Close Encounters 7

Jim was up at five for the fishing, and Castle left him then, a tight squeeze of a hug from her father that did something to the ache in his chest. Made it less.

"Thank you, sir."

"Any time, Rick. You're always welcome here, son."

He nodded and opened the car door for Sasha; Wolf bounded inside and sat in the front seat with her tongue hanging out with that predatory smile she had. Castle turned back to Jim and couldn't help shaking his hand.

"Remember what I said," Jim laughed, slapping his back firmly. "You try to ditch her and I'm coming after you."

"That will never happen."

"I know. Besides. You're mine now too, son."

Castle stared at him as Jim pulled back; the man was grinning, dressed for early morning fishing with his hand still curled protectively over his coffee mug even as he headed towards the cabin.

"Go drag my daughter out of the 12th," Jim called out, nodding as he stepped back up onto the porch.

Castle had no problem doing that.

When he called, she was home. So he drove straight there without stopping and entered the house with a rush of breath. Sasha jerked out of his loose grip and trailed the leash after her as she ran for the kitchen and, presumably, Kate.

He followed and found her there, looking tired but happy. He leaned in and found her mouth.

Mm, she tasted like sweetened lemons. "Hey there," he murmured into her kiss, smiling as she pulled back and leaned against the kitchen counter. The room was filled with late morning sunlight and he felt at ease for the first time since he'd left.

"Hey. Good drive?"

"Not too bad," he answered. She had a look on her face that meant he hadn't given enough information and he searched for a way to be more thorough. "Just long when I miss you."

"I like you missing me," she said with a pleased smile. Success then. He'd fulfilled whatever quota of information she was looking for that meant he'd shared the right amount.

"You do, huh?"

"All pitiful and needy. And so easy. How long did that take last night when I called? Not even four minutes-"

He huffed a little, but she was right. He'd been on edge and she'd taken him right over. Quickly. "You have a dirty mouth," he whispered, darting in to nip at her ear.

"Oh, hey," she murmured, gasping a little with a laugh. "How was training yesterday? You've been back for a week now."

"Good. Passed the qualifiers."

"Good. So you're back? Just that easy?"

He shrugged. "That easy."

She was stroking the line of his biceps with her fingers and her smile quirked up again. "I like you in training."

"I'm getting the feeling that you, Kate Beckett, just plain like me."

"There is that. But when you're training, you're all rock hard and commanding." She scraped her nails lightly over his arms. "And you sleep like the dead too."

He had to roll his eyes at that, but she was right there too. His nightmares had been subsumed into the rigors of his training schedule, and he supposed that was what had always happened to him before. Whatever issues or traumas he'd faced in the field had been beaten down by his subsequent ready-for-action drills.

"At least I'm not waking you," he shrugged. She shook her head on another smile and lifted on her toes to press her mouth to his.

"Did my dad tell you about the bed and breakfast?"

"Yeah," he said, a grin flickering at the corners of his lips. "Sounds perfect - just what we're looking for."

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. He settled in beside her at the kitchen counter, elbows on the granite, nudging her shoulder with his. She was smoothing her fingers over more paperwork - it looked like health benefits or something for the NYPD.

"It is perfect," she said finally. "And it's really secluded. I couldn't even find it on the map when I did a search."

He grinned wider. "Your dad's a smart guy."

She hummed a little and her cheek came to his arm, a press like she was agreeing with him but wouldn't say it out loud. "I booked it for us."

He unfurled his fingers from the fist he'd been unconsciously making and stroked the edge of her elbow. Curved and strong and warm. They stood hunched over the counter in silence, and then he wrapped his fingers around her arm and leaned in to brush a kiss to her cheek.

"Love you, Kate."

She curled and came into him, her arms at his neck and her mouth finding his for a warm press of lips. She gave a little contented noise and swayed with him in the kitchen like she was dancing to some slow, quiet music.

