Close Encounters 25
Kate let the dvd play through the credits and out into black before she heard it stop and go quiet. Still she laid on the floor, trying to come down from her workout. Yoga was killing her. Castle was killing her.
But already, after a week and a half of training, she could complete the whole thing.
It wrung her out to do it, but she kept doing it. She thought already she felt stronger; Castle looked less like a man going to the gallows when he came down the basement stairs for their physical therapy sessions.
"Kate?"
"Here," she called.
She heard his laugh. "I can see that."
She opened her eyes and saw him at the doorway, his fingers trailing over the top of James's head where she'd left him in the jumping swing. He'd been out with Sasha, a short walk around the block for necessity's sake, when she'd decided hey, let's do this again and see how it goes.
"I did yoga," she admitted, looking at him upside down.
"I assumed as much." His dry delivery was giving her nothing, but she was going with, I find you bewildering but amusing. That was a good one, that kind of interest usually led to touching.
"I only did the last half."
"You did the whole thing yesterday," he noted.
"I did." She swallowed. "I - didn't do all of it today?" For him. Because of him. Because even doing the last half - the hardest half - had wiped her out and she hadn't been expecting to feel quite so drained afterwards, but wow. Good thing she'd been trying for him.
"That's my consolation, you mean."
She winced and closed her eyes. It felt so good and cool and lovely on the floor. Her yoga mat was on top of the rug they'd had to replace for the sake of James's knees, and it was a really wonderful rug too. Deep pile and fluffy, a comfortable place to take a nap.
"Don't fall asleep, Beckett."
"Can't promise anything."
She heard him moving and opened her eyes, saw him unsnapping James from the jumper seat and lifting him out. She groaned, not ready to get up at all, but Castle carried the boy over and sat down next to the pushed-aside coffee table right at her shoulder.
He lowered James to her chest and all the air left her lungs in a rush, surprised by the baby, surprised by Castle.
Castle pushing her.
She clamped her arms around James to keep him from falling over, and the boy pushed up on his hands, staring down into her face. She found her breath and smiled back at him, felt Castle's fingers tugging the hair out of her mouth, off her forehead.
"Hey, Jay," she smiled at him. Another pause to suck in her breath despite the weight of him on her chest. "You have fun jumping?"
"Hold it for a count of three, Beckett."
She growled something back at him - didn't he realized she'd just done twice as much work as yesterday? - but he was stoic in the face of her frustration.
It was as if he'd said, you want it? I'll give it to you.
Oh, that was a really nice thought. She missed being rough. She missed him holding her down and her wrestling to flip him back over and one of her hands pinned over her head before she managed to get him by the-
"Mama!"
Whoops. "Yeah, you got me," she smiled at the baby. "Mommy's here."
"Dad-dad." James pushed against her chest, rocking up, back down again, like he was ready to move. His crawling was lightning fast the days, he was standing alone more often than not. "Da-da-da-"
"I see you, kid," he said. "But you gotta weigh Mommy down for a few more minutes. She needs to strengthen her lungs."
She could really curse him out if her son wasn't right on top of her. "Yeah, Mommy's working on it."
"Inhale count of three, exhale, Beckett, or you'll hyperventilate and have another panic attack."
Well, fuck. That was true too. She drew her breath in and counted, let it out for three as well. It actually helped. The raised-fur of anxiety began to be soothed, like when they petted Sasha after she sensed something outside.
The wolf in her came down.
"Very good."
She could punch him for that. She was going to punch him, one of these days. He had the tendency to praise her for breathing or standing or not crying like it was such a vast improvement. It pissed her off. And okay, he probably did it on purpose.
She controlled her breathing and pushed her lungs up against the weight on her chest. James just seemed to kind of watch them.
She lifted her hand from his back and cupped his head, smoothing his hair down. "Good boy. You helping Daddy torture Mommy?"
He tilted his head, as if puzzling through that.
Castle was acting as spotter, close but not hovering, and she really needed to make it up to him somehow. Soon. For how damn good he was - forcing her to work just like Fezzik her PT used to, and also forcing her to feel normal around him again, like she wanted to feel.
"Love you," she said, nudging her chin up so that she could see him. He gave her a thin smile back and she tried again. "Really love you, Rick. You're not mad, are you?"
