Close Encounters 3.5

She paid the price for attending Eastman's funeral, but she paid it gladly.

Castle was like a ghost, disappearing for training and work; he'd gone in to the office, had stopped being wary about leaving her. Beckett slept the week away, waking only when he came in and out of their bed, haunting her dreams.

She was taken to physical therapy by Logan, but she dragged herself back on her own. She didn't eat a whole lot because it took too much energy to fix something, and the therapy was brutal - physical and mental. Other than those excruciating hours with Robert or Dr King, she was on the shimmering edge of unconsciousness.

The hole in her back closed up, faster than she'd expected, and soon Castle wasn't waking her to unpack it. She slept harder, deeper, and the ice machine wasn't necessary. She came out of a long night's rest on a Saturday and opened her eyes.

Sunshine was spilling in through the thick-paned windows, framing the bed in stripes of light. The covers were twisted down around her ankles, kicked off, but the sheet was still laying lightly over her.

She was alone and it was afternoon and she felt alive.

Without thinking - habit or carelessness - Kate pushed against the mattress and lifted herself up, drew her knees up and sat in the puddle made my the sheet around her. She was trembling with hunger, a gnawing in her stomach, and she brushed a hand through her hair to push it off her face.

The silence was as beautiful as the light, and she slid her legs out of the bed and stood.

Wavering still, swaying as she tried to get her balance, she moved easily enough into the bathroom. She had some trouble lifting up again from the toilet seat, but it was to be expected.

Her back ached like a solid bruise, but the active and ragged pain was gone.

Kate washed her hands and dried them slowly on the pale blue towel hanging next to the sink; it was damp and she wondered if that meant Castle was close by. She heard the knock on the door and couldn't move quite as quickly as she expected; she stumbled against the door frame and winced.

"Come in."

Logan opened the door, saw her standing. "Think you're hot stuff walking around, don't you?"

"Hot stuff even when I'm not walking," she shot back, unable to help the grin that stretched her face. She realized that she was only wearing one of Castle's tshirts and gestured for Logan to wait. "Gotta put on some pants."

"That's really not something I want to walk in on," she heard.

Kate glanced up and saw Castle in the doorway behind Logan, and despite the sardonic cast to his words, he looked pleased with her. Like he was proud.

"Hey," she said, stumbling again when she tried to step into leggings. Both Logan and Castle came to help her, and she held up her hands to stay them. "Chill out, boys. I can do it."

Logan stepped back but Castle still hovered. She made a face at him and leaned her hip against the wall to prop herself up, slowly worked the pant leg over her foot and up. She shifted carefully and did the same with the other leg, managed to pull the leggings on while both men watched.

She was used to it.

"Look at you," Logan laughed. "Hot stuff."

"I'll second that," Castle smiled and reached out a hand to her hip as if claiming her.

She was used to that too.

"Ready for PT?" Logan asked.

No, but it was most ready she'd been since the gunshot.

"Lead the way. Castle, you got work to do?"

He smirked, but the tenderness and hope was still burning in his eyes. "Is that code for you don't want me there?"

"You don't need to see me suffer," she said. She came close enough to brush her mouth against his and he was smiling now, smiling at her in that pure and bright way.

Logan was slipping out into the hallway to wait for her, so she took a moment to bask in the relief Castle seemed to pour out over her.

He leaned in and gave her a loose hug, and his lips came to her ear.

"Never want to see you suffer, Kate. I'll leave you to it."

"I'm naming you Fezzik," she groaned.

Robert, her physical therapist, laughed and took her wrist, then pushed her arm slowly away from her side, her shoulder rotating. "The giant brute from 'The Princess Bride' movie?"

"Yes," she grunted, closed her eyes through it.

Fezzik, as he would now be called, kept her arm out from her side, counting slowly to ten, and then let it come back to her chest. She panted through the excruciating needles of agony, wondered how many synonyms for pain she'd thought of in the last hour.

