Close Encounters 16

McCord startled when she saw Beckett just outside the morgue room doors. "You're lucky to be alive."

Kate nodded towards the freezer storage behind her. "But he's not?"

"Alive? No. You need to see it for yourself?"

"Yes." She held herself away; even Castle's touch along her elbow made pain tremble through her. No painkillers either; oh, joy.

McCord crossed her arms for a moment and then pointedly looked the other way.

Castle opened the morgue room door and she followed him inside. It was cold, bitingly cold, but he was moving quickly for her sake. He checked the clipboard and found the assigned number, moved to the correct drawer and unlatched it.

Beckett walked down the middle of the room and positioned herself in front of the drawer. Number 47. Castle opened it up and pulled the metal drawer out. It slid to a clanging stop right in front of her and she stared down into William Bracken's dead, slack face.

Castle was silent.

Beckett had cleaned up in the bathroom on the wing the CIA had shut down to protect their identities. The mirror had given back a reflection that was her and not her at the same time. Blood caked in the corner of her eye and smeared down the side of her face, only hastily cleaned by the nurse and then butterfly bandaged with yellow streaks of iodine. Splatter and grey matter across her neck.

She'd washed the blood and the iodine from her skin, and then she'd called for Castle. He had come into the bathroom and slowly peeled her shirt off, trailing his fingers over the bruises, barely touching. His lips had brushed her temple just over the bandage, and then he'd done his best to get the scrub top over her head without totally killing her.

The pants had been easier.

Now she stood before morgue drawer number forty-seven, clean but not clean, stained but without reproach.

"I killed him," she said into the frozen quiet.

"Yeah. You did."

"He had my mother stabbed and left in an alley. Like trash," she whispered.

Tears slipped down her cheeks and ran to her chin. Castle lifted his hand and caught one, skimmed his thumb at her jaw for the rest. "He doesn't get these," Castle said.

She blinked fast, hard; her husband cupped her chin and kept them all. She strained her eyes until she could stop the rest, and she let out a slow, painful breath.

"He's dead."

"Yeah."

"I have to - tell my father."

"Yeah, love. We do."

She opened her eyes and turned her head to him, he leaned in over the drawer and softly kissed the corner of her eye where it was wet.

"We have a few things to tell him."

It was while they were leaving the hospital that she saw it. The gift shop apparently had a satellite location at the back entrance where the CIA was hustling them out, but Kate made him stop and she went in alone.

She moved carefully, kept herself in check, and she had to call the woman at the register to help her with it. And then once they got it to the register, she had to call for Ryan to come pay for it.

She had nothing on her; she'd forgotten that.

Ryan gave her a weird glance, but she shook her head. "Shut up. Don't judge."

"No, no, you're right. Good thing you called for me. I'm the only one here who'd understand."

She smiled at him, felt it now beginning to take shape, weight, hold substance for her.

This was real.

This was happening.

It was early yet, but she was finding hope fluttering around inside her.

Castle kept in touch with the boys, of course, but he took his wife home.

She sat woodenly in the passenger seat of the Land Rover, taking shallow breaths and staring out the window. She had a white plastic bag in her hand from the hospital gift shop and she wouldn't let him see inside. He didn't know what to say, where to start.

She started it for him, though not how he'd have thought. "Can we order pizza? I couldn't sit up all night at a restaurant."

He choked on his surprise. "A restaurant? Kate."

"I told you I wanted to take you out."

"I thought you were being cute."

"Cute?" she laughed, then caught her breath with a groan. "Oh, don't make me laugh. I can't."

"Then stop saying ridiculous things. We're not going anywhere. For a while."

And then the truth of that statement hit them both, stunned them silent. Life was going to be very different.

"So, pizza," he tried tentatively.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Don't know how much I can eat."

"Still nauseous?"

"Hmm. Tired."

Was that an answer? "I'm supposed to wake you every two hours because of the concussion."

"Yeah," she sighed. "That's gonna suck."

He felt his lips twist into a smile. "I'll try to make it quick." His guts clenched and he choked the steering wheel to siphon off some of his paranoia. The car in the rearview mirror - Mitchell was following them home, that was all.

"I want a bath while you get pizza."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said sharply.

She stared at him.

"Oh, right." He usually chose a random place and went to pick it up; they could never do delivery. "We'll stop on our way home. Before we get to the Tunnel," he said, ducking his head. "Sorry. I'm..."

"If you drag the mattress and box springs down there, I'll sleep in the panic room."

