Close Encounters 7
They took their time, walking the dog slowly up and down blocks, wandering and aimless. He held her hand in his with the leash wrapped between their palms, tangled in their fingers, and he let her talk about everything at her own pace, knowing she would if she was just given the time.
"It's good to have someone," she said quietly.
He chuckled. "What am I? Chopped liver?"
She knocked her head against his shoulder and he grinned over at her, a lamp illuminating the chagrined look on her face.
"Kidding, Kate. I go to CIA sessions after every mission."
"You do?" She cast him an almost anxious look. "You have someone?"
"Not a specific guy. They don't like us to form those kinds of attachments. But a team of psychologists. We get debriefed and someone from the team is always assigned. Not sure it does any good - mostly you keep yourself pretty guarded to avoid being assigned desk duty. But knowing they're there - yeah, sure, I guess."
She clutched harder at his fingers and they came across a strip of green, a gate guarding the park. It was locked, but Castle reached into his back pocket and pulled out his lockpicking tools.
"You're kidding me," she snorted.
He glanced over at her with a little grin. "What?"
"You carry that around with you?"
"Yeah, so?" He shrugged her off and worked at the gate until it clicked, a relatively easy job. He led them through and closed the gate after them, reached down to let Sasha off the leash. The dog stayed nearby though, roamed in ever-widening circles without going too far.
"Tell me about the assigned psychologist."
He laughed and gripped her by the back of the neck, brought her in close to kiss the corner of her mouth. She pushed her hand into the pocket of his jeans and he felt her fingers wriggling.
"Assigned psychologist. King was on the team at one point; that's how I knew about his methods when we were at Stone Farm. He's aggressive - not like the others. I thought you might like him."
"I do," she said slowly, and he heard hesitation in it.
"But?"
"But he churns things up. Which is good, I guess. Leaves me. . ."
"Ragged," he supplied. He'd seen her face when she walked in the door this evening.
"Yeah," she sighed out. "I'm not sure you're going to like me very much."
"Been there, done that, Kate. Stone Farm, remember?"
She barked a laugh that made Sasha turn her head towards them; he grinned back and guided them over to a bench, sank down and invited her to sit with him.
She did, her shoulder brushing his. "I'm going to be okay, Castle."
"I know you are." He was confident in that. "We both will. It takes some time, but it's worth it, love."
She nodded and her fingers came to his knee, made designs that burned along his skin. His love for her was so intense in this moment that he wanted to pull her inside himself, wanted to make her invincible to it all.
But that was impossible when the wounds were this deep.
"You're gonna have to make me talk to you, Castle," she said quietly. "My instinct is to crawl into bed and shut down. But King said I have to talk - and I know I do. I have to tell you these things."
"Make you," he said, couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled in his chest. "Right, sweetheart. Like I could make you do anything at all."
"You can be very persuasive," she murmured, but she was laughing a little too.
And then he had an idea. "Kate, I'll make you a deal."
"Hm?"
"You get a reward for every therapy thing you share. Each little revelation or emotion that King stirs up."
"Are you using operant conditioning on me, Castle?"
He grinned and shrugged. "Could be."
"What's my reward?" she said suspiciously.
He trailed his fingers down the side of her neck, slipped under her shirt. He could feel her breath catch and he skimmed his fingers across the line of her bra.
"Like this," he murmured.
"Good - good reward," she choked out.
He smiled and leaned in close to her, breathed warmly along her cheek. His lips barely touched her and she made a whimpering noise in the back of her throat.
"Castle," she sucked in a breath.
"Yeah?"
"First one."
"Oh yeah?"
"I'll tell you right now and then we go straight home for my reward."
"Or you get it right here," he whispered. "Your eyes are so dark, Kate."
She turned her head into him and her mouth was at his ear, their cheeks brushing. "I have nightmares about drowning. But when I wake, I'm on the kitchen floor, my head is pounding, and I realize I'm hungover and you're still dead."
His fingers stilled at her sternum, his throat closing up.
"You promised," she murmured. "Don't stop."
How was he supposed to do that?
He did what he promised and she found herself lying on the park bench with her head in his lap, her eyes filled with stars. Even in the city, even with the pinkish tinge to the black sky, all she saw were stars.
