Close Encounters 7

He startled awake on a shout and everything dissolved. Kate was on her knees beside the cot and her hand was at his chest, soothing and soft, and he blinked into awareness quickly.

"Kate," he rasped.

"I'm here," she said, and he felt her forehead drop to his hip. Castle reached up and tangled his fingers with hers over his chest. She let out a long breath and he turned slowly onto his side, dislodging her.

She lifted her head and looked at him, something dark in her eyes. "Time's it?"

"I don't know," she said.

He didn't like the way she looked. Something wrong. "What's going on?"

She shook her head.

"Kate," he said, clearing his throat. "Was I dreaming?"

She nodded.

"Sorry."

She shrugged and avoided his eyes. "It's not your fault. I just wish you could get one good night's sleep. Just one. I think it would help."

He nodded and struggled to sit up. "I don't remember the dream," he said, even though he knew it didn't help. "You okay? Did I wake you?"

She shook her head. "I was up."

Still, something was broken where it hadn't been before.

He put his feet to the floor and reached out to stroke his fingers through her hair, cup her cheek in his palm. She tilted her head into his touch and he felt it then, the dampness of her skin and the grit of salt.

She'd been crying?

"Kate," he whispered.

"I'm okay," she said quickly, her eyes opening, her head lifting again.

He sank down to the floor and wrapped his arms around her, his heart clenching, his grip too fierce. She let out a shaky breath and didn't lie again, just sank into him with her hands fisting at his bare back. He pulled her into his lap and cradled her there, long-limbed and lithe and strong, and she didn't cry, but he knew it was a close thing.

"Kate."

He felt her swallow hard at his neck, and he clutched her tighter.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know," she growled out, her arms like bands around him. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you. Nothing's wrong at all. We've been through some awful stuff, Kate, and you never talk about it. You've got to-"

"Like you talk about it?"

He closed his mouth and gripped her tighter. "I'm - I plan on calling Dr King in the morning," he admitted. "I need to - at the very least - get some sleep again."

"Yes," she breathed out.

"Are you - am I waking you up?" he murmured, nudging her cheek with his nose to get her to look at him. She tightened her arms a moment and then let him go with a sigh. "Kate, I'm keeping you up, aren't I?"

"No, not - you're not keeping me up," she said, shaking her head a little. "I'm just - I'm afraid to leave you. Afraid to get up to go the bathroom or run down the street for bread or-"

"Shit," he groaned. "Kate. You don't - you're not responsible for my sleep." He rubbed at his eyes and sighed. "Having you in bed with me doesn't keep me from having a nightmare. You should feel free to-"

"It's not just that," she muttered.

He paused and looked at her. "What. . .else is it?"

She was chewing on her lip and her arms were curled up at her chest, her stare somewhere between them. "I'm afraid you'll be. . .gone. Afraid I'll wake up on my kitchen floor. Afraid I don't get to keep you. Afraid you'll widow me-"

"Kate," he sighed, wrapping her up in his arms again and drawing her close. "I wish I'd never agreed to that damn plan."

"Me too," she said in a small voice.

Fuck. He'd broken her, hadn't he? All his damn fault.

And then she was shaking him off, standing up, growling as she snagged a hand through her hair and pushed it back. He stared up at her and she reached out for him, her fingers wriggling, a pasted-on smile branding her lips.

"No more of this," she said firmly. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

He took her hand and let her help him up, came swaying to his feet at her side. She nodded firmly and shucked the tshirt off over her head, his tshirt, handed it to him.

"Get dressed. I wanna go get Chinese food."

He took the shirt from her, wordlessly put it on as he stared at her. Chinese food?

"I'm not this person, and neither are you," she said, her eyebrows knitting together. "Shake it off, Castle. We'll call Dr King, and we'll be fine."

She looked like she wanted him to convince her, like her own determination could only take her so far. So he nodded and squeezed her hand, led her out of the panic room and to the stairs. Because she was right; they'd been through enough. He wanted to be done with it.

"Chinese food," he said. "You know an all-night place?"

"No. But we can find one." Her fingers laced through his and she came up at his back, warm and vibrant. "And then we'll do whatever the hell we want to do. Stay up, have sex, watch tv. Or, even better - unpack the boxes in the living room."

"I liked the have sex part of that one."

She laughed and nudged him forward. "Maybe as a reward for unpacking."

"After every box?" he grinned, turning to look at her in the darkness of their kitchen.

She grinned back, her smile wide and beautiful, her eyes so rich and deep and happy again that it made his heart fill. She was amazing - resilient and compassionate and tough.