"I like it," he said then and reached for her elbow once more.

"Oh no," she moaned.

He lifted her elbow away from her side and she cursed, body trembling and a sweat breaking out over her forehead, down her back.

"You'll get frozen shoulder," he reminded her, even as he moved her arm. "Stop complaining. You did it to yourself."

"I know, I know," she chanted. "I know. Okay, shit. Okay."

He didn't catch her when she swayed, unlike Castle who was always steadying her, holding her up, and Kate had to grit her teeth and clutch the edge of the table to keep herself upright. Her ab muscles kicked in finally, accompanied by the flare of fire that wrapped around her back and inched up her spine.

And today had seemed like it would be such a good day.

"Too much," she gasped out. "Too much. Can't."

"It's not," Fezzik remarked dryly, a fucking laugh in his voice. "You can take it."

She wanted to hit him. That would require a range of motion she didn't have and a strength that was draining out of her by the second.

The physical therapist got her elbow parallel to her shoulder and left it there, two fingers under her bent arm, and then he wrapped his hand around her wrist.

"No, no, please," she moaned, but he straightened her arm, her elbow unhinging, until she was holding her hand palm up and her body was trembling.

"Now hold it," he said. "Hold it right there. Because you're pretty terrible at this, and I can tell you're not doing your exercises, are you?"

But she was so exhausted after his sessions that she couldn't stay awake. When was she supposed to be doing the exercises?

She cursed him solidly under her breath, not even able to give voice to it as she squeezed her eyes shut and kept her arm lifted, blades of ice cutting into the stiff set of her shoulder like she was being butchered.

"Very good, Kate. Very good, look at that," Fezzik said.

She opened her eyes in stunned surprise.

"Did you just - tell me I did good?"

He growled and frowned at her, surly again. "Not likely."

"You did," she accused. "You just praised me."

"Don't let it go to your head. I'm sure you'll do something foolish again before long, set us both back another two weeks. Ride a horse. Climb a mountain. Something."

"Wretched," she said.

Logan chuckled. "That's a good one. Today's?"

"Yes," she groaned, pressing her nose into the sweaty plastic of the physical therapist's table. "Today's synonym."

"Yesterday's was better."

"Why?" She wasn't sure she really remembered yesterday. She'd been in and out of it.

"Because you are."

She wracked her memory and finally- "Irritated?"

"Uh-huh." Logan moved around to where she could see him now, standing at her head. "You ready to go?"

"No." She turned her cheek to the table and sighed. "Give me a minute."

"Did he give you the ultrasound therapy?"

"Yes," she hummed. It felt less terrible with the soundwaves loosening everything up. She wanted to bliss out on the table.

Logan sighed. "Fine. I've got upstairs duty in fifteen minutes, so I'll leave you here. I'll come and get you in an hour, Beckett."

She'd say thank you but she was already falling asleep.

Logan pulled the sheet up over her before he left.

Castle found Logan just outside the physical therapy room. The man jerked his head towards the door and Castle stepped past him and inside.

Beckett was asleep on the table, one arm curled up at her chest, her mouth open, hair in a sweaty mess around her face. The surprising pleasure of finding her up and walking around just a few hours ago was sublimated into the sight of seeing her worn out again, asleep.

She'd spent nine days sleeping off and on after going with him to the funeral. He was glad for it, because it meant she was healing, but he missed her. Of course, he'd been at the office or doing training himself, so it wasn't like he didn't have things to do.

He was supposed to be leaving her alone.

Castle came to her side and slid his hand to her lower back, left his palm at her waist. He rubbed his thumb over her ribs, the solid and hard rise of her bones under her skin, and he was grateful.

Dr West said she needed to start using her full range of motion, needed to start doing things normally again. A couple months and a scary infection later, the bullet wound had healed nicely, though the scar was angry and puckered, and all that remained was the work of tendons and muscles being put right again.