Her heart was still pounding and she didn't know if it was because of the nightmare he'd teased from her, touch by touch, or the way his fingers feathered over her still. She reached out and curled her hand around his at her stomach, swallowed hard.
"Rick," she murmured, turned her head into his body. She felt him flinch and the ripple of his abs, couldn't help smiling to know he was worked up as well.
"Time to go," he muttered, his fingers tightening in hers and smoothing down her shirt.
"Yeah," she breathed out. "If I can walk."
He laughed against her temple and eased her upright; she swayed on the bench and blew out a breath, turned to look at him.
"You good?" he murmured, lifting his lips in that pleased smile that she knew all too well.
"Very," she replied. Still a little jumbled, a little buzzed, and she realized again that they were in a public park at nearly eleven o'clock at night. "I can't believe we just did that."
"Hey, the gate's closed. Supposedly locked. No one's here."
She pressed a hand to her flaming cheek, realized she was still hopelessly turned on by it. "Yeah," she said roughly, nodding at him. "I'm good with that."
"I saw," he murmured back, a smirk in his eyes. "Call the dog, Kate. We'll go home."
"You call her. You're her favorite."
"No," he said quietly. "You."
She stared at him for a long moment, realized he'd paid attention to everything she'd said about her dream, about waking up in a nightmare where he was dead and she was so far gone she couldn't even take care of their dog, their only baby.
"You plan on using sex therapy on me for the rest of the night? Or was this a one-time deal?" she muttered.
He only grinned. "I'm all for sex. Of any kind. Sexual healing?"
"That sounds so lame."
"You sounded pretty enthusiastic about it only ten minutes ago."
She huffed and turned her head back to the trees, bit her bottom lip to gather herself. "Sasha!" she called out. "Here, girl."
The dog came at her call, loping out of the trees with her ears pricked forward. In the darkness, with the faint shine of yellow park light across her fur, she looked more primal and wolflike than ever before, and the coiled energy coming towards them made Kate's breath catch.
"Hey, baby," she murmured, coming to her knees at the dog's side, clipping the leash on as she stroked her hands between those narrow ears. Sasha nudged under her arm, pressing in close, and lifted her muzzle to lick at Kate's face.
"See? She loves you too. She'd want to be with you, no matter what."
She would, wouldn't she? Kate might be just as inept and irresponsible about taking care of the thing should she ever spiral out again, but Sasha needed her too.
Dumb dog.
"But it will never get to that again," Castle said then, his hand coming to her armpit and lifting her off her feet. "I promise you. I promise. I'll never leave you. We do it together."
"And when you leave for a mission?" she said, unable to stop herself.
He closed his mouth, his eyes sad, and then he was wrapping both arms around her and crushing her against his chest. "And when I leave, you come with me, Kate. That's all I want. I want you with me."
But she didn't know if she could go back to the CIA.
And wasn't that really the heart of the problem?
They dressed in pajamas and had dinner in the living room, reheated lamb shanks that she moaned over, teasing him no doubt. Castle sat on the floor at her feet, and she shifted on the couch to drape her legs over his shoulders, her knees at his ears. When she finished her meal before him, she set her plate aside and ran her fingers through his hair.
It took him even longer to finish, drugged by the sensation of her hands, the feel of her bare legs pinning him. He liked the way she'd curl her feet at his ribs, her bare toes running up and down thoughtlessly. He liked having her close and laughing as they watched terrible late-night talk shows.
He turned and took her plate, stacked it with his, but was loath to move. Instead he nudged the dishes farther away from him and leaned his head back against the couch cushion. Kate hummed and her foot bobbed over his shoulder, so he wrapped his arms around her legs and brushed his jaw to the inside of her thigh.
She laughed and clutched his head. "Oof, can't do that. Your stubble is sharp."
He grinned and pressed his mouth to her skin, kissing the red mark. "Sorry." But he wasn't.
He nudged his chin along her leg, scraping more, and she squeezed his head between her knees.
"Okay, okay," he laughed. "Ease up. You're like a boa constrictor."
"That's what you get," she grumbled, but her hand was back in his hair and soothing, her nails prickling his scalp.