"I can agree to something fun after every box," she said, her voice sultry and sweet at the same time.

"Deal."

He hadn't broken her. They weren't broken. This was not going to break them.

She was in flipflops, jeans, a loose tank top. Her hair was a mess and she'd just pulled it back in a sloppy pony tail. She hadn't even found her makeup in all the boxes they still had to unpack, and for some reason, she felt better than she had in weeks.

Maybe it was the lo mein, maybe it was that they were ignoring the rules and eating dinner at three in the morning, or maybe it was just that they'd punched through the last of their fragile reserve with each other.

When a man's father tried to execute you, not a whole lot could be said to make that right. At the same time, not a whole lot was left unknown.

She sat cross-legged in the plastic booth and sucked down another noodle, already filled pleasantly with sweet and sour, Castle across from her as he tore into Peking duck in sweet bean sauce. She snaked her chopsticks to his plate and stole a piece, ate it with relish.

"Mm, good," she remarked.

He nodded. "Yours?"

"Fantastic. Never tasted so good."

He chuckled, eyes lifted to hers. "Know the feeling."

They ate without many words, mostly grunts and lifts of eyebrow, smirks of mouth, the ocassional nudge of hands as chopsticks tangled. She sampled his more exotic menu items and he stole her steamed vegetables in between bites of calamari and duck and fish.

He ate a lot, she was noticing. Had he really been eating at all these last few months? She couldn't remember a time when they'd last sat down like this, couldn't remember planning a meal together, let alone going out.

Yeah, they were done with this. She wasn't going to let Black ruin things for them. He hadn't come between them, and he wasn't going to poison everything around them either. Not anymore than he'd already tainted, already spoiled. She'd fought hard to keep that day in the alley from coloring her world with Castle, and she wasn't going to let the specter of Black's disappearance throw a shadow over it now.

She lifted her leg and pushed her foot across the booth, tucked her toes up under his thigh. He grunted in surprise and gave her a fleeting look, smile and confusion both.

But really, there should be no doubt.

She curled her toes and slid her foot behind his knee, tugged a little. He let out a scolding breath, wrapped his fingers around her ankle. His touch was a brand. They'd always said the best things with sex, and while they'd had to learn ways to compensate for the times they'd been healing or in recovery, she still felt like their connection here, in this, was powerful.

He was shifting to one hip and pulling his wallet from his back pocket to pay the check.

She grinned. "Ready to unpack boxes?"

"Not sure about that. But definitely ready for the fun afterwards."

"Consider it a reward," she murmured.

He put cash down and gestured for her to come; she slipped her foot back into her flipflop and got up from the booth, took his hand in hers.

"Might be a little too full for fun," she admitted, pulling her lip between her teeth.

He laughed. "Yeah, me too. In fact, might have to crash when we get home."

Home.

She stepped in close to him and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. She could already tell. Things were going to be different.

"Let's go home."

After a few days, they'd moved out of the panic room finally. At least there was that.

Boxes were still piled in the living room like an obstacle course, but Castle had discovered that Kate had a frighteningly good memory, and she knew exactly were to go to find things still packed away. And she'd done their bedroom practically by herself while he was undergoing endurance training at the gym.

The only bad part was how little they actually owned.

Her apartment had been blown up and so many of her things ruined, but she'd salvaged the mementos and he'd found a guy to restore some of the heirloom pieces she had, but there was still so little. The statue of the wings that he'd had shipped from Rome had survived, though they looked liked the angel had gone through hellfire to get there.

Kate had put the wings on the dining room table this time, a table they'd found online and bought just to have something to eat on. The couch was new, though neither of them liked it much, and he'd brought the chair and bed from his old place to help fill the rooms. Most of the bedroom suite from her apartment was intact, and he was glad that at least the master would feel the same.

But he wanted to make it home for her.

So one day a few weeks later, after Castle had spent six hours dividing his time between the nutritionist and the gun range and the sparring floor, he went shopping on the sly. He'd showered in the locker room and his clothes were clean, but he felt completely ridiculous walking inside the boutique store in his black shirt and dark grey army pants.

At least his knife wasn't strapped to his thigh.

He was looking for a wedding present. Or a wedding reception present. Or an official in the state of New York present. Whatever. He wanted a gift for his wife, something she would treasure and attach memories to just like the things she'd managed to pull from the rubble of her apartment.

The store was one he'd researched online beforehand, and it was truly eclectic - a mix of old and new, ultra modern and deeply traditional. The things inside actually reminded him of Kate, had the sense of her, and where he could easily stroll into any designer store in the city and pick a dress with confidence, this kind of shopping seemed subjective and prone to disaster.