His veneer washed away, just like that. "I'm mad. But not at you."
"Had to take the dog out."
"And you had to test yourself," he shrugged.
"But instead of brooding over me, you've taken it and run with it. And I kind of adore you for that. I think it's why I keep falling in love with you."
He opened his mouth but nothing came out; she could tell she'd blown his anger right out of the water. He just stared at her.
She felt good for that. At least she could be honest. She could sob in his arms when PT overwhelmed her and it felt impossible, and he took it, and then he turned around and pushed her harder the next session because he knew that was the only way she felt in control. She could be honest about it because he wasn't going to freak out.
"My brave man," she sighed, closing her eyes.
Only to be startled by his lips, his mouth brushing down her nose and to her own, stealing that hard-won breath.
The heat of him met the sweat of her workout and she lifted her hands to capture his jaw, his neck, hang on to him.
Only James rolled off her chest with an elbow to her solar plexus that pushed the last of her breath out of her and she wheezed, laughing, and Castle was laughing back and dragging her upright, catching James with an arm.
She couldn't carry her baby but he was trapped between them and they were all three grinning and happy this afternoon. His hands were heavy and warm on her arms, dragging down to her elbows, and James was clutching her shirt.
Castle brushed the hair back behind her ear and instead made her pony tail fall down. There was something shy and hesitant in the feeling that rose up between them, and and his hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing along her cheeks.
"Kiss me," she murmured.
He leaned in and their lips touched, gentle and risky at the same time. She felt his kiss in her belly like a hook, bringing her up to meet him.
"That good?" he whispered.
"Kiss me again," she asked, her heart fluttering. How much she wanted him to want her back. Her own husband, this man she had bruised and hurt and stretched too far. This man who was still here.
"Again?"
"Another one," she said, though she might be begging. She was begging.
He wasn't smiling but he brushed lips with her, fingers lightly stroking her cheeks so that the sensation ran like a current under her skin.
"Castle," she whispered.
"What about James?"
"Castle, please. I need-" She swallowed a groan. "He was happy in the jumping swing."
He pulled back only a little and searched her face. "All right," he husked. "Hold that thought."
He gave her a light drag of his lips at her jaw, making her shiver, and then he was removing the weight of the baby and taking James towards the swing.
When Castle had finished with the immediate tasks, he could lift his head from the computer tablet and take a second, give himself a break.
He rubbed a fist in his eye, gritty with the long hours he'd put in tonight, and laid the tablet on the coffee table. It was dark downstairs, and he'd meant to go up to the office to finish this, but he'd been in the middle of a project for Espo and had gotten sucked in. Castle's grasp of coin was fair, but it hadn't been enough to follow the threads through to the end, and it had taken entirely too long to establish real identities behind the users.
BearWhale. Whatever. He didn't exactly get it, but hopefully Ryan - their go-to tech guy these days - was guru enough to explain it to Espo. Castle didn't relish the position.
Another good thing about being suspended - not his job now.
He planted his hands on his knees and lifted himself to his feet, rotating his head on his neck as he stood. His spine popped as it lengthened and he realized he was actually tired.
Ah, not good.
He probably was pushing right up against his limits. The regimen allowed for him to only require a handful of hours of sleep, but it wasn't an ideal state to exist in for any length of time. He could do four hours for weeks, but the two he'd been getting weren't going to cut it.
Maybe it was good he was feeling the strain tonight. Maybe that meant he'd fall right into deep sleep and not be disturbed this time. The problem was that regimen sleep outside of the two-to-three hour time frame wasn't a heavy enough sleep. It was a more alert kind of doze, because the regimen body could do the work of repair and renewal in a shorter amount of time and with less REM sleep.
It was possible and even likely to sleep a full night while on the regimen, especially if Castle trained himself to do it, but lately he just - couldn't.
Without a deeper slumber, he was yanked from unconsciousness by his own damn memories. Dreams that came in non-REM sleep. Night terrors. Kate dying night after night, Castle waking to the stillness of her body beside him and the horror of a missed breath.
He would get up, walk it off, check on the boy, come back to bed - only to fall right back down into the same nightmare.