"I could fall asleep like this," he murmured, letting his eyes close and his cheek rest against her thigh.
"Go ahead, love," she hummed back, and he felt her hunch over him and kiss his temple. "I'll wake you when it's time for bed."
He wanted to struggle up and be more with it, be conscious at least, but the last few weeks of training had taken it out of him. He needed restorative sleep again, and he wasn't getting it.
She was skimming her fingers over the side of his face, in his hair, tracing patterns along his skin, words he couldn't translate. He had therapy tomorrow morning, early, and he wasn't looking forward to it, especially with the nightmares he'd had lately, but he knew it was going to be good for them. It had to be.
Because he loved her and he didn't know what else to do.
Kate eased her legs off of him and laid down on the lumpy, too short couch. (They had to get a replacement - soon. It was so uncomfortable.) With Castle's head near hers, leaning back as he slept, she could still run her fingers through his hair, stroke at the soft skin along the side of his neck.
She curled up, the television casting blue light around the room, and she traced the edge of his eye, the deep lines from frowning and squinting, the smaller lines from laughing. He hadn't had a lot of laughter in his life, and she loved that she'd been the one to make him smile.
Not as much lately. They'd been through a lot, and now it was settling out - the things they'd done and had done to them. She knew he dreamed of that day in the alley; he woke shouting every time. She'd slept through a few others of his only to wake to her own nightmares, find the bed cold. Sometimes he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall, sometimes she heard him in the living room disassembling a weapon, sometimes she had to go find him.
She was glad now to watch him sleep, the muted blue light across his face and the murmurs from the television. She thought maybe the white noise of sound helped distract his mind, because he hadn't twitched or jerked like he normally did these days.
Kate curled her fingers at the side of his neck and came in to kiss his temple, the corner of his eye, the lines. Seeing him so deeply asleep released a tenderness in her that was drowning, a love that made her want to weep.
It was possible that in her session King had been right.
She had to reclaim her life, her strength of mind and soul, in order to love Castle in healthy ways, ways that stopped twisting them both. King hadn't been the first to point out her issues; she'd had a therapist after her mother had died as well, but she'd stopped going when it got too hard, left her out of control and raw. Both the psychologist and King had shown Kate what she did, her behavior and her messed up thinking.
She'd found herself to be a stubborn woman who sabotagued the good in her life because her mother had died and her father had left her for alcohol - and somehow being broken was a way to punish them. And Castle was stubborn himself, sticking with her despite how she pushed him away, intent on making her stay, and he was broken enough to feel it was all he deserved, the lonely and abandoned boy.
She was punishing him for things he couldn't control and mistakes he'd made. For his father, for leaving her in the dark about everything, for pretending to be dead and not telling her, for getting stabbed when all she'd wanted was to finally confront her mother's killer, for loving her so much he kept trying to shield her, protect her, keep her from the truth.
They had to talk, and she knew that. She wanted to be good for him, like he could be for her, and that would only come with work.
But in their home with the blue light bathing his face and his warm skin under her fingers, she could finally admit that it scared her.
The work had her terrified.
He woke on the floor and every breath was filled with the scent of her even as the dream faded. Castle lifted his head off the couch, his legs half numb, his neck stiff, and he leaned forward with a grunt. He opened his eyes reluctantly, his body in rebellion, and was dazzled by the light. The sun was just beginning to rise and it hit the beveled glass over the front door, spilled gold, green, and amber beams through the entryway.
Castle got to his knees, couldn't remember ever going to bed, and turned to lever himself up off the floor only to find Kate right there.
She was asleep on the couch behind him, a hand under her cheek, her mouth faintly open, her lashes so dark on her cheeks. He lifted up and brushed his lips over her forehead, his fingers stroking over her skin, and she murmured and sighed but didn't wake.
He stood and his knees creaked, his spine popped; he stumbled towards the kitchen and stood swaying in the threshold, found Sasha yawning from the floor right in front of the door to the cellar.
"Hey, wolf," he murmured, catching the yawn and reaching out his fingers to her. She hefted herself up like an old dog, sloughed off her sleep with a full body shake, and nudged his hand with her nose, licking.
