Close Encounters 7

Castle stroked his fingers down Kate's bare back with a shaky hand, his eyes on the panic room's metal ceiling even as his body came down slowly. When they'd shut the door, the alarm system had kicked on; he could see on the security panel that the house was secure. Sasha had loped back up the stairs at some point before they'd closed up the room, and Castle could see now on the monitors that the dog was lying down at her post before the front door, as usual.

And Kate was draped over him, naked and asleep.

Castle had found sleep nearly impossible these last few months, never knowing what might come out of the darkness. But with her warm body sealed against his, the room secure from nothing short of armageddon, he felt his alertness, his awareness, begin to fall apart.

He dozed.

Castle jerked back to awareness suddenly, heart thrashing in his chest like an animal in a trap.

He must have passed out. Drifted off. Something.

He hadn't slept in days, almost a week now, and it was hitting him hard, dragging him under with a ruthlessness he finally felt safe enough to give in to. Castle curled his fingers at her shoulder, pressed his cheek to the top of her head, and he let his eyes close on a breath.

As it always did these days, his body gave up and sleep betrayed him.

First was the darkness and the smell of bleach. Stainless steel. Linoleum. He opened his eyes and saw the burning red exit sign. Horror had a chokehold on his throat, but he pushed through the empty kitchen towards that exit, his lungs burning with his sprinting steps, slammed into the door.

All over again. The alley, Kate on her knees, and - every time - Castle opened the exit door a moment too late.

Kate on her knees. The explosion of the gunshot. Her body rocking forward.

He felt the splatter of her grey matter across his face, tasted her blood with his strangled scream.

He woke violently in the blue light of the panic room, ripped from the dream by Kate's hands caressing his face, her body over his and holding him down.

"Castle, sweetheart, oh, Rick, come on. Wake up, it's okay. It's okay."

Weeping. He was weeping. Fuck, everything was raw.

"It's okay, it's okay," she promised, cradling his body with her hands, her knees, pressed over him and warm, living. "It's okay, love."

"Kate," he rasped. Hoarse.

She breathed into him, her forehead touching his, and he gulped in air, drew his arms up around her. He knew he was bruising her; he couldn't stop.

"God," he groaned, swallowing hard and staring up into her eyes. She was alive. She was alive; he hadn't been too late.

"You can't go on like this," she murmured. Her lashes brushed his, her fingers curled at his ears, and she shifted to lie down at his side. "Rick, you can't keep this up. . ."

He could finally loosen his hold on her, and she stroked her fingers through his hair, came back to his ears in soft, soothing touches that had his breathing evening out once more. She was crying too, he saw.

They were both crying.

"Rick," she pleaded.

He knew what she meant. He'd been avoiding this conversation for the last three months, certain he wouldn't like whatever it was she had to say, knowing he'd disappointed her in this.

He hadn't quit the CIA. In fact, once his father had disappeared, he'd been promoted up the ranks, given the job in charge of Eastern European Operations with the special benefit of being stationed in New York.

They'd bought a home now that he was making so much more money; they'd kept it secure and off the radar as much as possible. They were still in the city, they were still on track to the new life they both wanted, but now he was doing it from inside the CIA.

Castle had thought it was just too ideal to pass up. Especially now that they were on tenuous terms with Bracken, especially now that his own father was nowhere to be found. Black had slipped Castle's careful surveillance only two weeks after his official retirement; he had yet to resurface. No one could find him; the Director had merely laughed it off and said the man deserved retirement in peace.

But it made Castle nervous. Not knowing where, just knowing that there was no way Black was gone for good. A man like that wouldn't bow out gracefully, wouldn't take kindly to being blackmailed. Staying inside the CIA meant that Castle had access and resources, not just to find his father and keep him under control, but also to deal with Bracken.

He had tried to break free - he was still trying - but their new life together had taken an angle he had never intended.

But she was right. He and Kate had to talk about this before it buried them alive.

She sat on the edge of the cot and shrugged her shirt on, scraped her hair back from her face and twisted it over one shoulder to keep it from getting into her eyes. She watched Castle button his jeans as he stood near the monitors, and she realized she hadn't seen him so calm in months.

Finally.