She was a mystery, in so many ways, and finding just the right thing that would appeal to her mashed up, quirky, bohemian sensibilities felt impossible.

But she loved her wedding ring, right? She loved it, and he had picked it out alone.

He could do this.

When his phone rang, Castle hunched his shoulders like a hunted man and tugged the iphone out of his pocket. But Kate was calling.

"Hey, love."

"Oh, Castle, hey. Look, I'm stuck at the 12th."

"Oh. Okay," he murmured.

"I've got a ridiculous amount of paperwork - I'm totally behind - and if I want to get reinstated, I've got to clear this. Me and the boys are gonna camp out here for the night. You okay with that?"

Well, what could he say to that?

"I'm fine, Kate."

He heard rustling on her end and he shuffled to one side to allow a customer to move past him.

"Rick," she was murmuring, her voice low and rich. "I hate for you to be alone tonight."

"I'm fine," he repeated. They'd moved out of the panic room a few days ago; he'd be fine.

"I'll be surrounded by armed police officers, but what about you?" she sighed.

He forced a laugh through his mouth and shook his head. "Sweetheart, you're cute. But I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Do your work."

"Love you, super spy."

"Don't let it get around," he grumbled back, just to hear that spicy laugh on the other end.

She didn't disappoint, but then she'd ended the call and he was alone.

He went to her father's.

He didn't know what else to do and the thought of sleeping alone in their room with all that house around him, the boxes unpacked and hulking in the darkness. . .

He didn't want to take the backwards step of sleeping in the panic room once more, so he threw some clothes into a bag, clipped the leash on Sasha, and took the Range Rover upstate. Castle didn't even call; he just went.

Jim was opening the cabin door as Castle pulled up the gravel drive; the man wiped his hands on a dish towel and slung it over his shoulder, watched as Castle let Sasha bound out of the vehicle.

"Son," Jim greeted him, grinning and shaking his hand when he mounted the steps. "You alone?"

"Kate had work."

"Glad you came to visit. Been a while."

Castle nodded and bobbed his head, realized he'd just gone running to her father so he wouldn't have to be alone tonight. He was truly messed up.

"Come on in. You can help me make dinner."

Castle was shucking corn on the kitchen table, his fingers tangled in skeins of hair, and even though the white strands were limp and clinging, and nothing at all like Kate's soft, dark tumble, he was thinking about her.

"Not that I don't enjoy the company, but what exactly pushed you out here, Rick?"

He startled and glanced up at her father. The man was pulping lemons and adding the fruit to a glaze he was making on the stovetop. It smelled sharp and citrusy and exotic, and Caslte knew they'd be having some of the best fish fillets tonight.

"I - uh - I don't know."

"I think you do," Jim said evenly. "But I won't push you. I'm glad you're in my daughter's life, you know? It's been good for her. I can see a difference - a marked difference."

Castle's throat closed up and he stared down at the corn in his hands. There was a difference all right. "Yes, sir."

"She's a happier person. She didn't do a lot of laughing after Johanna died."

"I'm not sure I can claim that," he offered grimly. He heard Jim's bark of laughter and brought bleak eyes back up to the man.

"You are entirely the reason for it. I saw the two of you here at the cabin that spring. After you were stabbed. Even with that. . .Rick. Maybe you don't see it. But I'm her father. I see it."

It burned in him - the need to confess all. Lay it bare. Have the man look at him for what he was rather than some mysterious, romantic secret agent his daughter had dragged in.

"I have to. . ." His throat closed up and he didn't know how to say it. "My father has. . ."

"Kate told me about him," Jim said gravely. He'd stopped stirring the glaze and came now to the kitchen table, sank into a chair. "I'm sorry for that, Rick. You have to know that's not right. No father should be like that."

"I don't think you've heard all of it," he said darkly.

"Is there. . .more?" Jim asked. Castle lifted his gaze but there was no hesitation on the man's face, no reluctance. Just grave concern.

For him. For Castle.

"He tried to shoot Kate."

Jim's face leached of color so fast Castle thought he might hit something.

"I'm sorry," he rasped.

Jim shook his head. "Not your fault." And even though the words were automatic, polite maybe, Castle could see that Jim meant them. Castle didn't deserve to have him mean them.

"The fuck it's not," he growled back, pressing his fisted hands into his eyes. He was doing this badly. So very badly. Cursing at her father? He needed to get control. "It's my fault completely. He tried to execute her and I nearly - I was two seconds from - it almost happened."