She slept hard after physical therapy, so Castle cradled her head with one hand and slid his arm under her shoulders, then looped the other behind her knees and picked her up. Her head rolled to his chest and her mouth opened, but she didn't wake.

He carried her to bed.

"I hate you," she groaned. The water running in the bathroom sounded heaven-sent.

He laughed and came back into the bedroom for her. "You need help getting out of those clothes, Detective?"

"I really hate you." She couldn't and he knew it. He had to know it. Physical therapy wiped her out so much that she could barely move.

"That's no way to speak to your personal valet," he murmured, getting to his knees in front of her. He leaned into the bed and braced his hands against the mattress at her hips, his mouth at her chest but his eyes on hers. "Now, is it?"

"What?" she murmured, couldn't remember what they were talking about.

"You just said you hate me."

"Oh, I do," she whispered, bringing a hand up to cradle his cheek. "Hate you so much."

No, her voice wasn't breaking. No. It was just exhaustion.

He lifted up to press a kiss to her mouth, his tongue slow and sure, his hands coming to her waist while she was distracted by his lips, his breath, and then she realized his fingers were skimming up her sides and tugging off her shirt.

She blinked as her hair fell back down around her face and his grin sprang to life. "Look at that. Got you topless."

She could hear by the tone and pitch of the water rushing into the bathtub that it was nearly done - her first bath fully immersed and she was so very ready.

"I really hate you," she gruffed back, bitting on her lower lip as his fingers teased the skin at her waist.

"I know you do," he said, his voice throaty and rich. "Hate you too, Beckett."

"Does it hurt?" he said quietly, kneeling beside the tub.

"Yes," she sighed. "But I'm not moving. You can't make me."

He grinned and lifted his hand from the water to start a trail of droplets over the island of her shoulder. She shivered and sank lower into the bath, ruining his art, but her fingers rose to the surface to flick water at him.

"Leave me alone. I want to drown in here," she sighed again.

Castle laughed, leaned in over the rim of the bathtub to kiss that pouting mouth. He could feel the tension she still carried and stroked a loose hair back into her bun. "Not long, Kate. I don't think you should push it."

"Just long enough, okay? Long enough," she murmured, her eyes already closing.

"We'll see." Castle lifted up from the floor and heard his knees pop, grimaced when her eyes flashed open.

"Wow, old man. I heard that."

"I hate you more," he muttered and turned to leave her there. "Maybe you really will drown."

"Wouldn't give you the satisfaction of getting to revive me," she called to him.

Castle laughed and left her to it.

She deserved the privacy, after all this time with him hovering over her, having to hover over her as she bathed. She deserved the chance to be alone.

Even if now he didn't know what to do with himself.

The bath had been a mistake. Finally without stitches, she'd expected to be able to take it, but her chest ached with every breath and she didn't think she could call out to have him come help her.

Shit, the bath had been a stupid idea.

She kept her breathing shallow and closed her eyes, kept her feet against the end of the tub for balance even though that hurt too. She really might drown in here. She could, so easily, if she didn't have the strength in her legs to keep herself pushed up.

She swallowed through it and cleared her throat. "Cast-"

He was there in a moment, coming through the doorway like he'd been sitting on the floor just out of the range of her vision, waiting for her to open her mouth.

"Castle," she said, breathless, and he was immediately leaning over the tub and hooking his arms at her neck and her knees to draw her out. "I'm - now you're soaking wet."

"So what." He snagged a towel with his fingers as he passed and carried her into the bedroom, laid her down gently. She shivered and hissed as a bright agony flared through her chest like a lance. "Kate. Shit. I should've gotten you sooner."

"No, no," she muttered, closing her eyes and pushing against the mattress to lift up. He wrapped the towel around her quickly, started rubbing at her arms, crowding in close. "No, I'm okay. Just tired. Pushed it a little, but it will be fine tomorrow."

"You want some of that prescription advil?"

"Yeah," she mumbled with a nod, drawing the towel closer around her shoulders and falling back to her pillow.

