Close Encounters 3.5
She had the whole morning and afternoon to herself; she wasn't sure when Castle would be back, but she made it to the kitchen and ate dry toast - easiest - before she took a slow walk around the perimeter of the back enclosure. The horses were pastured, and she was tempted, but she'd promised him not to push past her limits.
She did actually know what those were. Sometimes.
Castle still hadn't showed up after his meeting with his father - she hoped he had apologized nicely, and not with his fists - so she went on to therapy without Logan's help. Fezzik tortured her for a second session, brutal and nasty because she'd been doing so much better, and she laid on the table and fought to breathe when it was over.
No Castle.
The silence was kind of nice for a change.
Before Logan could come to get her, she struggled up and off the table then headed for her room. The light was beginning to leave the sky, and the bed was in shadows. Beckett shivered as her sweat dried on her skin and she moved to the bathroom.
She had to shower carefully.
She struggled to wash her hair but couldn't get her arms up that far. After a few minutes maneuvering, she gave up and ran water in the tub, just enough that she could dip her head back and rinse. No soap, but she didn't want to ask for help. She was feeling better than she had in ages; she thought she was past the worst of it.
When she'd been shot only a few years ago, it'd been basically a graze along her collarbone. Her recovery had been fast, and she'd been at the precinct every day. She wanted back there, wanted back at work, back to her normal routine and her worthwhile life.
Stone Farm, while beautiful and definitely excellent in their care, wasn't much better than a prison.
Beckett sighed and climbed out of the tub, dripping wet and shivering in the cold. She snagged a towel and winced as she lifted her arms to dry off, couldn't quite get it. With a growl of impatience, she clutched the towel around herself and stalked towards the bedroom.
She ran right into Castle.
He caught her before she could fall back, kept her against him, but the towel dropped.
His eyebrows raised, his hands lowered, and she gasped.
"Hey there," he murmured.
She huffed, more breathless than she wanted to be, and clutched his dress shirt. "You. . .I. . .took a shower."
"Your hair's tangled," he said, dipping his head so that his mouth trailed hotly at her cheekbone.
She was naked and he was fully dressed and she wanted him closer. "Castle."
His fingers came to her neck and slipped through her hair, thought not far; it really was tangled. She tilted her head back as far as she could, met his eyes.
His thumb came to her temple and circled as his fingers curled in her hair. "Need help with this, Kate?"
She swayed.
"Come sit. I'll get the tangles out."
"Clothes," she said inanely. "I need to get dressed."
"Do you have to?"
She grunted and pushed him back, stumbled away to head for the dresser. But he was chuckling and came behind her, draping the towel over her shoulders and tucking it around her.
"Kidding," he murmured, reaching past her to tug open the top drawer.
His tshirts were in there, and when he snagged one, she slipped out of his embrace and tried to knock him back. "No. I want my clothes."
"But this is easier-"
"No, Castle. Jeez, just-"
"Okay, okay," he muttered, shutting the top drawer. "Get your own clothes; I'm a bully. I know."
She glanced over at him and he was grinning; it made a smile crack on her face and she clutched the towel closer to her. "You gonna help me?"
"Even though I'd rather keep you naked. . .I suppose I'll help. If I have to."
She smirked at him and stepped closer, trailing her finger up the placket of his buttons until his eyes dipped down to her mouth. She bit her bottom lip and leaned in to kiss the skin at his open collar.
His hands came to her hair again but snarled, and they both laughed.
"Okay, love. Clothes and then I gotta do something about these tangles."
Only six weeks ago, his fingers in her hair had made her weak and irritated, like she'd never be able to reclaim herself. And then over time it became just another thing he did, had to do, for her. Now she felt dangerous, like her life was an entirely new creation and she didn't know where she was going.
What she was doing.
But it included these hands in her hair and the way he touched. . .
She'd asked him - no, she'd told him to marry her.
She wanted him. She did. She needed him. But now that she was sitting on the bed with his knees bracing her and his hands in her hair, his presence loomed overwhelming and unknowable.
He was a spy. How could she ever really know him?
His fingers gathered her hair, draping it to one side, and his mouth touched the back of her neck in a kiss that sent hot spikes of arousal down her spine. She clutched the quilt and fought to stay upright.
His breath was erotic against her skin, and then it disappeared, but he wasn't gone. She could feel him just behind her, the radiating warmth of his body and his want, and then his fingers were working slowly through the loose tangles in her hair.
"I have a comb," she rasped, closing her eyes at the sound of her own voice. Needy and desperate.
"I like doing it like this."
She tried to think, tried to gather herself back together. "You. . .saw your father?"
"Yes."
His fingers were methodical and slow, stroking down her scalp and brushing at her neck. Instead of it being soothing, she wanted to turn around and straddle his lap, have those fingers trip down her spine and-
"You okay?" he murmured suddenly. "You're breathing hard."
"I'm - good. Good."