Castle bent over for her water bowl, rinsed it out in the sink, filled it with water again and placed it on the floor. He washed out the food dish, realizing even as he did that he was being a little fastidious about it. He replaced it empty, but he moved to the pantry and opened up the plastic storage container Beckett had bought for the dog food.
Sasha nudged into his calf as if in reminder, and he reached back and rubbed her fur as he scooped out a cupful of the pellets. He turned around and gently kneed the dog aside, poured her food into the dish. Sasha gave him a look and then hung her head over the bowl, ate a few bites as if throwing him a bone, and then she moved around the kitchen counter and sank back to the floor.
Castle chuckled, replacing the cup inside the storage container, closing it up tight. He shut the pantry door and scratched at the back of his neck, yawned again.
He checked the time - only six - and thought about going back to bed.
Maybe this time not in the living room.
Castle moved through the dining room, reached out to touch the wings, skimming his fingers over the metal, and then he stopped in the entryway, closed his eyes as he stood in the sunlight.
He lifted his arms and spread his fingers out, let the warmth soak into his skin, the sun on his face and the scent of that lotion of hers in the air.
"You look like an angel."
He startled and glanced over his shoulder to find Kate sitting up on the couch, one hand in her hair and pushing it out of her eyes.
"Really," she insisted, rising from the couch and coming towards him with an outstretched hand.
He took hers, palm to palm, and she squeezed but shook him off to slide her arms around his waist, cozying up to him with her cheek against his chest. He embraced her, pushed his nose into the top of her head, sighing.
"Beautiful in the light," she murmured.
"Are you sleepwalking?" he said.
She laughed and lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. "No. It was just a little surreal. The sunlight and the stained glass and you just standing there. You have this - look. I don't know. Your shoulders are so broad and your hands. . ."
He stared down at her, completely at a loss for words. He'd never had anyone go quite that far, speak with such genuine and artless admiration, expecting nothing at all in return.
She thought he was beautiful?
His hands came to her cheeks and he touched his lips to hers, closing his eyes to feel every point of contact between them, the slow blossom of love.
She smelled like honey and flowers, and she tasted like sunlight.
And now she was smiling into his mouth and breaking away from him, her hand coming up to take his. "I'm going up to bed. You coming?"
He followed her, still wordless.
He shook Dr King's hand as the man stood to meet him. "Richard," King said warmly.
"Ah, call me Rick. Or Castle. My father calls me Richard."
Dr King's smile flickered at the edges of his lips. "You haven't forgotten the ropes."
King gestured to the seating arrangement in front of his desk; Castle dropped down into the chair he'd had yesterday, confused by that statement. King sat across from him.
"The ropes?" Castle asked finally, his eyebrows knitting.
"You've already offered up revealing information. I didn't even have to ask."
Castle huffed and couldn't help the answering smirk. "Yes, well." His father called him Richard. Right.
"All right then - Rick," King started, a nod of his head at the name, "Since you seem ready to start, open up that folder beside you."
On the table between the two chairs was a navy blue school folder, unlabeled and without markings. Castle flipped it open and saw a pocket filled with worksheets, the opposite pocket with an official looking release.
"On the right hand side," Dr King said. "Please pull that out."
Castle did, handling the release and already skimming over it.
"In our initial interview yesterday, you and Kate clearly stated that strengthening your marriage was a priority to you both. We set out a proposed schedule for our sessions - which you can see there. First I will conduct four or five individual sessions to get the lay of the land, so to speak, and then we will move to what I have termed group sessions."
"Group?"
"Consisting only of Kate and yourself," King explained. "A group session will still focus on individual problems, but it gives you the added benefit of hearing an outside opinion and also of reinforcing the truth that you are not alone in your feelings."
"Ah," he murmured, but already his hands were slick with the idea of it.
"Finally, we will hold joint therapy sessions, aimed at the particular issues that you have as they relate to one another. Now, I'm not a marriage and family counselor, and I don't claim to be one. What we're doing is different for me, and most likely quite different for you as well. In order to be successful, we are all going to have to trust each other. Trust me with your feelings and your well-being, and trust each other with those same things. So this release in your hands gives me permission to select items or events or phrases from your individual sessions and use them with the other person."
"You're going to tell Kate what I say about her?" Castle got out, dread churning in his stomach.