So he had just - quit sleeping.
But after nearly two weeks, he had to get more than a few hours - or his body would start to feel the strain and the super would be mostly useless. Which was stupid. The whole damn point of being steady on the regimen was the super - being what Kate Beckett needed when she needed him.
So Castle dragged his sorry ass up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom.
She was asleep curled up in the middle of the bed, and she looked young but lonely in the darkness.
He felt old and worthless, but he stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers with her, pressed his forehead to the jut of her elbow. Her skin was warm and he could feel her breath ruffling his hair.
Like that, he finally slept.
He woke the second she gasped his name.
Castle was immediately cupping her face in his hands, eyes alert and searching hers. "What's wrong? What's wrong, Kate?"
She found her fists gripping his shirt and her body twisting, urgency deep in her guts. She'd woken up with it. She couldn't breathe. "Panic - panic attack," she gasped.
"Okay, okay. It's okay, honey. A panic attack. We know how it goes, don't we?"
She couldn't breathe-
"It's okay. It's okay," he said, voice like gravel. "Look at me, Kate."
She fought through the rising tide in her throat, the way it knotted up hard. Like fingers had hooked through her mouth and pressed up into her nose, leaving her gagging.
"Breathe, honey. You can do it. You can actually breathe. It's there. It's right there."
It wasn't, it wasn't-
"Keep your eyes on me. You know it will pass. It always does-"
What if it didn't?
"-it just takes a moment. Especially in the middle of the night. Harder to figure out where you are, isn't it? But you're right here with me. You and me, Kate. We're gonna be okay."
She just needed to breathe.
"Just a panic attack. We both know how that feels. When it's over, we can get up and play stupid card games on the couch, watch the Ellen show until the sun comes up. Or you fall asleep."
"Panic attack," she croaked, her breath thin and papery through her closed up throat.
"I'm so proud of you, honey. You know that? So proud. You're not alone, not ever alone."
"Know," she gasped. Not alone.
"Next step - your heart rate will start to slow again. Your body will start to shake. You'll feel washed out. All normal. You just breathe, honey."
Easy for him to say. An elephant on her chest. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't-
"You're kinda like a wolf when you're in the middle of this, you know? Wild."
She couldn't fucking breathe. What the hell was he-
"Yeah, honey. Just that. Means you're a fighter. Makes the panic attack worse, but it also makes you strong."
Strong.
"And now you're going to breathe for me, Kate. Breathe."
His hands cupped her cheeks and his breath tickled her mouth even as she gasped.
"There we go, you got it. That's it, that's it. You're okay."
She sobbed and the breath left her, came in again like reflex, like everything was working again.
"Okay, okay," he whispered. His hand left her face and wrapped around her neck, lifted her up in bed. She was shivering, drenched in sweat, but Castle was getting her up, pulling her out of bed. "Okay. Shower, yeah? You always take a shower after a bad one. The heat, right? Feels good."
She sucked in another breath, another, felt the oxygen spinning through her, giddy in her lungs.
She gripped his hand as they walked into the bathroom, released him so she could get her pajamas off. Her whole body was shaking with the letdown, but she wasn't sick feeling. All the other times, she'd wanted to throw up afterwards. Even the time she'd managed to call King and have him talk her down.
Castle caught her t-shirt in one hand and tossed it towards the laundry basket, then turned and pushed on the faucets. The water was a thundering suddenness in the dark, and she blinked, stepped into the glass-encased shower.
He didn't follow, which only mildly surprised her, but she tilted her head back and let the heat of the water soak through her scalp, ease her shoulders down.
She let out a little sobbing breath and washed the tears off her face in the spray.
She heard the bathroom door shut as he left and she let herself - finally - believe it really was okay.
She even thought maybe she'd get back to sleep tonight.
Eventually.
Castle cupped the back of James's head and carefully laid him down on the blanket in the back yard.
"Enough shade?" she asked.
"Think so. What do you think?"
She came at his back under the tree and glanced up, then down at the baby. "Yeah, think it'll be fine. We're going to have to find some organic baby sunblock, you know?"
"Yep." Castle took her hand and gave her a little leverage as she sank down beside the blanket. James rolled to his stomach and got to his hands and knees, but instead of scampering off, he headed for Kate.
