Lean Wide Out the Window
He wakes before Kate's visit, finds his eyes drawn to the window and the narrow view of winter sunlight. The sky is leaden and promises snow, but he's got two hospital blankets layered over his body and a faint drugged numbness that keeps him warm and heavy. The bed has him prone, still faintly immobilized, but he fingers the controls and shifts the head of the bed upright once more.
Kate walks in while he's eating the slushy eggs the cafeteria candy-striper brought a few minutes ago. She lifts an eyebrow to see him up already and he gives her a half-hearted shrug.
"I woke," he explains.
"You feeling okay?"
"Stomach is rolling," he admits, dropping his fork back to the tray and pushing it away.
"Probably the drugs." She angles the bedside table away from him and sits at his hip, her fingers landing on the crook of his elbow like a paperweight; she'll keep him here. She looks tired.
"You feel okay?" he asks, watching her.
"You're pretty awake," she murmurs, a crease dividing her eyebrows. "You remember what happened?"
"Yeah, broke my knee. Bummer. It hurts."
She nods and her lips twitch. "They've put you in a knee brace that keeps your leg straight; you'll have to wheelchair around."
"Cool," he grins, sees the way her chest catches on a breath. "Can I pop a wheelie, you think? Maybe with practice."
"No," she insists, her eyes darkening. "No more tricks, Castle. That's what got us here in the first place."
He sighs. "Right." He leans back against the head of the bead and lets it do all the work for him; he's swamped with it, the heaviness, feels it spinning slowly in his chest. "This is gonna suck."
She laughs, her fingers curling at his elbow, but light, soft. "Right. I believe you've mentioned that."
"You okay?" he asks again, realizing she never answered. Her eyes turn to his, finally, and something breaks off. Like part of her shore is being washed away and swallowed in a sea much bigger than them.
"I'm tired," she murmurs. "That's all."
"Sleep. Even though I just woke up, I probably will too," he says quickly, gesturing towards the ugly plastic-cloth bench that's pushed up against the wall under the thin window. "Appealing amenities, I know. But I can assure you it's been wiped down with disinfectant. I saw the cleaning lady do it last night when the nurse woke me for vitals."
She turns her cheek to look at it, but he thinks he saw a smile there. "Hmm, as attractive as that sounds, I think I'll just sit." She rises from his bedside, fingers trailing down his forearm. It's like she doesn't want to let go.
"You could sit right here," he fumbles out. "Maybe you'd even fall asleep on me, and me on you. We could drool on each other."
Her body is arrested, a strange yearning flashes across her face before she starts to shake her head no. He wouldn't have caught it if he wasn't right here, studying her for weak spots, and he reaches out with an arm that feels like lead and snags her shirt.
She reaches back and takes his hand, squeezing his fingers, and tries to put him off.
"It's cold in here," he blurts out, going with that. "It feels like a freezer. And these hospital blankets are thin. But if you sit right here beside me, on my good side, it'll keep me from getting frostbite. I swear the air conditioner is on. Don't they know it's the middle of winter?"
His whine seems to do it. She turns back to him, her hand cupping his elbow even as he still hangs on to her shirt.
"All right," she gives in. Her voice sounds like she intended to roll her eyes, but she can't quite pull it off. A little desperation leaks through her body, makes her fingers drum against his skin, makes the pulse in her neck beat hard enough for him to see. She must be really tired.
"Climb on up," he murmurs, eyeing the space beside him and wondering if even skinny Kate Beckett can-
Oh, yeah, she can. Close and tight, but she's warm and she feels good and she lays her head very gently on his shoulder.
"Knock me off if I hurt your knee."
"Knee's on the other side," he answers. "You're fine."
He tries to wrap his arm around her but she shifts onto her side and hooks her arm through his instead. His fingers are down by her drawn up legs and he slides his hand between her thighs, curls at the back of one knee to hang on to her. He doesn't want her slipping out of bed the second he falls asleep.
She lets out a breath. "Sleep if you want to, Castle."
"Sure," he answers easily. Her head comes to his shoulder again and he squeezes her knee, lifts the hand with the IV attached to comb a lock of hair back behind her ear. It gives him the excuse to trail his fingers at her jaw, a little heavy with the lingering effects of sedation, but the connection is tantalizing nonetheless.
Her eyes slip shut.
He rests his cheek to the top of her head and watches her fall asleep. He'll most likely follow.
The flight is difficult; this is the closest she's come to seeing the selfish little boy in him: a whine in the back of his throat as his leg is propped up awkwardly in first class on the seat next to him, a petulant huff as his body is contorted into the space. But she realizes after a moment - too long, it took her too long to realize - that it's just the pain.
Not grumpy, pouting Rick Castle.
He's in pain.
It knocks the breath right out of her.
She waits until the flight attendant has gone forward again, and then Kate unbuckles her seat belt from across the aisle and stands, her hand going to his shoulder in question.
"I'm okay," he says, too easily. That lightness in his voice, airiness that she heard on the mountain. Pain.
"You're not okay. The surgeon said he didn't think you were ready. Why did you argue with him?"
"I'm fine," he says. "Just want to get home." And where Kate would have - in his position - shrugged him off and frozen him out just so she could get a handle on her own issues, Castle instead reaches up and grips two of her fingers, turns his head to kiss her knuckles.
Disarming her with his charm.
She's not immune, and it does soften her, but she still sees the way the pain has etched lines into his face and has set his jaw crookedly. She leans over him and brushes a kiss to his mouth. The plane is empty; they boarded first because of his wheelchair, and now she's grateful for the private moment.
His fingers touch her cheek, but he's the one who stops their kiss first. His lips fall from hers and his head tilts back against the seat. He looks so tired. It makes her drop to her knees on the floor before him, her fingers sifting through the hair at his temple.
"You're not fine," she says again, that faint clutch of cold in her lungs again. Snow. Falling snow and the ice layering over her.
"Flight's non-stop and not that long. I'll be fine," he says instead, but his head stays back against the seat, his eyes half-mast, leaning into her touch.
He's not due for a pain pill until two hours from now. And there's no way he'll sleep. He's just going to ride it out?
"Go sit down, Kate. The flight attendant is giving you a dirty look."
"Screw the flight attendant," she bites out, but she straightens up and looks behind her, sees the passengers coming in through the door.
She glances back once to Castle. His eyes are closed.
So she sits down in her seat and slides the seatbelt into place with a click because she doesn't know what else she can do.