She felt his fingers curl and drag down her scalp through the thick mass of her hair and it sent a wash of arousal under her skin. Rhythmic, smooth, over and over until she knew he was enjoying it as much as she was. Her hair was combed, straight, neat; there was nothing left to do. He just liked it. He just wanted to touch.
She finally gave in and gripped his thighs at her waist, felt his legs squeeze a little as if he couldn't help responding to her as well.
And that was how she knew she felt better, that she really was healing and recovering - rebuilding - because just the touch of his fingers in her hair made her want to do something about it. About him. About the need in her.
She'd always communicated best with her mouth. On his.
She turned around to claim it.
When they were both breathless and his ribs ached and her back was a hard knot under his hands, he finally had to put her away from him.
She stared back at him with arousal dripping in her eyes, her hair a riot around her face where he'd gripped, a fistful as he'd angled her just where he'd wanted her.
Shit, she couldn't look so sexy. He wasn't allowed to do anything about it.
She licked her lips and he growled, had to close his eyes a moment.
"Let me. . .let me put your hair up," he muttered. "Keep it from getting tangled."
Beckett's fingers slid off his bicep and skimmed his thigh. "That's how this got started. Your hands in my hair."
He grunted on his laughter, and even though she was giving him that faint, pleased smile, he could see the banked embers of her need.
He moved to get the rubber band tucked under the comb in the bedside drawer. She was watching him with those soulful eyes, and he couldn't look. Dared not look. At least he'd have three months away where he wouldn't attack her, jump her bones every time she looked at him like that.
Castle turned her around on the bed and sat behind her, gathered her hair up in his hands. He wouldn't say he'd been practicing, but he'd spent so much time with his hands in her hair, helping her wash it, that he felt more confident about what he was doing. It felt right to be the one doing it now, since he was the one who put her hair in a bun right before the funeral, only to have it come unraveled in the ambulance as they fought to save her life.
All the pins she'd put in it; he remembered seeing them in the floor of the bus, bloodied and shining.
It made his throat tighten to think about it now. How close it was. How her eyes had looked in that cemetery and the blood leaked out and it felt like nothing could hold her, nothing could keep her with him.
But she was alive.
He had to smooth it out again as best he could, tried to remember what she'd been doing with it lately. He hadn't been around much to see her up and dressed in the daylight, and they didn't have a blow dryer here so it kinked up when it went free. But he liked it, even though she didn't. Made her look sexy-
Uh, might not be the best idea, the way she was gripping his thighs and the heat of her between his legs.
He could. . .braid it. He could try at least. He knew how to braid rope for a fuse; it couldn't be much different.
Castle combed his fingers through her hair a few more times, and then started at the top, or as near as he could. She seemed to sway in his arms and he glanced at her face to make sure she was okay. She licked her lips and her head turned to his, eyes opening so dark and beautiful.
And aroused.
His breath caught in his chest and his fingers tangled at the back of her head.
No.
No.
But then she was kissing him hard, her teeth scraping over his bottom lip and her body rocking into his and he twisted her hair around his fist and couldn't stop.
Had to stop, had to stop.
She couldn't. Couldn't. Everything they'd been was rooted in this, touching him and having him and his possession of her, but maybe-
"Stop," he growled out. "Stop, Kate. Gotta stop."
He put her away and she shivered, her vision swimming back to focus on the ragged need in his eyes. "Stop," she murmured, agreeing or questioning, she didn't know. "But soon. Soon, Castle. Gotta be soon."
He grunted and kissed her again, teeth clashing, and she winced into his mouth. It made him halt, panting against her cheek, and then he drew away, his hand coming out of her hair slowly, fingers trailing against her cheek.
She stared at him. "I love you."
He laughed, actually laughed, but she could see he was trying to smother it. "That kinda came out of nowhere."
"That's what happens when I can't just fuc-"
He pressed a kiss against her words, still hard, forceful. As always. A bully.
"Can't talk dirty to me, Beckett. Not right now."
She licked her lips and felt the grunt in his chest against her fingers. She had to smile. "So. My hair. Presentable?"
"Uh, my standards are kinda low, Beckett. Your hair is always-"
"Whatever. Let me see it." She rolled her eyes and pushed up from the bed, moved slowly towards the bathroom so she could look. Her face was washed out with exhaustion, but her hair had begun to dry in wild curls around her face. Still he'd pulled it back and braided it halfway.
"You need to finish it, Castle," she called back, turning slowly. He was already there, his fingers tangling in her hair, scraping it back and twisting it. She wasn't sure if he really knew how to braid, but he was making a passable effort.
He pulled a hair tie from his wrist even as she searched the bathroom counter for one. The tangle of stuff that she hated to need - pills and bandages and exercise balls and ointment - the reminders of her brokenness were spread out all over the place.
But she'd done it. All of it. She kept doing it. His damn program. She hadn't even tried to get on a horse.
His fingers slipped across her neck and she lifted her head to see him in the mirror. His brow was furrowed.
"Castle?"