His body was riddled with tension for the talk they knew they needed to have, but even still. Even now. He looked more at ease. He looked deeply peaceful in a way she hadn't been able to bring back to him since his father had gone missing from the hospital.

"Rick," she said quietly.

He turned, his bare chest rippling under the soft blue light. His eyes were clouded with fatigue and worry and such hopeless love that it made her heart squeeze too tightly, like she might choke on it.

"Hey, come here," she whispered, reaching a hand out to him. She was only in her shirt and underwear and he was only in his jeans, but he padded silently to the cot and sat down beside her, obedient and waiting.

Kate lifted her fingers to his cheek and caressed the stubble that burned her skin, her inner thighs tingling even as she touched.

"I love you," she said firmly. "I just don't love your job."

"I know." He bowed his head.

"I - hate your job," she admitted with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I hate what it does to you. To me. To us."

He lifted his head and stared at her, mournful and in despair and practically unreachable to her. "And you want me to hate it too," he said quietly.

"Yes," she pleaded. She caught hold of herself, just barely reined it in, and tilted her head back to keep from spilling tears over this. "Yes. But I know. . .I know you love it."

"Kate."

She had to look at him, for his sake. She had to. She had to prove that she was in this, that she was still doing this with him. She dropped her head and met his eyes, curled her hand at the back of his neck.

"I love you more," he said.

She pressed her lips together. Should she tell him about the Director? She didn't want to be this person, to do this to him. She had never wanted it. "I just want you," she said finally. "And if you need this to feel. . .safe. If you need this to be sure, to keep in control of things and to. . .shit, I don't know - to save the world, Castle. Then okay. Okay."

"You're disappointed in me," he said quietly.

"No," she insisted, shaking her head. "Not at all. Castle. I'm so damn proud of you. Of how you've made yourself into this good and wonderful man. Despite everything. Look at what you've done."

She cupped his cheeks and leaned in, kissed him softly, reverently, let him feel the way he made her tremble. Not because she wanted him, not because he was touching her, but just because he was so -

"You're extraordinary," she whispered into his mouth.

He wrapped his arms around her and clutched her close to his chest; she closed her eyes with the force of his relief, his want, and wished she'd made him have this conversation months ago. She hadn't known he'd felt so much like a failure when it came to her.

"You're a good man," she repeated. She didn't know if he believed it yet. "We can do this. We can; I promise."

"The CIA - I know you want me to-"

She shook her head against his neck and squeezed him harder. "No, baby. You still don't understand. I love you. Not because of the CIA. Not to get me back into the NYPD. Not because of this city or this house or even the dog. I love you."

His arms were suddenly gentler, cradling rather than crushing, and his lips skimmed her temple. "I love you too, Kate. I just want to make it good. Safe. For our family."

She nodded, closed her eyes against the tears. "Soon," she answered. "Soon. But first - this. Whatever we have to do." Even the CIA. Even that.

"Yes," he rasped out, his fingers coming to tangle in the hair still bundled at her neck. "A little more time. We'll get them both - Black and Bracken. And then we can-"

"We can," she promised. Kate pulled back to let him see how determined she was, how certain. She ran her hands down his chest and back up again, settled her palms at his shoulders. "We will. But you can't. Rick. You can't keep going on like this."

He dropped his forehead to hers and she saw him close his eyes. She knew he just. . .he just wanted them safe. To keep her alive, to safeguard their someday. She knew that. But it couldn't be at the cost of his sanity.

She feathered her fingers at the sides of his neck, felt the strong cords of tension. "If it means we spend every night of the foreseeable future sleeping in the panic room, Castle, I will do that."

He huffed out a breath along her cheek and she smiled, watched him slowly open his eyes to her. She nudged his nose to find his mouth, kissed him soft and sweet until she felt him melt a little more.

"Might buy us a better bed though," she said. "The cot's nice. But it won't survive another round like that."

He laughed then, a puff of air and a strangled noise but still a laugh.

"You have to get a full night's rest," she said firmly. "Even if it means you have nightmares, you have to sleep."

"Kate-"

She shook her head and straightened up in his embrace. "You know you won't do either of us any good if you're so tired that you're dropping the ball. You make mistakes."

He winced and rubbed a hand down his face. "Like leaving my phone here."

