AN: The downside to updating quickly is that I don't get your reviews full of ideas/feedback in time before I write the next chapter. In defence of this chapter, it's been said that driving tired pretty much has the same effect as driving drunk. That's what Beckett is doing in this chapter, she's "driving tired," her defences are down and she's not completely herself. Hope you like it nonetheless, and don't find it too out of character.

Chapter Twenty-Six

His knees were likely to buckle any second. She nudged her way past his frozen form and into the loft.

It seemed like Castle's night was set to improve. Beckett had been here all of twenty seconds and he already felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, relief pooled through him, lightening his mood instantly. He grinned at her and she shifted somewhat awkwardly. Right, she'd been here all of twenty seconds and all he'd done was ogle her creepily. Probably should rectify that before she left.

"Mood is so totally back," he ushered her further into the loft with a grin. She laughed gently in response and the sound calmed him exponentially. "I'm really glad you came," he added seriously.

"Me too," she softened, the teasing gone. "Alexis called me," she figured he ought to know. "She was worried you'd try go after Dunnings alone."

"Without my kick-ass partner? Not a chance! You're the one with a gun, remember?" he winked comically.

"She also mentioned you call me kick-ass a lot. Seriously, Castle?" with that, the teasing tone was back.

"Well you are, no point denying it," he shrugged. He grasped her hand and tugged her toward the living room. "Precious daughter of mine, could I have a word?" he called. Alexis turned to her grandmother –

"Err, save me?" Martha merely responded with a bemused smile. Alexis paused the movie and made her way to her father.

"Genius," he simply declared, kissing her gently on the forehead. Alexis chuckled.

"Nice to see you, Detective," she added, suddenly shy.

"Always," Beckett replied warmly. Castle spluttered and almost choked. She was using their word with his daughter. It was beautiful, it was sweet, it was a little gross actually – considering the connotation that he connected with it. Nonetheless, it made his heart swell. He was overcome with the urge to clutch them both to his chest in a breathtaking hug. He settled for drawing Alexis to him and kissing the top of her head.

"Dad," she moaned. Now it was just plain embarrassing.

"What?" He replied, faking innocence.

"Nothing," she sighed, clearly amused. "Just come sit down so we can watch the rest of the movie."

Beckett tried not to notice that Martha and Alexis made it so her only seating option was curled into Castle's side, just that bit too close to insinuate merely friends, or on the floor. She chose Castle's side, based purely on the fact that the floor was incredibly uncomfortable and she had been working all day. It was the sole reason. Really. At least that's what she tried to reassure herself, all of once before Castle's hand was reaching for hers and she was unconsciously bridging the gap before she was fully aware of what she was doing. Then her hand was tightly wound with his, and she could barely recognise what movie they were watching as the gentle stroke of his fingers on the back of her hand consumed her attention. That coupled with fire burning in the pit of her stomach was nearly enough to make her want to drag Castle into his bedroom and find out just how soft that bed of his really was. But reality was still ebbing in the background of her thoughts. No matter what Lanie said, she was bad for Castle. She brought danger down upon him. So she'd just have to ignore her ever increasing desire and try to take delight in these simple moments. Which when it came down to it, wasn't really so hard. Because this, this feeling she was experiencing right now, just holding Castle's hand as they watched a movie – in the same room as his mother and daughter for crying out loud – this, was bliss. She sighed heavily, lost in her thoughts. He frowned at her and drew his mouth to her ear.

"Want to talk about it?" He murmured. His warm breath on her neck caused her to shiver. He untangled his hand from hers and quickly replaced it with his other one before drawing his now free hand up along her back and rubbing her shoulder gently. "Cold?" He whispered.

"Yes," she responded. She wasn't. But this feeling, his arm rubbing up and down hers, it was intoxicating.

"Do you want me to get you a sweater?" he asked, concern etching lines upon his face.

"No," she replied breathily. "This is good." She bit down on her lip, hesitantly looked him straight in the eye. "This is perfect," she added. Understanding dawned on him. This time he was the one to shiver. He let out a quiet moan and drew her closer in to his side. Neither noticed his mother and daughter slowly retreat from the room.

She found herself lapsing into the realm of sleep. It was inevitable really, after the sleep deprivation of the past couple of days and the security of being in Castle's arms, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was safe.

"Castle," she mumbled, barely coherent.

"Mmm," he managed to force out, ghosting lips across the top of head, pressing them gently against her hair.

"Bed," she murmured, barely more than an exhale of air. Still, he heard it, and that one word revived him rather dramatically. He pried his eyes open and gazed down at her.

"Is that an invitation, Detective?" he replied enthusiastically. She didn't even need to open her eyes for him to know that she was glaring at him from behind her tired eyelids.

"I believe that would count as pushing your luck…"

"I'm feeling lucky," he muttered with a smile.

"Mmm, silly man," she smiled dreamily, her hand brushing along his jaw. "I meant I'm going to bed. You're going to have to let go of me."