She laughed as James barreled right into her; she went toppling playfully, but Castle could tell there was a controlled descent to it. He left them there under the tree, Sasha nosing the back fence, and he moved around to find the lawn mower.
"Have fun, Castle!"
He narrowed his eyes and turned back to give her the finger. She laughed, giggled actually, and it made James giggle too.
"Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. It'll be you next, James. The second you're tall enough to reach the handle bar, you've just got your first chore."
Kate wrapped her arms around the baby on her chest and kissed his cheeks, saying something to him probably soothing and don't listen to him, but Castle wasn't getting any love here, was he?
The shed where they kept the lawn stuff - usually a job for the crew Mitch had hired - was as secure as his own house, of course. The alarm for the shed wasn't connected to the house alarm, though, so he had to manually punch in the numbers on the keypad.
The simple digital padlock popped and he pulled apart its pieces, lifted the latch. The shed was low, and he had to duck his head as he went inside. No electricity, but the bright sunlight filtered in behind him.
The lawn mower was a push-start with a lever to adjust the wheel level for a cropped cut or a longer blade. It was a rather sad-looking machine, honestly, but it would - apparently - service. He didn't know. Mitchell was in the process of re-organizing their service teams. They'd had a woman who cleaned for them while they were gone; she got in when Castle would remote unlock the door and turn off the alarm. But Mitch wanted all new systems in place, and a secondary code for the maintenance staff.
So Castle had three months off and he was mowing his own damn lawn.
He pushed the mower out of the shed and brought the gas can with him, settled everything on the back patio. "Hey," he called. "When I'm done with the front strip and the side, I'm gonna be back here."
"Mow around us. It's all roots here anyway."
"It'll be loud. Maybe dusty." He knelt down to untwist the cap off the engine.
"We don't care, do we, wolf? We wanna watch Daddy all big and strong and being so domestic."
"You watch me make dinner every night," he muttered. He peered inside the gas tank and saw the shining depths. Full. He twisted the cap back on and glanced over to Kate.
She was on her side, head propped up on her elbow, her hand circling James's ankle as he tried to scoot away. She was watching him alright.
"I'm gonna start," he said inanely, for lack of anything better to say. Sometimes when she went still and quiet, so did her eyes. And he saw the whole of existence in those dark wells, shining mysterious and full just like the gas tank. Potential.
That's what it was. Potential. Potential for violence and flame, or potential for energy and work.
And he realized he didn't know which direction she'd go. He wanted to believe they were going to be fine, but Beckett surprised him - good and bad. She pushed too hard and she never knew her own limits, or his, but that was also the most amazing part of her, the very most terrible, beautiful thing about Kate: she never stopped.
And King had been right. That was Castle's security, that was the root of his trust and faith in her. She wouldn't abandon him. She would never give him up.
So he was going to mow the lawn in a great big circle around her and then he'd come sit with them under the tree until his sweat cooled off and the afternoon flattened out.
Kate crawled into his lap on the couch and wrapped her arms around him.
Castle startled - he'd been reading her journal again - but he dropped the spiral-bound notebook and hugged her back, her body strong under his hands. "Are you okay?" he whispered.
"This is working, right?"
"Babe, it's working," he promised, hugging her a little tighter. He heard James from his jumping swing in the doorway and turned his head, saw the baby reaching for them. "It's better already."
"I'm not pushing it too much, am I?"
"Hey, where did this come from?" he murmured. He stroked his hand up her spine to bury his fingers in the hair at her nape.
"It just gets me," she mumbled. Her cheek landed on top of his shoulder. "James wants out."
"I saw that," he said, stroking the soft hair at her neck.
"I'm not supposed to lift him."
"Logan has said only two more weeks."
She chuckled and her head tilted on his shoulder; he glanced down and saw she was watching him. "Two more weeks means you have to go get him."
"Yeah, but I'm comfy right here and James can wait." He smiled as he said it, hands roaming, and then he froze.
What he'd said. The choice he was making, again, between them.
"I mean-" he croaked.
"Hush," she said instantly, rising up against him. Her fingers came over his mouth. "Don't. It's okay to joke. It's okay to even mean it. James can wait. He's fine in his swing. And if we want to have a little time for us, then we have to take it where we can."