She still hadn't said whether or not she'd come back to the CIA with him when he started his new job, and though he badly wanted her there, he was more than grateful for the time they had now to just exist. Find a new normal.

Finally her lips trailed his jaw and she sighed. "Love you too."

Dr King saw them together first, had them answer questions as they sat in deep, modern chairs across from him. The interview was extensive, and Castle realized that both of them were finding it difficult to be blunt about these things. To put words to the state they were in.

Castle's appointment was tomorrow morning, so when King concluded the joint session, Rick had to stand up and leave her there. It felt wrong, and she looked like she was facing a firing squad.

Fuck.

He stood swaying on the carpet, his heart pounding too hard and her eyes on his in good-bye. A stray thought like that - facing a firid squad - and suddenly he was back in that alley, feeling his father's skull crunch under his fist.

"Castle?" she asked, unfolding from the chair and standing to meet him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he got out, shaking his head. This was her session now, and his was tomorrow, and it could wait. He could wait. She was fine; they both needed to do this, no matter how uncomfortable it was.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and she came into him, her body pressed to his. He curled an arm up at her back and pressed his nose to her neck and breathed, felt his chest ease marginally.

"I'll be fine," she murmured to him, her thumb pushing into the hard joint of his wrist bones. "You'll be fine. Go make us some fantastic culinary work of art for dinner."

She stepped back, her palm pressed to his chest, her eyes a little haunted but smiling. Dinner. Right. She'd be hungry by the time she got out. He could do that.

"See you at home," he said then, and even though he tried - he couldn't find a smile of his own.

He scoured the internet on his phone for the most complicated recipe he could find. He'd taken the subway, and even though the connection was slow, it occupied his mind enough to keep him from thinking about all the things that still crowded his nightmares.

He settled on lamb shanks with almond chocolate picada. The recipe asked for the meat to marinade overnight, but only if possible and it looked like it would be fine if he was just a guy with four hours to kill.

He made a note on his phone of the ingredients he'd need: red wine, carrots, onion, leek, garlic, lemon, tomatoes and spices, as well as the lamb shanks. He scanned the next few stops and tried to oreint himself to the city map in his head, recalling a local grocery store on 23rd. He was almost there now, and he'd have to walk through the Flatiron District to get the subway home to Lower Manhattan, but it was worth it.

Maybe he'd just walk the twenty blocks instead. Wear himself out.

In the grocery store, Castle found himself checking for blind spots and doubling back on innocent customers, assuming the worst. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop looking for a tail, but this degree of alertness was ridiculous. The woman squeezing cantaloupes wasn't looking to assassinate him on the sidewalk.

After he'd paid with cash, he set out down Fifth Avenue, letting the crowds be his camoflague and ease his nerves as well. He'd bought a cloth shopping bag inside the grocery store and he carried it over his shoulder to keep his hands free, wondered how Kate was doing with Dr King back in Midtown.

His body was well-conditioned for the walk and he ate up the blocks with ease, the evening sky turning dark purple and dotted with the thin layers of haze. Where Fifth Avenue ran parallel to Union Square the traffic was thick, the pedestrians in a jumble, and he let himself get moved around the sidewalk and then he hustled across the crosswalk right as the light changed.

Washington Square seemed peaceful, if busy, and he skirted the edges of the park to avoid dog-walkers and groups of teenagers out for the summer. It took a few blocks more, but as he was angling for Broome Street finally his mind was on dinner and Kate and all the ways he was almost the man he needed to be. Almost. He was so close.

With his administrative job in New York, he'd have maybe two overseas mission every eight months, four a year at the very most, and he wanted her to come with him. He loved the way she brightened up the whole world with her natural grace and beauty, but he selfishly loved the way she made it better for him when he was out there.

She made it fun.

Their townhouse was sandwiched in between an apartment building and a row of more homes on Broome Street, the narrow balcony and blue door leading into a wealth of space for such a city. He unlocked the door and used his phone to disarm the control pad, locked everything back up again and reset the perimeter alarm.