"Not likely. Let me escort you to your suite, Miss Beckett," he managed to declare as he pulled her unceremoniously to her feet. She allowed him to pull her tightly into his side, essentially supporting her weight. He led her carefully to the guest room. As she leaned back into the bed, rubbing her face with a yawn, he gently yanked the shoes from her feet.

"Hmm, I can do that," she hummed, clearly exhausted.

"I got it," he smiled, letting his fingertips linger against the skin of her ankle as he pulled the shoes off. "You know what's funny?" he asked as she snuggled into the bed.

"What?" she yawned widely, pulling a hand lazily across her face as she did.

"I'm one who's injured, the one who's just survived perhaps one of the strangest kidnapping situations ever and yet I'm the one tucking you into bed. I'm not complaining. Just, you totally owe me, Beckett. You're going to have to tuck me in sometime," he smiled warmly, the usual teasing tone replaced by tired sincerity.

"Mmm, 'kay," she closed her eyes once again. "Night Castle, thanks," she sighed, pulling the covers further up around her and curling up on the bed. He leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"Night Kate." He brushed a lock of hair that had spilled onto her face carefully back behind her ear. He switched the light off and shut the door gently, as it latched, he sighed deeply. "I love you," he whispered to the closed door – to the woman who lay beyond it, already teetering on the edge of sleep. He brushed his teeth and two minutes later he was in his own bed, fitfully finding the beginnings of a deep slumber.

X-X-X-X-X-X

He's genuinely surprised to find himself awake only a few hours later, the loft, the world, still dark. He figures it out fairly quickly though, his stomach is growling and his head is throbbing. He needs painkillers and food, in that order. He swallows the pills quickly, with barely any water, apparently his gag reflex is still asleep, it usually doesn't appreciate the subtle art of pill popping. He moves to the kitchen, his feet echoing on the wooden floor, magnified by the stillness. The night has a habit of doing that, turning every insignificant noise into a thundering chorus. He hopes the other occupants of the house are oblivious to it, there's a chance it's just his overactive imagination playing tricks on him. He comes to a stop in the kitchen, draws the fridge open and finds the leftovers of Alexis' dinner. Lasagne, perfect. He pulls out the container and shoves it indelicately into the microwave. The thing bursts to life a heck of lot louder than he remembers it. He pours himself a glass of milk as he waits, forgetting to stop the microwave before the minute is up and it sounds – loudly – alerting the entire household to the fact it is done. He groans. He does not want to wake up a house of women this early in the morning, he doesn't see them being at all forgiving.

He hears a door creak, then gentle footsteps on the ground behind him.

"Sorry, Alexis. Go back to bed," he mumbles through a mouthful of lasagne, his back turned to the woman behind him.

"S'not Alexis, it's me," Beckett yawns, running her fingers through her hair, coming to sit beside him.

"Oh God, Beckett, I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to bed," he regards her gently, the dark circles still under her eyes. She looks tired. She hums noncommittally in response.

"Can I have a glass of milk?" she murmurs, rubbing her eyes, trying to wake herself up a bit more. He doesn't reply, merely pushes his half full glass across the counter to her. "Thanks," she smiles softly. They sit in silence for a while, both in quiet contemplation. He lays his fork down, drawing a hand to rest on his belly.

"I should force Alexis to be a chef," he mutters.

"Just because she's the only one in your family who can cook anything actually edible doesn't necessarily make her predestined for culinary greatness, Castle," Beckett chuckles sleepily. Still, better to be well informed, she leans into his side a little and picks up the fork. After a drawing a piece of the lasagne into her mouth she moans softly. "Okay, maybe you're right," she admits. "This is really good." Castle shoots her a grin in response. She finishes off the remainder of the meal and they lapse back into silence for a while longer. Eventually Castle feels his eyelids begin to droop again, a quick glance at Beckett tells him that she's feeling the same.

"Bed," he sighs. Beckett nods her agreement. He takes her hand and leads her out of the kitchen. He drops it when they reach the living room where they need to part ways, him to his bedroom and her to the guest room. He brushes her cheek gently with his fingertips by way of goodnight before turning and heading to his room. He feels her presence behind him with each step he takes. Surprise creeps through him; Beckett is following him into his bedroom. He reaches the frame of his door and turns to her. She smiles nervously up at him.

"Can I…," her voice cracks, she clears her throat and starts again. "Can I come with you, Castle? No funny business, just waking up without you before, when I heard the microwave, it scared the hell out of me. For a second I thought you were still missing and I'd slept instead of putting my all into finding you and I just, it worried me a lot…" He interrupts her spiel, pressing a finger to her lips.

"So, I am getting lucky tonight?" he asks, his tone light, evidently teasing. She death stares him, tired and somewhat needy, she's still Detective Beckett, kick-ass and stubborn. "No funny business," he adds seriously. Her expression softens and her lips curl to a smile beneath his finger. He withdraws it with a grin and retreats into his room, pulling her in behind him. They clamber under the covers, exhausted but both still conscious enough to feel the butterflies buzzing in their chests from the proximity. She leans back into him, inviting him to draw his arms around her without so many words. He grins, his mouth at the back of her neck. "Now this is what I call getting lucky," he whispers in her ear as she falls back to sleep.