He knew that; he knew it. But he kept second-guessing himself. He knew he loved his son, that wasn't in question any longer. The grief had begun to untangle its stranglehold on his heart, his throat, and he was taking joy in them again. But sometimes he wasn't paying attention and stuff came out of his mouth and it made him wonder. What if he was no better than his father - only better at pretending?
"It wasn't really a joke," he admitted. "But I should get him."
"No," she said, shaking her head. Her hips pushed down into his. "You're staying right here. We're going to stay right here until he fusses. Until he cries. And then we'll get him out."
"Kate-"
"No."
And then her fingers stole under his shirt and traced along his ribs and he grunted, closing his eyes. Next her mouth at his neck where he wasn't at all expecting it, surprising him into that first flush of arousal. He gripped her hip and one shoulder, not sure what he wanted from her, and then her hand pushed up and covered his tattoo while the other went-
Fuck.
"Kate," he groaned.
"Just like that," she whispered into his mouth.
Lying flat to the wood floor of the hallway, Castle set his phone against the door frame of his office. He was in a belly crawl position with his body in the room and only the top of his head poking out.
Never thought he'd be employing covert ops surveillance on his son and their dog.
Sasha was on her belly in the middle of the hallway with James on his belly right beside her. James had lately discovered the joy of the dog's toys, and this morning he'd gone scooting down the hallway after one of Sasha's baseballs.
Sasha had put up a lukewarm fight for it, a bat of her paw, a nudge of her nose, but James had reached right in and snagged the ball, drawing it close to his chest. He was on his belly, feet kicking in happiness, chewing on Sasha's ball.
Sasha leaned in and knocked her head into James's temple, licked with a long tongue across James's nose. The boy chuckled, his old man laugh, and Castle watched the screen on his phone to be sure it was recording every last second.
Sasha nudged James again and the baby leaned into the dog and nudged back. After a moment, Jay seemed to forget the ball in his hands entirely, and he was nuzzling his head into the neck of the dog. Sasha's fur mostly hid the boy's face, and then James released the ball to grasp the dog.
Castle could feel his smile spreading, splitting his face as the dog and the boy kept nudging each other. James gripped the dog, handfuls of fur, and dragged himself to his knees. Sasha stayed on her belly, nose nudging up and under James's arm, and then James draped himself over Sasha's back in a baby's whole-hearted embrace.
Sasha turned and licked James's neck, his ear, started licking his forehead in a way that Castle had never seen her before. She wasn't a licking kind of dog, too much of a wolf to be abjectly affectionate with them, but with James in this moment, she was tending him like one of her own.
Castle leaned his head against the door frame and recorded the whole encounter. When Kate woke, he'd share it with her, their baby, their dog, the way they took care of each other.
Castle found her on the couch with the remote, her cheek to her palm, eyes tired.
"Hey."
"Hey," she said, small smile.
He propped a hip against the back of the couch, wiped his fingers off on the rag. The lawn mower was broken again, and damn if he could fix it.
"You get it?" she mumbled.
"No." He dropped his hand to the back of the couch, lifted his fingers to touch the thick drape of her hair. "Don't know what's wrong. Must be old."
"You're usually so good with your hands."
He lifted an eyebrow, leaned in a little over her to see her face. Yeah, she was smirking. She tilted her head back so that she was looking at him, and he lifted his hand to her temple, traced the river of a vein that snaked at the side of her forehead. Her eyes closed under his touch, lashes deeply dark. She had put on eyeliner, mascara, some lip gloss even. But she looked washed out under it.
"You tired, love?" he murmured.
"You're not?" she asked, opening her eyes.
He gave her a tight smile back. "Not like this." Not when he was super.
She hummed and closed her eyes again and he cupped the side of her face, dusted a kiss to that vein that pulsed when she was most tired. Before he could move away, her arms were wrapping around his neck and pulling him close.
"It's okay to be tired, Kate, honey."
"Yeah," she whispered, her voice husky. "But I keep missing out."
"I know, babe." He slid an arm down her back and around her shoulders, kissed her temple. "But your dad has James out at the park, so you could sleep now and not miss a thing."