"Yes."
He stared at the release.
"Kate has already signed it," Dr King offered.
"What did she say about me?" he asked, eyes jerking to the therapist's, his heart catching in his throat.
"A lot of things." King paused only half a beat and then with a raised eyebrow continued. "You don't know what your favorite color is."
He didn't - oh. "Not that I can. . .no."
"You want to think about it? Give her an answer?"
"What does it matter?" he huffed, digging his shoulder blades into the chair, the paper gripped in both hands.
"Does it matter to you?"
"No." Castle sat up straighter, glanced out the window, then down to the release. "Does it - did it seem to matter to Kate? Why would she bring that up in therapy?"
"Richard, it's obvious to me you're doing your best to be considerate of Kate, to be a good partner to her. What do you think it means?"
"I don't understand," he sighed, dragging his gaze back to Dr King. The man had always surprised him by his very lack of presence. His father was so coldly intimidating, so larger than life that Dr King's narrow face and bland eyes, his bald head and his trim but not muscular body had never really made an impression on Castle before.
Maybe that was why it was so easy for him to talk to Dr King. He wasn't a threat.
He wasn't a threat at all. Castle already did trust him. He reached for the pen on the table and uncapped it, brought the ink to the bottom line.
He hesitated.
"Rick," the therapist said. "I have some of the highest security clearance in the CIA. You and I have debriefed more than six times. I've read everything in your file; I knew your father. Trust me when I say that I want this for you - if you want it."
"What?" he said, his voice scraping out. "What for me? My favorite color?"
"Your marriage to work. Your life to work - to be your own."
Castle signed his name to the release.
Beckett pressed her hands into her eyes to block out the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. Castle was gone, but he hadn't woken her before he left. She didn't know what that meant, if it meant anything at all.
She growled and dragged herself out of bed, tossing off the sheet and heading for the bathroom. She found her hands shaking and her feet clumsy, and that wasn't okay with her.
Forget this. It was therapy. They were in therapy. It was necessary and she wasn't ashamed; she just wanted him to be okay.
Them. She wanted them to be okay, but she was afraid of what it would take to get there.
She knew it, at least. There was power in knowing. She scraped her hair back off her face and faced herself in the mirror, before she turned and headed for the shower.
Her phone rang, the unknown caller ringtone. She paused with her hand on the knob and glanced towards the bedroom, hesitating. Kate shifted but couldn't ignore it; she went back for her phone and scooped it up.
"Beckett," she answered.
"Detective."
She straightened up, tried to place the familiar voice. "Yes?"
"This is the Director-"
"Oh, yes, sir," she rushed in. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had my number."
"I work for the CIA, Detective."
Shit, she was blushing. Beckett turned her back to the sun coming in through the windows and huffed. "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"
"There's a matter of some concern," the Director said, each syllable enunciated clearly. "I believe you can be of some help."
"Yes, sir?"
"Agent Castle hasn't called me back, Detective. What do you know about that?"
She stuttered to a stop, passed a hand over her mouth. "Ah. I - right. Sir, Agent Castle is working on a-"
"No, he's not."
She swallowed, but she stopped trying to find excuses and just kept her mouth shut.
"We have a situation that's developed in Chechnya, Detective Beckett. Can I call you Kate?"
She blinked. "Yes, sir."
"Kate," he said with some relish. He sounded like a nice, polished older gentleman, some debonair and formerly rakish player who had settled well into desk duty.
"Sir, I'm not sure what this has to do with me," she said.
"Castle is needed in on a situation in Shali, most urgently."
Beckett paused, her breath catching. "He hasn't-"
"I need Agent Castle on this yesterday."
Beckett lifted a hand to her forehead. "Yes, sir. I'll - he's out at the moment, an appointment-"
"This appointment is more important?"
She closed her eyes, but she was done with putting work first. There was always going to be another crisis in his job, another murder in hers, and she'd been in therapy maybe only a day now, but she knew better. This was their life, and it had to come first or else this thing they had, their family, it might never survive.
"It's important," she said. She pulled her hair off her neck and opened her eyes. "Matter of life and death, actually. But I'll tell him the moment I can."
The moment she thought he could deal with it.