He felt the clawed grip of her father on his arm and groaned, kept his face hidden. "Rick, son-"

He shuddered. "I'm so damn sorry. I wish I'd never - she shouldn't be - it's too much. I love her too much to do the right thing and let her go, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I need her."

"Rick."

Castle jerked his head up, felt the man's hands clutching hard on his shoulders, saw his burning concern.

"You leave her, and I will come hunt you down. You hear me?"

He took a ragged breath. "I'm not leaving her."

"Just so we're clear."

He nodded, his head feeling disembodied, too loose, and Jim was the only thing keeping him weighted.

"Son, listen to me."

Every time. Was it merely a way of speaking, or did he mean it? Did he say son and mean it?

"Katie's a police officer. She's faced down some pretty gruesome things, some pretty psychotic people. She was on the trail of a serial murderer for six weeks - about, oh, three years ago? She's a tough woman. She's an adult. And she's found something in you that finally matches her, strength for strength. But more than that. . ."

Castle swallowed hard and struggled to keep a grip on himself.

"More than that, son. . .she's found a partner. Someone who fills in on her weakest parts, someone she can do the same with. Someone who makes her better because of how you two complement each other. Really, what more can a father ask?"

"I can't give her normal," he whispered. "I want to. I want her to have everything, but with me it won't ever be-"

Jim's hand squeezed so tightly that Castle winced and shut his mouth.

"Son. I don't think you heard me. My daughter is a homicide detective. Her mother was murdered when she was only nineteen and it's bent her in ways we still can't yet see. Normal. . .son, normal isn't normal any more. Normal would be restricting Kate, putting fetters on her. She's so much more than normal."

Something in Castle's chest eased at her father's words, set free the beast that had been chewing up his insides. Only he found it wasn't a beast when it was let go, just. . .

love. He just loved her.

Sasha startled him with a head butt against his thigh, and Jim was releasing his shoulders to pet the wolf, stroking long down her back. "What a good beast. Aren't you? Hey there, Sasha. You want out?"

And then Jim was rising from the chair and headed for the door, clicking it open so that the kitchen light spilled outside.

The darkness didn't come in; it couldn't. Opening the door did nothing more than shine a small, warm circle out there. So that they could see their way.

Jim took the dog out and Castle sat at the kitchen table, shaking.

Kate called at midnight and Castle roused from the guest bed and answered, Sasha whining low in her throat at the movement.

"Hey, sweetheart," she murmured. "I caught a break."

"You calling to check up on me?" he hummed.

"Yeah," she answered.

He sighed but it was good to hear her voice, the throaty way she greeted him. "I went to your dad's."

"Oh?" she laughed. "Well, good. I'm glad. Sasha with you?"

"Uh-huh, and she is so not amused by you waking her."

"She can get over it," Kate shot back.

Castle quirked an eyebrow at the wolf in the darkness and Sasha yawned, put her head on his hip. He ruffled her ears. "How's it going there?"

"We've got maybe another couple hours of this, and then I'll sleep on the couch in here."

"You eat dinner?"

"We ordered pizza."

"Of course," he intoned, sleepy again. "Hey Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"I love your dad."

She laughed again, but it cut off suddenly, a strange hitch that made his heart tumble.

"I love him too. And you, Castle. So the fact that you love him, that you guys are - close. That's just. . .that makes me happy."

He eased back to the mattress and let out a breath. "I told him. What happened."

She was silent for a long time. "I hadn't gotten around to it yet. I didn't know what to say. Or if it was even my place."

"Your place?" he choked. "Why - what would-"

"Castle," she said quietly. "It's your father. Your. . .I don't want to - it's already so tangled."

"It's - yes, fine," he growled. "But Kate, it happened to you. He tried to kill you. Whoever and whatever else he is - you're more. You're everything. And-"

"I know," she said calmly. "I know exactly where we stand, Rick Castle. But it's you I'm worried about. It's you, sweetheart. I don't know what this does to you."

He sucked in a deeper breath and closed his eyes, saw the darker darkness swimming behind his lids. "I don't know what it's done to me either."

"I love you, Rick."

"And I love you," he breathed back. He struggled to let the tension seep out of him again, but it was hopeless. He just wanted it to not be so difficult. "Tell me a dirty story to lull me back to sleep."

She laughed, but he heard her moving, heard the quickness of her breath, and was she really going to-

"Okay. Once upon a time-"

"Dirty stories do not start like fairy tales."

"All mine do. So hush your mouth and listen. Also?"

"Yeah?" he got out.

"Be quiet. I don't want my Dad to hear you."

He groaned and wiped a hand down his face. "Way to kill the mood."