasn't hurt…" She repeated with incredulity. "Rick, you were deprived of proper oxygen for over a day. No, your legs aren't broken, but your muscles and nerve endings—every cell in your body is still recovering. It's barely been two days; you need to give yourself more time to heal."

His chin still hanging towards his chest, he confessed, "I don't want to be a burden."

Kate crouched down in front of him and placed her hand at the base of his knee. "Hey, look at me." She waited until he'd done so before continuing. "We thought you were dead. Even if I have to get Espo and Ryan over here to carry you from the bed to the bathroom every few hours you're still not a burden."

"I think they'd have a different opinion on that," he said flatly.

Her smile didn't waver. "You've just got to take it easy and get better so you don't miss any more cases okay? We really could have used you on this one." With that, she pushed herself back into a standing position.

Castle rubbed one edge of the towel through his hair while the other fell loosely to his lap and asked, "Which one?"

She let out a breathy noise of disbelief. Which one? Which other one had she had time to work in the prior three days? "Remember the bank that fell on you?"

He gazed up, his expression perplexed. "But what case? The robbers were killed."

She shook her head. "Remember that man who had the seizure?"

"Sal?"

"Except his name wasn't Sal. He orchestrated the entire thing."

The writer's eyes flared wide and he demanded an explanation, which she gave as succinctly as possible. When she was done, Castle appeared horrorstruck. "I...helped him. I was worried about him and he...killed my mother." He sounded almost nauseated by the time he finished speaking.

She nodded in understanding. Victims turned villains were the hardest cases due to the feelings of anger and betrayal they caused—particularly in this instance. "He killed twenty-five people; he'll be in jail for the rest of his life, I promise you." Though she understood all too well how that was not very much consolation. Taking in a deep breath, she changed the subject entirely. "Just let me know when you're ready to move."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. I—Ah!" He yelped when he went to stand and his knees buckled beneath him. Kate reached out and grabbed him under the armpits, guiding him back down to the chair as he cursed.

"It's okay; sit back down. Don't be frustrated."

"Easy for you to say." He snipped.

She shook her head, refusing to accept his poor attitude. "Castle, look how much you did this morning: you walked to the couch, ate breakfast with us, walked back here, and showered yourself—that's tons of activity. Of course you're tired. You just need a nap and then you'll have some more energy."

He nodded, agreeing with reluctance. "Yeah, okay."

After another minute's rest, Castle stood and allowed Kate to help guide him back to the bed which, now that he was naked, was a bit more delicate since she was not entirely sure where to put her hands on his body. Once she'd sat him back beside his pillows, he directed her around the room to retrieve clean clothing for him and she did so with efficiently. She first handed him a t-shirt, which he pulled over his head, and then a long sleeved shirt to go over top. When all that remained in her grasp were boxers and a pair of track pants she asked, "Want help with these?"

He gazed at them for a few moments before looking at her and asking, "Would you think less of me if I said yes."

She smiled. "Not at all." She knelt down and helped him put his feet in the boxers before pulling them up to his knees. Then, with great effort, he stood again, resting one hand against her back and the other on the bed, as she pulled the shorts into their proper position. In doing so, this inadvertently brought her completely eye-level with his crotch. She was so focused on the task at hand, that she didn't stare, but given the position it was impossible not to look. In his fragile state she felt it wrong to think of him in any way but as her friend, yet at the same time in the back of her mind she could not help but think that Richard Castle did not disappoint in any way.

Putting on the track pants was a bit more of a challenge since they were snugger, but they managed and the writer flopped back into bed, clearly exhausted. Kate reached for the sheet to cover him and asked, "Do you need anything else?"

"Time machine." He quipped before leaning back against the pillows. "Just kidding; I'm fine."

Kate's breath hitched in her chest as she watched him. From that angle she could see the underside of his nose and chin and was instantly transported back to two days prior when she had stood outside an ambulance begging to catch a glimpse in order to confirm it was her friend and partner who had been removed from the rubble. He said he was fine, but was he? Was he fine? A shower during which he sat had tired him out so much that he'd hardly been able to walk back to his bed. Rationally, she knew this was just one of the hurdles on the road to recovery but, god, watching him struggle was so hard—so much harder than she thought it would be. She wanted to fix him, she wanted to make him better, but such things were beyond her scope of control.

Backing away from the bed, trying her best to hide her tears, Kate sniffled and the ever-observant writer's eyes popped open. "Hey—are you okay?"

Knowing she would break down without deflection, she joked, "Why wouldn't I be? I finally got to see you naked; life goal achieved."

He reached out and closed his fingers around her wrist. "Kate."

She shook her head, willing her steel armor back into place. "I'm fine. I need to be here for you and Alexis and-"

"Alexis isn't here." He pointed out. "It's just us."

She didn't want to break down in front of him—in front of anyone. She wanted to remain strong until her shower later that day, then she'd let it all out, but he was looking at her so kindly that the tears began flowing before she even realized.

Using his grip on her wrist, Castle drew her in until she stood so close to the edge of the bed that her knees brushed against it. "Hey, hey c'mere."