He put the groceries on the counter and shucked his jacket, which he'd worn to hide his sidearm, and then he removed the weapon from its holster and checked it.

Paranoid. He was. He didn't deny it.

He holstered his gun again, but he took the whole contraption off, left it on the kitchen table where he could access it easily. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands, and then he set about making their dinner.

When he'd boiled away half the wine, he began adding the spices and vegetables, the heat in the kitchen making him sweat. Castle cleaned his fingers of carrot shavings and unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off his back with a grunt of relief. He pushed the undershirt up his abs and flared it out, creating something of a breeze before he tossed the dress shirt towards the living room floor.

He'd get it later.

Castle dressed the lamb, trimming fat and pieces that didn't look right, and then he placed the shanks in a bowl and left it in the fridge. The marinade was on the stove, the heat turned up higher so that the vegetables would cook faster, and now it was mostly waiting.

Too much time to think.

He checked the time and stirred the pot, and then he headed for the living room once more. He hung his shirt on the back of the armchair and opened one of the boxes still piled next to the couch.

They needed a coffee table, they needed furniture for the extra bedroom, they needed all those little touches that made the place home. The damn panic room was more complete than this place.

Castle found the box filled with items that he knew he'd seen in her bedroom, but she'd labeled it 'den'. He pulled out the blanket throw with its silk and tassels and velvet done in a collage of materials and prints, and he realized it was cradling a set of cast iron birds. One was painted bright azure, the same shade as their door, and the other was a softer baby blue. He liked them; the birds reminded him of her old room and the way he could always settle into it so easily.

He nestled the baby bird with its mother and put them both on the end table beside the couch, then he folded the throw rug and settled it over the ugly couch. Next from the box were the strange coat hooks on the weathered wooden base - each knob was made of colored beveled glass. She had an assortment of things below it, but he didn't think they were supposed to hang up on the hooks.

He'd have to ask. Still, he could nail this to the wall for her. Or at least find the hammer and nails to do the job when she told him where she wanted it.

He heard a gurgling from the kitchen and went back to the stovetop, stirred the marinade once more and lowered the temperature.

And then he realized he'd hadn't heard the dog in ages.

His heart flipped.

"Sasha?"

"Sasha, here girl," he called urgently.

His fingers were numb at the tips, that sensation of panic creeping up his arms, but he snatched his gun from the kitchen table and kept going. The living room and dining room were clear, and he headed upstairs for the empty front bedroom.

"Sasha, come on, puppy." He elbowed the closet door wider and even beat at the curtains, just in case. But she was a big dog; it wasn't like she could hide from him.

"Sasha, Sash, come here." He went down the hallway and to their bedroom at the back, ducked his head under the bed to check. Nothing. Not in the bathroom either, not trapped in the shower stall-

Trapped.

Shit.

Castle ran for the stairs and took them two at a time, beat a path back through the living room and to the kitchen.

The cellar door was shut.

He yanked it open and flew down the stairs, guilt flooding him.

He got to the bottom and saw that the door to the panic room was closed.

It was supposed to remain open.

"Sasha," he muttered, keying open the door at the panel and hearing the lock release. Immediately he could sense the dog in the room, heard her low woofs as he pushed the door open. Sasha came bounding out with a yelping bark and knocked into him, paws at his chest and tongue swiping his cheeks with a love he didn't deserve.

"Oh, Sasha, I'm so sorry," he soothed, dropping his weapon and stroking his fingers through her fur and under her collar.

The overgrown puppy wriggled against him and her tail wagged; she let out a few more low woofs, licking his jaw, his neck, his fingers as he hugged and petted her.

"Okay, wolf, all right. You need to go outside, don't you?"

Sasha barked and leaped for the stairs, leaving Castle to follow.

This time, when he got to the kitchen, he carefully shut the cellar door after him.