"I'd miss you," she complained.
Castle chuffed in her ear, laughing a little as she grunted, apparently hearing how that had sounded. "I'll stay with you," he offered. "I won't do anything remotely interesting that you might miss."
"On the couch," she delayed.
He winced, lifted up to come around the back of the couch to sit down beside her. "On the couch?"
"Wake me up when James gets back with my dad."
He set his jaw. "That could be in the next thirty minutes."
"So?"
Fine. Fine, a thirty minute nap on the couch wasn't enough, but it was better than nothing.
"All right. Lay down, Beckett. We only got thirty minutes."
She tilted her head and smiled at him, but instead of leaning back against the arm of the couch, she moved into him, pushing him back against his side. He drew his arm around her and let her sprawl over his chest, their legs twining on the couch.
She was pretty determined to keep him down with her.
"You sleep too," she whispered at his neck. She was burrowing down into him, arm drawn up, fist under her chin. "You sleep, Castle."
"Okay," he promised. Couldn't hurt. Twenty more minutes, and then when Jim brought the dog and James back home, he'd go back outside and try to fix the lawn mower.
Kate woke disoriented, feeling heavy and thick as if she had cramps. She tried to draw her knees up to ease the ache across her pelvis, but something blocked her.
Oh.
She'd fallen asleep on the couch with Castle, and she'd gotten wedged between the back of the couch and his body. Kate licked her chapped lips, wincing as they cracked, and lifted her head to figure out the time.
Sunlight spilled into the back windows, dark gold with the late afternoon. Her father had taken James and the security entourage out to the park, and while Castle hadn't even batted an eyelash at their being gone, she'd seen the tension in him and how he'd needed to be distracted.
Too tired to distract him, she'd suggested fixing the lawn mower. But taking a nap together seemed to have done it.
She extricated her arm from between them and wrapped it around his waist, tucking her fingers in under his shirt to warm them. Her cheek felt bruised, against his shoulder like this, so she wriggled to get into a softer position.
Not much softer on Castle.
She took a deep breath of his-
A violent jerk nearly sent her flying, but she clutched his shirt and the waistband of his jeans, rode it out. Suddenly Castle was burning hot under her, like lava flowed under his skin, and she pushed up off his chest to get a look at him.
His eyes popped open on a shout, and he was jerking out from under her, taking two lurching steps away from the couch, hands over his face.
Kate stared at him a half-second, struggled to find her feet and go after him. "Rick. Hey. Rick, look at me."
He had already taken a lunging step to the kitchen, but he changed directions and collided with her. She caught him by the forearms, kept him standing, stared up at him.
His eyes were blank.
"Hey, Castle, honey. You okay?"
Recognition came over his face and he seemed to stand straighter, be present with her. "I'm - okay."
"Yeah?"
A brief nod. "Yeah."
"What was that?" she dug. Not going to let him off the hook.
He shifted as if to get away from her, put distance, but she hooked her fingers in his belt loops, kept him with her at a touch.
He sighed. "Just a dream."
"You having nightmares, Castle?"
He shrugged.
"That why you're not sleeping with me?"
His eyes jerked to hers. "I'm sleeping with you. I'm - I just - it's not that I don't want to sleep with you - I always want to sleep with you."
She pressed her fingers over his lips to silence his panicky answer. That bothered her - that told on him - the scrambling for security that underlined his words. She stroked the back of her fingers at his jaw; the scruff had already grown in.
"Rick. You're not sleeping, love. I know the regimen means you need less, but you still need it. Tell me."
He shifted before her, looked uncomfortable. "I - it's just some dreams. I can't get deep enough sleep to make them stop."
She backed up, gave him some space. His shoulders came down, looked a little more comfortable. "Dreams about what?"
Shoulders came back up. "Nothing. Everything."
"Me."
His eyes slid back to hers. Such deep lines on his face. They'd done so much in the last three weeks to push out of this muck, but it still stained them.
"Why don't you tell me your dream," she started. With a couple feet between them now, she took his hand, his wide and generous hand, brought his fingers against her chest to press his palm to her heart. "Tell me what happens, and we'll rewrite the ending."