"It's just…sometimes when I close my eyes I see the rubble of that bank building and I'm right back there looking at the disaster, hearing everyone around me say there's no way anyone could have survived." The fear had been so buried deep inside her the words almost shocked her when they exited her mouth, but they didn't make it less true. "No survivors" was the mantra she'd heard for twenty-seven hours and it was not one she could easily get over.

Castle skimmed his arm from her wrist up to her elbow. "I'm right here Kate."

She nodded as a few tears dropped from the edge of her jaw. "Don't scare me like that again okay?"

"I promise. C'mon." He tugged her close and she didn't shy away. She knelt down on the edge of the bed with her right knee to get enough leverage to climb over him. Once in the center of the mattress, she lay down with her right hand over Castle's chest as he held her close. She rested her head against his shoulder and shut her eyes, cuddling against him until she heard his breathing even out and she knew he had fallen asleep.

Shortly after nine p.m. that night Kate walked by the master suite and peered inside to see what she thought was the writer asleep with the television they'd rolled in to his room still on. The fact that he had passed out so early despite a ninety minute nap that day did not surprise her in the least. His afternoon was particularly eventful, given his still weary state.

After he woke from his nap and ate lunch, Ryan and Esposito came to not only express their joy that the writer was on the mend, but give an update on what was known about the situation at the bank. After exchanging hugs and making coffee, the quartet sat in the living area where Esposito explained very solemnly that the autopsy had confirmed that Martha along with several of the others in the vault had died from asphyxiation. The plus side was that none of them suffered; they simply never regained consciousness after the concussion of the blast.

Kate feared that Castle would take the news poorly. Or, at the very least, feel unnecessary guilt over it, but he appeared to take it as well as could be expected. He thanked both men for being honest with him and he expressed that he was simply incredibly lucky. Once they left, Castle and his daughter retreated to his office where they talked for over an hour. When they emerged, both appeared to have red-rimmed eyes, though their spirits seemed lighter.

For the remainder of the day, even throughout dinner, Castle seemed to be doing well. He did complain that Alexis had crafted them a healthy, home cooked meal, where as he, still living for the moment, wished to consume only junk food, but the women wouldn't let him; his diet was to remain as low sodium as possible while he was being weaned off his medications and they would comply whether he liked it or not.

Stepping in to the bedroom, Kate carefully picked up the remote from the bedside table and used it to turn the television off. She was just about to turn off the light as well when the writer looked up at her. Evidently, he had never been asleep.

"Sorry," she said, handing the remote out to him. He waved it away and she placed it back on the end table. "You going to bed soon?"

"I guess. I just…why me Beckett?"

"Why you what?" she asked for clarification.

He dusted his fingertips over his chin, gazing off at the now black screen of the television. "I've been lying here wracking my brain trying to figure it out. Why did I survive when no one else did?"

"Because you were closest to the open door; you got the most oxygen." With the autopsy knowledge, their working theory had more or less been confirmed as fact.

He looked up at her, his eyes begging for more of an explanation. "But why was I seated by the door? Is this all part of a larger plan? I can't help but think maybe there's a reason...maybe I need to do something with my life that...matters."

Kate flopped down on the bed beside his hip. This was what she could easily describe as a "classic Castle" moment. Of course the man with an expansive explanation could not accept a simple basic and medical explanation. Everything needed greater meaning, but he was being absurd. He made it sound as though he inherited wealth or won the lottery and frittered away his days playing video games or running amuck in the city, which could not have been further from the truth.

She picked up his hand and gazed at him seriously. "Castle, you don't live an empty life. You bring joy to millions. You help keep the streets of New York safer."

"But is that enough?"

It was enough for her. It was enough to prove without question that he mattered, but as he seemed to be needing more, she thought for a moment before an idea hit her. "Maybe it's not you that's meant to do something—maybe it's your future child; one that hasn't been born yet. Maybe he or she will cure a disease or prevent a war from starting, and, as their father, you'll guide that child into becoming the wonderful man or woman that does this great thing."

His eyes searched hers for a moment before his expression steadily brightened. "Ooh! I like that—and I wouldn't have thought of it! Beckett! I'm rubbing off on you."

She let out a breathy laugh. "Something like that." Though she'd never admit it, there was some truth in his statement. The more time they spent around each other the more she became a bit more Castle-like, and that definitely was not a bad thing.

Gazing off into space again, he thought aloud wistfully. "My future child is going to save the world...that's a lot of pressure."

"Theoretical pressure." She reminded, as her comment had mostly been to assuage his sadness.

"Still...I'm going to need a strong, incredible woman to be that child's mother. Any suggestions?"

The way he was staring at her made Kate's cheeks flush. His unwavering gaze made it clear his question was a rhetorical one. She was the strong, incredible woman he thought of and, given time, she would have no problem being that woman, but they definitely needed time, so for that moment she merely said, "Sure; I'll draw up a list. Now, you need to rest."

Before she could slide away, his fingers closed around her wrist and, when she looked at him, a sad expression had returned. "Why was I sitting by that door?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Kate rotated her wrist so that her hand could fold into his. She gave it a squeeze and said, "Because your story isn't over yet."