Kate's fingers trembled against the door knob of Dr King's session room, but she swiped her other hand at her cheeks one last time before twisting the knob open and heading out. The door led straight to the hallway inside the nondescript government building, and she didn't have to see anyone back in the lobby as she left.

They were lucky that Dr King had agreed to come to New York and do these sessions with them, even though the way she felt right now was the furthest from lucky she could get.

Kate scraped a hand through her hair and tugged, realized she'd done so much of that today that her scalp was bruised and her hair oily from repeated swipes. She sighed and dropped her hand, moved down the hallway for the elevators.

She stood on the balls of her feet until the car opened, stepped on with a handful of people also going down. She felt claustrophobic - she always did when she was emotionally wrecked - and she was the first off the elevator when it reached the ground floor.

She took the subway home, nearly getting on the wrong line and heading for her bombed-out apartment, remembering at the last second. She slipped inside the car and sank down to the orange plastic seat, battling back the urge to cry.

Not here, not over that. Not on the subway. She'd been a New Yorker her whole life; she'd already had her one free pass for crying on the subway.

But King had a way of diving right into it, hitting the nail on the head and forcing her to open her eyes. He'd remembered exactly where they'd left off at Stone Farm, and he'd been ruthless about getting her to admit how little she'd done in the way of forward progress.

You don't even have momentum going for you, Kate. You're stuck.

She wanted all those things that shined before her like pearls, but they were deep underwater, a place impenetrable and cold and dark. If she had to dive down there for those promises, for the rainbowed sheen of her future, she wasn't sure she could survive it.

Castle was nervous when he heard the key in the lock, wondered how he was supposed to explain what he'd done, letting the dog get trapped in the panic room. He'd see the carefully veiled recriminations in her eyes, the way she didn't say all the things they already knew - he was crazy, he was cracked, he was going to get someone hurt - probably her.

But when she came through the door, he was standing at the stove with the lamb shanks marinading, and she settled her bag on the table and then immediately turned and climbed the stairs.

She didn't even look at him.

"Kate?" He stepped away and came haltingly towards the entry where the stairs lifted towards the top floor, but she kept climbing. "Kate."

He came after her then, his hand on the banister, and she got to the landing before him but he was faster. He snagged her by the elbow and she shivered then crashed into his chest and nearly rocked him off-balance and back down the stairs.

He stumbled on the step but put his arms around her, guided them up to the second floor. "Kate. I'm sorry." He'd known it would be hard for her, that she wasn't the kind of person who worked well with therapy - at least, not at first - but he hadn't realized just how tightly her control was wound, just how easily shattered it was as well.

"I need to go to bed," she said then, her fingers coming up to his chest so she could push herself off.

"Want me to come?"

She shook her head. "Just - I'm just going to sleep. I'm so tired."

"Okay," he said quietly. Her fingers fisted in his shirt for a moment and then released, and she was walking down the hall to their bedroom door.

He stood there for a long time, even after she'd disappeared inside, and then he went back downstairs and set about putting dinner away.

Maybe he'd heat it up later.

She roused from darkness to the feel of arms around her and the warmth of him at her back. The shivering stopped, and his thigh pushed between her knees. She unfisted her hand from the bedspread and splayed her fingers out at his forearm, clung to him instead.

He didn't say anything, and she didn't have anything to give, but he stayed wrapped around her, smelling of woodsmoke and red wine, until she finally fell asleep.

He fell asleep with his nose pressed against the back of her neck. He hadn't meant to; he'd meant to stay up until - until whenever she needed him - but instead he found himself being dragged under.

He woke late in the night when Sasha jumped up on the bed, and the dog came and settled in the cove of Kate's curled body. He felt her fur brush against his arms and he unwrapped his fingers from Kate to scratch at Sasha's head.

"Good girl," he murmured. He should get up and take her out for the night.