"You need to sit up for this, love." His fingers were at her neck, a tight grip as he tugged her upright.

She opened her eyes and took the pills from him, the glass, and swallowed them down with the water. "Thanks."

"Let's get pajamas on you."

"Can't I sleep like this? Come crawl in with me and let me sleep like this."

"Kate. You'll freeze when the air conditioner kicks on."

"You keep me warm," she muttered, drawing a knee up to dig under the pillows for the covers. "Why'd you make the bed? That's stupid. I'm in this dumb bed all the time. It should be permanently unmade."

"Logan made it when he changed the sheets, sweetheart."

"Fuck you say?" she groaned, turning her head to him on a wince as slivers of pain danced through her. "Sweetheart? Shit."

"You're tired, little bit drugged, though I didn't know it worked that fast-"

"It doesn't. Just tired. Sorry. I curse when I'm tired. Just crawl in the damn bed, Castle. I'm cold."

He stopped resisting her and finally helped her, pulling the covers down and maneuvering her to get settled. He finally let her curl up at his side, his hands careful at her shoulder and her waist, and his mouth pressed into her hair for a gentle kiss.

She was already spinning off into sleep, her body warm and heavy and drugged. Before she could get too far gone, she remembered what she'd wanted to say.

"Don't know why you fought me. Thought you'd love a chance to cuddle with me naked."

"Beckett," he laughed, and she felt it shimmy in her back and release her pain, like shaking a pine tree and watching the needles drop. "Love. It's the middle of the afternoon."

"You got something better to do?"

"No. Never."

Her body was pressed against his, her bare skin to his clothes, and he found he had to close his eyes and mentally fieldstrip and reassemble his Ruger Mark. The gun had always been the most difficult, although the strong recoil spring on the Astra 400 had given him fits too, but with practice, the Ruger wasn't that bad. Just had to remember the sequence.

Only problem with thinking about his weapons was that it didn't exactly keep him from getting aroused. It only put thoughts in his head about Kate Beckett tearing down something like a Desert Eagle and needing his help to turn the bolt just right-

Fuck.

Not helping.

Now that Beckett was regaining her strength and pushing it again, now that the stitches were out and she was running her mouth and being saucy and smirking, his lust was driving him crazy. It was like he'd been given permission to actually see her body again, and yet he still had to touch it with gentleness, with reverence and care. Offering help and not-

Castle swallowed hard and tilted his head back on the pillow, couldn't stop himself from running the tips of his fingers down the back of her arm to her elbow, curling there.

She breathed slowly against him, and he trailed his fingers up to press his palm to the back of her neck. She still had her hair in a messy bun and her mouth was open at his collarbone, warm, moist breath teased his skin. He could see his own hand under the sheet as it moved down again, skimming her back, tripping so very lightly over the scars and down to the curve of her spine and the rise of her ass.

This was so wrong. Feeling her up in her sleep.

But shit. Shit, he was going crazy. He wanted her so badly and it took everything in him to not let her see it, to be cool, be calm, be the man she needed him to be right now.

So while she slept, he kept touching her, used both hands now to stroke her soft skin, still slightly damp from the bath. He traced the lone strand of hair that had escaped and then went farther - teased his way down her arms, along her sides, the flare of her hips.

Heaven.

He stopped there, his mouth to her forehead, breathing hard, trying to control himself again.

He gratefully slipped out of bed when she started shivering in her sleep, grabbed a clean tshirt from the stack of laundry on the dresser. He wished he'd thought to get her a robe; it would make this easier.

He had to lift her up a little to tug the shirt on over her head. She woke and seemed startled, confused, but he'd noticed that the pain reliever did that to her when she was woken in the middle of its potency.

"What?"

"Back to sleep, sweetheart."

Her lids crashed down and he managed to maneuver her arms through the holes and lay her back in bed. It was only two in the afternoon, but curling up with her actually seemed enticing. He wanted to; he really did.