His eyes drooped and then came up to look at her, fingers curling at her shirt. "Rewrite it?"
"You did that for me, I can do it for you. Remember? I kept writing myself out of our future, but you kept telling me stories, putting me right back in it. And here we are."
His face contorted and a rush of grief went over him.
Kate stepped into him, drew her arms around him to hold him tight and close. "Okay, okay. It's okay, Rick. You're so good to me. I can be good for you. Sit down with me, honey, and we'll make a new story."
"Yeah," he said shakily into her hair. He sounded like a little boy. How long had he been waking with nightmares? She slept too hard and too often to really know.
"Sit," she urged. "Sit with me."
"The chair," he husked.
"Of course, I understand. The chair." She bumped her hips into his to get him going, moving him around to the armchair, give him a change of venue. He sank down into the seat and let out a long breath; she sat with him, wedging her hips into the space he'd left for her.
His arm had to snake around her shoulders to let them both fit, and she curled in against his chest, waiting on him.
"All my nightmares?" he said. "Or just this one?"
God. All his nightmares? "This one for now. How does it start?"
"In the rain," he sighs.
"In the rain where?"
"In Paris."
She pressed her hand over his chest, traced the outline of the tattoo where it would be on his skin if she could see it through the shirt. She knew it was there. "In Paris. Are you on the roof?"
"Yeah."
"And then you see me collapse."
"Yeah. And I - this time, when I run down the stairs and get out to the garden, there's blood everywhere. You've been shot. I-"
"Was I shot?"
"You - I - not in real life. Not this time."
"Not this time," she sighed. "I wasn't shot, Rick."
She pressed her palm into him and then stroked up to his jaw, fingers pianoing over the bumps in his bone from injuries: scuffles, punches, knots. She found his lips with her thumb.
"This time, Castle, when you reach out to touch me - where am I shot?"
"In the chest," he rasped.
She teased her fingers down his chest, found his hand where it rested on her thigh. She dragged him up to where her heart beat, his palm heavy just above her breast.
"In the chest," she repeated. "Where? Show me."
He sucked in a ragged breath but his hand moved, shifted to a place just at the hook of her sternum, between her breasts. "Here."
"Am I bleeding now?"
"No."
"Touch me - just to be sure," she murmured.
He blinked.
She shifted, inching her t-shirt up and drawing his hand with hers so that their tangled fingers brushed her stomach. She sucked in a breath, turned on despite herself, even though she was trying to be good for him, be there for him, and she pressed his fingertips to the spot he'd picked out.
His fingers splayed, hand hot between her breasts. His thumb brushed the slope and her breath caught as her eyes met his.
"No blood," he husked. "You feel just fine."
She smiled. "I do, don't I?"
"Yeah."
"No blood. No gunshot wound. No rain. Let's rewrite this story. So. This time when you run down the stairs, what do you find?"
"You," he husked. His eyes were electric.
"Me. Maybe I'm asleep on the couch? What am I doing, Rick?"
"Asleep on the couch," he said. His fingers twitched against her chest, between her breasts. "Dreaming about me."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Dreaming about you touching me."
"I kneel down beside you."
"And?"
"And I touch my mouth to yours to wake you."
"I open my eyes for you. To see you. My hand touches your face." She cupped his jaw and moved her fingers back to his hair. He looked possessed, by her, by her words, captured. She'd never seen him like this before, wanting so badly to believe.
"Then what?" he murmured. "What happens?"
"I rise up," she said, and she turned in the chair to pull her knee up into his lap. "I rise up and straddle your thighs."
She did and his eyes dropped down her body, traveling rough over her curves. His hand was still under her shirt, fingers at the smooth space between her breasts where there was no gunshot wound, no scar, at least not there.
She'd been shot in the back that time in the cemetery, shot as she'd pushed him out of the way - trying to anyway. She had to be sure he didn't slide his hands to her back to hold on to her, keep him from the realization that his nightmare was part real memory.
Kate touched his elbow with both hands, caressed her fingers up his forearm to bury under her shirt, keep his hand there. She stroked along his wrist and the sides of his palm, teasing his fingers.
"Is this your dream, Rick?"
"Is now," he husked.
"Very good, baby. Let's see what else we can write."