In a minute. Sasha would wake him if it became urgent - that sharp, wet nose to his elbow or just at his jaw. Her usual method.

He returned his face to the warm skin at Kate's neck and took in a long breath, disturbing her hair and make it flutter. But she was heavy in his arms now, deeply asleep, and this might be the best time to leave her.

Castle sighed and shifted slowly away, pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.

"Come on, Sasha. Let's go outside."

The dog slunk off the bed and came to heel at his side, looking up adoringly at him. He petted her again and tucked his fingers under her collar, then he led the way to the front door and her leash.

She woke alone and heavy, a blanket pressing her down to the mattress. The room was dark, thick with the night outside and the things inside, and she pushed back the covers to sit up, groggy.

Had she dreamed Castle? No, the blanket had been him.

Kate rubbed a hand down her face and sucked in a long breath, put her feet to the floor and pushed up. There were less cracks in her, less leaking out, but there was still damage. She'd been on her knees willing to die for him, but now she couldn't talk to him?

King was right, and she had to get a handle on this.

She went looking for him.

The hallway was cast in long black shadows, no light penetrating the interior. She wobbled as she got her bearings, realized she hadn't eaten dinner. He'd smelled like food too, she remembered, and she headed for the kitchen first to see if he'd gone back to it.

The oven clock glowed green in the darkness, an irrepressible 10:09 on its face, and she turned on her heel to head back for the living room. The softness inside their home put her at ease; it was strange how only a few weeks living here had made it so completely theirs. It helped that it was off the radar, that the address wasn't registered to either of their names in a public search, but mostly it was the day to day living.

They'd created a home. And it didn't scare her now, even though she couldn't find him at this moment.

That was a step forward, wasn't it? That her security could be so complete after such a short time. That she not only sought Castle out as her refuge, like King had mentioned, but that she also worked with him to build it.

Surely she got points for that.

King always liked to challenge her; he used her innate sense of self-competition to push her forward, and it worked. She was pushed; she was ready to tackle things.

She wandered upstairs until she realized he wasn't there either, and she frowned as she headed back to the first floor. The cellar door was shut tight, but she gripped the knob and twisted it hard to pop it open, slapped her hand against the wall to find the light.

The harsh bulb illuminated mostly shadows, but after a few steps down, she could see the open door to the panic room. Empty.

He was gone.

Ah.

Her lips twitched as she headed back up the stairs.

So was the dog, she realized. Sasha was stealthy, sure, but she'd have come to Kate upstairs if she'd been sleeping in the empty extra bedroom. The dog had been doing that lately, or sleeping downstairs in the cellar, confused because they'd gone back to their bedroom after a few weeks of practically hibernating down there.

Kate slapped off the light and pushed the door shut with her hip, moved for the front door. She stepped into her shoes, hooked her finger in the back of her heel to smooth it out. The leash was missing from the entryway table, so Kate picked up her keys from the elephant's trunk and unlocked the door.

The night air was warm on her face, a soft breeze stirring, and she locked the door behind her as she came down the short steps to the sidewalk. She pushed her hands into her back pockets and glanced to either side.

She was just about to turn around and go inside to get her phone, hope he had his on him, when she saw the blurred outline down the block, heading away from her. She saw the dog's long tail and her nose to the ground, the sharp set of Castle's shoulders.

Kate let out a breath of relief and hustled forward, pulled her hands out of her pockets to move faster, her stride long and quick. The city was never really dark, but only a few cars came down Broome Street. She'd just made it to the impressive apartment building on the corner when Castle turned at her approach.

"Hey," she called.

"Hey there," he said as she came up to him. His hand was around the leash, but he didn't move to touch her. She appreciated the restraint, but she didn't need it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. He shivered as if he were cold, but it was humid out here even in the flickering breeze. The trees murmured overhead and Sasha nudged her nose against Kate's knee, as if in encouragement.

"Love you," she said quietly, and drew him down to meet her for a kiss.