Spend the afternoon in bed with her.

He'd be torturing himself, but he didn't even care.

Castle hovered over her a moment, memorizing the sharp and devastating lines of her face, and his heart twisted in his chest.

He needed her. He needed her.

He was about wrung out with holding back.

He should get out of here and just let her heal. Stop being an asshole.

Leave her alone, Richard.

Her ribs ached from lying on her stomach for so long, but now that the infection had cleared and the stitches had come out, she was ready to turn over.

New leaf, sure, but in bed. She wanted to not be trapped. She wanted freedom of movement and the ability to roll out of bed and walk away.

That might not happen yet, but she was so close. Yesterday had been a good day until the physical therapy had wiped her out. And then she'd taken a bath and that really hadn't helped either. She'd gone to bed at one or two in the afternoon and was only now waking up.

Castle was gone again, training or shooting. He'd promised not to leave Stone Farm other than a visit to the office, but she also knew he'd break that promise in a heartbeat if he thought it meant keeping her safe, protecting her. The imbalance in their relationship right now was driving her insane.

She wanted out.

Of here. Not out of the relationship.

No, she was afraid she couldn't quite survive that - not having him.

Beckett got a hand under her shoulder, tested it. She pushed up, letting her body roll to one side, trying to keep in control of the movement.

When her back hit the mattress, she tensed, sucking in a breath. It ached but-

she could survive it.

She kept still, her eyes closed, and tried to distract herself with the sounds of Stone Farm waking around her. The horses were already out to pasture: their teeth nipping at each other and their hooves against the grass. She could sense the warmth of the sun too, already ripe with heat even so early this July morning, and it came in the window and soaked the foot of the bed.

Logan would be by in a few hours to bring her to physical therapy, and then bring her back here to recover in teeth-gritting silence. At some point she'd find the strength to shower and dress. Castle used to stay and make her a late breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast, maybe sausage if he wanted some - she never ate it - and then they'd walk the Farm.

She should do that alone, if he didn't come in today. Shower, dress, breakfast. A walk in the sun if she could. Sit beside the barn and let the day fall over her and away.

Horses were off-limits still. She didn't have the core strength to sit upright and the horse's gait jostled her back. She was close; she could feel herself getting better. The fever had burned some clarity into her, had tempered her.

The sick and rotting parts of her had been cut out along with those gangrenous stitches, and she knew now what she had to do.

Stick with the program. It worked for Castle, had always worked for him. And it was working for her as well. These people were the best in their field for trauma recovery; she'd accomplished worse than nothing when she'd gone at it on her own.

She opened her eyes to the morning.

He got in late, eight-thirty, and the sun was setting in his eyes as he drove the last of the gravel road to the Farm. He came upon Beckett in the kitchen, startled to a stop when he saw her, then realized she was asleep. Her head was in her arms on the table, her mouth open, that beautiful golden light tangling through her hair. He was thick with sweat and dirt, fresh from a three-hour ropes course at the qualification center, but he ached to touch her.

He came closer, a hand hovering over her head before dropping into her hair at the back of her neck, fingers sinking into the soft warmth. The level of the table put her head at his hips and his blood surged through his body at the sight of her. He clutched a fistful of her hair and fought against the urge to pull her against him.

He had to stop. He had to stop.

Castle let go and took a step back, breathing hard, and then he left her in the kitchen to sleep.

He needed a cold shower and then maybe another three days of training. Beat it out of him.

Beckett moved stiffly across the wooden floor, every board creaking as she went. Walking was labor-intensive, but she felt better than she had since the good drugs in the ambulance ride here. And that was saying something.

Maybe it was because she could marginally lift both arms over her head, maybe it was because her session with Fezzik - the meaty Andre the Giant-inspired physical therapist had actually praised her effort again today - or maybe it was just finally having the freedom to move, albeit slowly, down the hall without help.

Without his help. Castle's.