She nodded slowly and saw the truth of it hitting him. The Director. But he needed time. He needed time, and she wasn't going to add another layer of misery or failure to his load.

"Okay," he said, his jaw working. "You're right."

She let out her breath and ignored the voice telling her she should talk to him. "We'll sleep down here," she said again. "I'm serious, love. If this is the one place you feel safe enough to let go - and it obviously is, you passed out on me-"

He grunted and his hands were suddenly hot over her skin, sliding up her shirt. "I leave you hanging?"

"It's okay," she murmured, stilling his touch. "I got what I wanted."

She knew it wasn't the answer he wanted, but he laced his fingers at her back and nodded, like he finally got it. Sex? That was what convinced him he needed to slow down, that he needed to sleep?

Fine. If that's what it took.

"I'm serious," she said then, tracing the edge of his jaw with her fingernails. "You've got to replace this cot."

He gave a better laugh at that, and she knew then they'd work through it.

He just needed some sleep.

Castle opened the door with her badge number - they needed to change that soon - and the dog came bounding inside, happy to see them again, tail wagging. Kate pushed past them both to get to the stairs and he watched her mount them efficiently, heading for the kitchen.

He paused on the bottom step and couldn't bring himself to follow. The dog butted her head into his thigh and he reached back, stroked between Sasha's ears. The soft fur and the rhythmic movement soothed him, and then Kate was at the doorway, glancing back at him.

"You coming up?" she called down.

"You getting us food?"

"And the dog food," she nodded.

"You need help?"

She tilted her head and laughed. "Stay down there then, lazy bones." She disappeared from view and he scratched at Sasha's head, wondered what his deal was, why he was so reluctant to go up there.

The house was secure. The alarm had been set from her phone app inside the panic room door, but he felt drawn to the closeness of the small space, the absolute security. He didn't think it was fear - the nightmares were one thing - but if it wasn't fear, then he didn't know what it was.

Kate was suddenly coming back down the stairs and he saw she'd brought a whole bag of stuff with her. "Sasha, food upstairs," she called. "Go get it, puppy."

Sasha pulled away from his fingers and headed up towards her, seemed to understand what she'd said as she pushed past Kate and moved for the open kitchen door. Castle took the bag from her and pulled out a bottle of water, twisted open the cap.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Midnight snack," she grinned. "Now that you're awake."

"And now that I'm awake, I got plans for you. Finish what I started." He wriggled his eyebrows at her and she shook her head on a laugh.

"Eat first. I got plans for you too." She tossed him a banana from the bag and leaned in, kissed his bare shoulder as she passed.

When he turned to follow her back into the panic room, a measure of ease came over him that couldn't be ignored.

She was playing along, letting him be neurotic and controlling, but he knew he'd reach a breaking point with her. Sooner or later, she'd want to push past this and get him help - Dr King, probably.

But he could do this; he needed a few days to really sleep, to let his guard down, and he'd be good to go again.

He could be good for her.

"Rick," she called.

He snapped back to the present and stepped inside the room.

"Shut the door," she murmured and gave him a long, slow smile that made his body light up.

He sat against the army trunk at the foot of the cot and popped another grape into his mouth. She'd chosen healthy stuff - his kind of food - and he had to admit, it was a comfort. Back to his old routines, the ones that he knew worked. Filling his body with stuff that made him stronger.

Kate stood in front of the wall of weapons, his arsenal, and touched everything, swapping stories with him about the various guns or knives she'd used before. Or had used on her.

"This one," she laughed. "I know this one."

He shrugged and sucked the juice from the grape, swallowed it. "Yeah?"

"A bunch of punks in Chinatown had these. Acted like a street gang, pretty heavy posers."

"Name?"

"Foon-Foon."

He laughed and lifted his eyebrow at her, pushed another grape between his teeth. "You serious? Foon-Foon."

"Yeah, from my time in Vice. They all had older brothers in the Flying Dragons. Anyway, they loved this gun; they all had one."

He chewed on the grape and she came back to him, stroked her fingers through her hair even as she sat down on the army trunk near his head. He leaned against her thigh, his cheek pressed tightly to the warmth of her jeans, smelling the concrete and sweat of their night in her clothes.

"The NYPD-" he started.

But she gripped his ear and shook him a little. "Not talking about that right now, love."