"I have to go back to work. But you-"
"I'm probably gonna sleep," she admitted with a sigh. It was nearly dinner time, but she'd probably be too tired for even that. Especially if he wasn't making her go.
"Good," he murmured. "Sleep is good."
"Work is. . ."
"Gonna be rough for the next couple months. Be gone a lot." His mouth came softly to hers, a brush of his lips that made the answer soothing. If she had more energy, she'd figure out what was happening because she knew it had something to do with her. But she didn't have the energy.
"Black?"
"I apologized," he growled.
"And?"
"I'm back on the team."
She didn't know if that was a good thing, but he seemed resigned to it. Maybe even some latent need there - he had to miss his job as much as she longed to get back to hers.
"You gonna be late tonight?" she said, finding the words slipping out of her mouth even though she didn't want them to.
He pulled back to stare at her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to quell that stupid urge.
"I just mean - even if you're late," she corrected. "Crawl in when you get back."
She hadn't seen him that night. Nor the next. It was four days before she caught sight of Castle again.
She woke at sunrise to an ache in her back that throbbed and his body wrapped around hers. She twisted around to ease the pain and found herself face to face with him. He was asleep in his clothes.
He had a black eye and his cheek was scraped raw.
Kate sat up, and instead of it waking him, his arm dropped away from her. She saw where his forearm was wrapped, hiding some wound she didn't know, and when she touched her fingers to his chest, he flinched in his sleep.
She paused, trembling with a spasm of her own pain, but slowly put her hands in the collar of his dress shirt to draw it aside and glimpsed vivid bruises. Her breath caught and she pushed the buttons through their holes, undressed him as quickly as she could, horrified by the mottled purple and black along his torso.
He grunted awake at her touch, his eyes startlingly open. So blue it made her heart ache.
"Castle."
He stared at her like he didn't know who she was.
"Castle, what happened?"
He scraped his hand down his face and grunted, hovering over his eye. "Got into a fight."
"With - with Black?"
He groaned, a little laugh popping out of his mouth. "I wish. Fuck. No."
"Castle," she hissed, tugging his hand away so she could see. "You need ice. The PT room has some. Come on."
"Let me sleep," he muttered.
And then he was. Asleep. Just like that.
Kate struggled out from under him, untangling her legs from his, and got to her feet. She swayed, but she had her balance finally.
She stumbled to the physical therapy room for ice.
He gasped as he came to, a flash of cold searing his face, his vision black but Kate. Kate.
"Beckett?" he groaned, wincing as he dodged her grip.
"You need ice. Hold still."
He shivered and tried to open his eyes but he realized one was swollen shut. His ribs ached, the burn on his arm was throbbing under the bandage, and she was looking at him like he'd been shot.
"You were shot," he muttered. "What are you doing?"
"I was shot like three months ago, you idiot. You're actually bleeding on our sheets."
Three months ago. "Three. Bleeding?"
"No, not-uh. Are you concussed? No. Come on, Castle. This isn't funny."
He let her tug him into a sitting position, felt his body toppling towards her without his control. She caught him with a huff, and his forehead came to her shoulder, and it was so nice right there that his eyes closed, his one good eye really, and then her fingers were feathering at the back of his neck.
"Do I need to get the doctor?"
"No, no," he murmured. "Checked me out at the office. I'm fine."
"Clearly not fine. You have a concussion."
"Yeah, there is that."
"Castle," she hissed.
"What?"
"Why didn't you wake me up? You have a concussion. You shouldn't-"
"I did wake you," he muttered, slitting one eye to look at her. "You're awake."
Her mouth dropped open but he laid his head back to her shoulder and slipped his hands around her waist to hang on.
"Oh, Castle," she sighed. "What happened, love?"
"Just had to. . .had to."
"Rick."
"Me or him. Promise. He tried to throw me off a bridge."
He thought she might be cursing, but she was squeezing too hard for him to hear and he was kinda, sorta collapsing them both to the bed.
She stroked her fingers over his neck and winced, shifted a bit under him, her back pressed against the headboard. She could do this. She could.
For a few minutes more.
Maybe a minute.
Okay, time's up.
"Castle. Come on. Castle."
He grunted and jerked violently awake, raising up off her, his body swaying. She reached out to clutch him.
"Castle."
"I feel bad. I'm - gonna throw up."
He was running for the bathroom before she could even process the green tint to his skin and then she heard the toilet seat bounce up and the sound of his retching.
She winced and put her feet to the floor, hesitated for only a moment before standing. She heard the water running, and then he came back out of the bathroom with his eye purple and shining.
"Castle?"
"Concussion."
"You okay?"
He nodded slowly, but he was wincing. "Just gotta sleep it off."
She turned back for the ice abandoned on the bed and felt him come up behind her, his hands at her hips.
"Crawl in with me?" he murmured.
She sighed and lifted the ice to his face, making him duck. "So long as you keep this on your eye for the next ten minutes."
He growled, but took the bag of ice from her.
When she woke a few hours later, he was gone.
The ice was melting in a wet spot on his side of the bed.