Because he'd finally gotten the message that she didn't want or need his help in this arduous recovery process. At least, not the way he wanted to give it: ordering her around, setting her schedule, carrying her to therapy sessions, double-checking her doctor's orders, and in general being the rigid and uncompromising bully he was.

But more than that - she didn't need him feeling so damn guilty over her, like she'd break, like she'd fall apart if he breathed wrong. He'd stopped touching her too, which sucked, but she wasn't exactly attractive when she was sweating with the effort to sit up or biting his head off for trying to help.

Of course, sometimes he could still be sweet. Yesterday he'd shown up with a strawberry milkshake and they'd shared it at the table. And when he gripped her elbow as her strength failed - that was fine. It was all the rest - the super spy part of him - that she wanted to throttle.

She'd had a few weeks now without him hovering at her side, and already she felt like a new person. She'd even missed him a little bit.

And was she smiling?

Kate took a deep breath of old wood and lemon polish, let herself admit that maybe, yes, she was smiling again.

Beckett opened their bedroom door, intent on making it the last two feet without wobbling for balance, and she realized he was here. She sank to the bed gratefully, let the complaining muscles in her abs and legs ease, and slowly fingered the hem of her tshirt.

The shower was running; the bathroom door was open about three inches and she could smell the rich scent of his soap, hear him splashing as he rinsed.

She wanted a shower after that session, maybe even a bath. Her body was on the fine edge between energy and exhaustion. She could go either way.

She'd lifted both arms today; if she worked carefully, she'd be able to to get her tshirt off over her head all by herself. Kate bit her bottom lip and slid the fingers of her right hand across the bare skin of her ribs, felt the sweat drying.

Yeah, she could do it. She could. This would be a good test.

Kate used her right side only, taking the sleeve down her left arm, grateful that she'd allowed Castle to dictate her wardrobe again. His oversized tshirts were so much easier for her to get on and off herself, and while she missed all of her beautiful clothes, this was what she could manage.

Beckett took a deeper breath as she worked the hem up her back, and then she tugged it over her head with one hand. Her hair fell out of its messy pony tail and tumbled around her shoulders in sweat-curled ribbons, and then she was drawing his tshirt down her arm and off.

A groan met her ears and she lifted her head to the open bathroom door, found she was being watched.

Castle was in the shower, the water sheeting over the taut lines of his shoulders, the curtain pulled not quite closed, and she could see the long arrow of his body before it disappeared into the steam.

Her breath caught at the nakedness in his eyes, the longing, and she knew he wanted her, could tell by the desperation that moved across his face.

Only the right side of his body was visible, and the tub came to his shins, but she let her eyes wander along the thick ridge of his abdominals, the sharp cut of his hipbone, and back to the lust in his eyes.

So that was why he'd stopped touching her, stopped sticking around.

Kate stood, dropping the tshirt to the floor, clearing her throat as she came inside the bathroom. She felt the steam billow out and caress her skin.

Castle let out a needy sound and tilted his head back, water washing down his face, over his shoulders and chest.

"Castle," she said, shivering as his head snapped down to look at her. "You thinking about me?"

"Yes," he choked out. "Kate."

Her mouth went dry.

"Let me help," she whispered.

"Just keep talking," he growled back.

She breathed hotly against his shoulder in their bed and tried to find the messy, scattered remnants of her brain, but it was no use. She was done.

He flexed his arm under her and she shivered, but she couldn't even lift her head to glare at him in warning. Her body had finally quit.

"The second you're all the way healed," he muttered, reaching down her back to snag the sheets and pull them up over her sweat-cooled skin. "The very second, Kate Beckett, we are doing this right."

"Oh, yes, please," she murmured into his shoulder.

"That's right," he growled, turning his body into hers suddenly. She felt him over her back, his mouth at her neck, his fingers trailing down her spine, so careful and so concerned, but also-

Also-

Oh.

"That's right," he murmured again. "You'll be begging."