"We're not?" He dug his chin into her knee and looked at her. "Thought this was the time to talk."

"Don't get me wrong, we still have stuff to sort through. But in it's own time, Castle."

"So that's a no on coming back to the CIA with me?" he murmured.

She sighed and her fingers tripped along his neck, rubbed down to his shoulder and beneath the cotton of his tshirt. "I'm not saying that. We have two more weeks before I have to let them know."

He sighed and pressed his lips to her wrist, closed his eyes. She was right. He didn't want to have this conversation right now.

"Rick, don't get me wrong. I want a new life for us. I do. I just want to be able to live with myself when we get there."

He opened his eyes and lifted his chin to look at her; she seemed so regretful, so remorseful, like she had a weight of guilt on her shoulders because of him.

"I want you to be able to live with yourself - but I want you to be able to live with me too."

She closed her eyes with a stuttering breath and shook her head. "No. That's not what I meant."

He sat up straighter, pulling away from her hand, his elbows on his knees. "This is who I am, Kate. I'm a brutal man-"

Her hands were suddenly skating down his chest, her mouth on his jaw, his cheek, moving to his lips. He reached back and caught her behind her neck; she shifted off the trunk and down into his lap in a moment.

"You're not," she insisted. "You're not a brutal man. You manage to do this so well, Rick; you haven't let all the shades of grey corrupt you. You keep pushing for what's right."

"If that's true at all," he sighed. "Then it's because of you."

She shook her head and gripped his shoulders. "Castle," she sighed.

"You're the strongest woman I know," he muttered, brushing his fingers over her cheeks. "Kate, you're exactly what the CIA could use. Someone who doesn't back down, who makes us do the right thing. Who will not compromise."

"I don't know that I can," she whispered and bowed forward into his chest.

"Okay," he said quietly, putting his palm to the back of her neck, nuzzling close. He wondered if it was because she couldn't associate with the organization his father held in such lofty esteem. The man who'd tried to murder her. He shivered and drew her closer. "Okay. I get it. I understand. We've got two weeks. I won't push you anymore."

She shook her head against him. "Pushing me is good," she said into his skin. "I need to be pushed."

"Don't want to break you, love," he murmured, stroking his hand down her neck. "Two weeks."

She nodded then, slumping into his body.

He wasn't the only one who needed help. Two weeks and they both would go see Dr King.

He'd finally fallen asleep.

She was serious about staying down here for as long as he needed it. He'd made modifications to their bedroom too, she knew - reinforced doors, easily defensible, a quit exit down to the street - but the panic room sealed up tight and allowed no chance for error.

Kate shifted away from him slowly, but the cot was a narrow fit and she didn't have far to go. He was putting out heat like a radiator, and she hadn't figured out the thermostat yet, but she didn't try to get up. She was afraid he'd wake.

He was on his back, his face finally smoothed by sleep, the lines erased. One hand was against his chest, the other curled at her shoulder, and she lifted up on one elbow to study him.

Deeply asleep now, thank goodness, and an ease to his body that had been missing for a while now. When they'd found this townhouse only six weeks ago, something hard in him had let go, as if he'd needed to be settled, needed it permanent in order for him to truly believe it.

She stroked her fingers lightly over his forearm, the warm skin and the soft brush of hair. She couldn't help leaning in and kissing his wrist, laying her head down against his chest once more. Listening to his heart. It'd been a long time since she'd been awake when he was not, a longer time since she'd felt easy enough herself to let it all break down, fall apart. She closed her eyes to keep back the press of tears; it'd only be relief anyway, and she wasn't going to waste any more time on something that hadn't happened.

She was alive. He was alive. They were together.

It'd been so. . .strange between them the past few months, like they were moving towards opposite goals, like they weren't even understanding each other any more. Kate had been working on getting reinstated with the NYPD, and he'd been clearing things up at the CIA so he could take over the job here in New York. She'd thought being in charge of operations for Eastern Europe might actually put him at ease, and it had seemed to - at first. But the last few weeks, details of the move and probably his fear over keeping it quiet had thrummed tension so tightly in him that nothing had been good enough.

She hadn't been good enough.

Kate closed her eyes tighter and pushed it away, all of it. Tension and fear and all the near-misses they'd had these last few months had made them both edgy and tentative. She was ready to get back to them, to how good it was, and today had been the first time in weeks that she felt like that was possible.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him sleep.

But they were getting there; they were finding their way again.

The wedding reception was in eight days, a nice family thing at her father's cabin in upstate New York, and then a few days at a place nearby, just the two of them, a chance to reestablish their connection, grow stronger before they went back to work.

Kate heard the change in the rhythm of his heart and lifted her head, felt the dampness at the corner of her eyes. He was moving now, shifting awake, and she pressed her body into his in the hopes that he'd feel her and fall back asleep instead.

She swiped at her eyes when he stirred again, discreetly dried her cheeks. She hadn't been crying, not really, and she didn't want him to think she had.

"Hey," he rumbled, his eyes flickering open.

And then he smiled at her, and everything seemed to slide back into place.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Sorry," he sighed out, and his eyes slid shut once more. "Tired."

"Sleep, love," she murmured back, stroking her fingers over his forearm once more. "I want you to sleep."

And he was gone again, just like that.

Kate watched him for a long time, and then she laid her head down against his chest and tried to breathe past the knot in her throat.

She woke before him and slowly withdrew from the circle of his arms, slipped out of the cot and to the warm tile floor. She lifted her arms and combed her fingers through her hair, caught it up at her neck and shook the pony tail to cool herself off.

Beckett found the thermostat controls and kicked on the air conditioning, licked her lips in the sudden gust of cool air. She shivered and found Castle's tshirt, shrugged it on. She moved for the door, but hesitated at the control panel.

She was afraid of leaving him here alone. She was afraid of what would happen if she wasn't here to ease him down after one of his dreams.

Kate glanced back to him and her stomach growled once more, letting her know. She'd eaten an apple and a handful of grapes, a slice of pizza earlier tonight, and she didn't even know if they had food in the house.

She didn't even know what time it was. It could be nine in the morning for all she knew (though it felt like two or three). Kate padded back to the cot and leaned over him, didn't know how that might help at all, but she felt better seeing how deeply he slept.

She pivoted on her heel and punched in the code, let the door slide open to the panic room. She took a deep breath of cellar air - a little bit of mold, some sawdust, wood - and hurried up the stairs. She nudged open the kitchen door and the dog was there, struggling up from the floor, still half-asleep.

"Hey, Sasha," she murmured, hunching over to rub the dog's fur. Sasha woofed low in her throat and licked her hand. "Hush, honey. Hush."

Sasha hung her head and followed at Kate's heel as she moved for fridge. No leftover pizza, but she snagged a water bottle. The door slammed shut on her and she jumped, biting her bottom lip, listening intently towards the cellar.

She turned to the pantry and opened it, but there was nothing at all. No bread, no crackers, not even any cans of food. She tried to remember if there'd been anything in their pantry at her apartment, but it'd been a few weeks since they'd had the time to cook.

She was starving.

Kate glanced to the clock on the stove, but they hadn't set it yet. She sighed and left the water on the counter and wished she'd thought to look at her phone before she'd left the panic room. She headed for the living room searching for a clock.

If this were any other day, any other time, she'd run out and get something from the market at the corner. Or find a twenty-four hour Chinese place.

Kate groaned. She could really go for some lo mein. Steamed vegetables. Shit. Now her mouth was watering and heading back down into that cellar was entirely unappealing.

But if he woke and she wasn't there-

Sasha whined and nudged her hip; Kate thoughtlessly stroked the girl's fur, standing in the middle of her living room.

Was it even safe to run out in the middle of the night? Black was nowhere to be found, and she didn't trust - for a moment - that Castle's father had truly left them in peace. Bracken - she could handle Bracken. She'd seen the furious impotency in his eyes; she had him by the balls.

Sasha's head lifted and her body turned away from Kate, her ears alert. Kate sucked in a breath and turned as well, saw that the dog had oriented to the cellar door.

Kate took off at a run, tried not to fall down the stairs as she took them two at a time. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry, and the damn dog was tangling her up.

She stumbled down the last two steps, cracked her knee into the floor, and struggled up. She swung through the open door to the panic room and halted, breathless, inside.

He was asleep. It was fine.

He was still asleep.

Fuck.

They were - separately - falling apart.

It had to change.