"You will?" he croaked. His throat closed up and his fists eased on the wheel. He thought, for one awful second, that he was going to cry. And then it dissolved enough so that he could swallow it down. "Thanks."

"As long as I get a bath and pizza," she sighed.

"I can do that. I'm getting off the interstate right now." He snagged Mitchell's phone from where he'd dumped it in the cup holder, called Espo who was riding shotgun with Mitch behind them. "I'll let the guys know."

It was a little unnecessary; Bracken was dead. The threat should be over.

But Black was still out there, and Castle couldn't help thinking that his father had somehow orchestrated the whole thing.

He woke her opening the car door; she blinked and sat up too quickly, grit her teeth through the flash of pain. She'd meant to pop another couple of tylenol when he stopped for pizza, but apparently she'd fallen asleep. Now he was tucking two boxes into the back of their vehicle and studying her.

"Tylenol hasn't kicked in?"

"No, fell asleep first," she said shortly. "That smells really good."

"You're hungry?" he asked, a surprise in the late afternoon light.

That it was still afternoon surprised her. That it had stopped raining the closer they got to the city did not. She still debated driving straight through to her father's and telling him about Bracken. But nothing else yet, too soon. Too soon.

Too fragile, all of it. How easily they could have lost...

"Kate?"

She came back to the car with a struggle, looked over at him.

"What day is it?" he asked. He was in the driver's seat and cranking open the child-proof cap on the Tylenol. She took it from him and swallowed the pills down with a swig from the half-empty bottle of water.

"Monday," she said promptly. "Thinking about Dad. I'm still here."

"Yeah," he said roughly. Still here. Yeah.

"And yes - I didn't realize I was hungry. I'm pretty sure I threw up my lunch on the senator's shoes."

"Oh, shit," Castle said, and there was laughter under the curse. It made her smile back, pleased with herself for being able to find it.

He pulled back onto the interstate and they resumed their drive home, Mtich and Javi in the black Dodge Charger behind them. She curled her fingers around the plastic bag from the hospital gift shop.

She woke in the dark to the touch of his fingers against the side of her face, her car door open and his frame filling her vision. "Kate. What day is it?"

"Monday," she answered. "You better not have eaten my pizza."

His smile was crooked as he stepped back; she got out of the car alone, swayed on her feet before catching her balance. Her head pulsed but the tylenol had at least dulled the sharp blade.

"Hey, we're not in the parking garage," she said, moving slowly after him. "Castle. Where'd you park?"

"Different garage. Closer. A guy I know lives in the top floor of this apartment complex. I know the code and I know which space is his. It's three buildings over from our house."

If she stopped moving, it would hurt too much to get started again, but she reached out and snagged the sleeve of the scrub top he'd changed into. He took her fingers and she didn't even need to say it. He was considerate when it counted most.

He carried the pizza box in a cloth grocery bag, which she knew was so that he could maneuver quickly should something happen. But he walked at her pace and he didn't comment; they traveled half the block to their own home and Castle unlocked the door.

"I sent a team in ahead of us. We recovered your phone at the scene, but the screen was cracked, so you'll get a new one. And mine - I lost track of it somewhere. So we've got the security app on Mitchell's; I had to reprogram the locks."

"That's fine," she murmured, stepping over the threshold and into her home.

Sasha was at the door to greet them, her tongue coming out to lick at Kate's fingers. She whined and nudged Castle's hand as if to prompt him, and he petted the dog too, both of them hunched over Sasha's tail-wagging pleasure at having them back.

With the door shut behind them and the smell of pizza filling the air, Kate finally let it drop from her. The pretense or the need to stand up, whatever it was that had kept her going. Everything hurt, every inch of her, and she was done.

"Castle."

He sighed and laid the pizza box on the entry table, wrapped his arm around her neck and carefully brought her close.

She stood stiffly, barely daring to move, and just tried to keep breathing.

His voice was rough when he spoke. "I made a promise to myself that when I got you home again, I wouldn't let a second go to waste."

"To waste?"

"Before this," he gruffed. And then he closed his mouth over hers and devoured her, took everything as if he'd been afraid he'd never have it again. She ached - for him, for herself, for her ribs - but she gripped his shirt and hung on, pushing back as much as she could, the intensity drowning her.

After a long time, his forehead rolled to hers, his breathing harsh, and then he dragged a line of kisses back along her jaw, before his lips came to her ear. "What day is it?"

She laughed, groaned when it ached, buried her forehead against his neck. "Monday, you bully. Stop making me laugh."

He had to be smiling; she could feel him smiling. And she was okay again.

She slid her hand slowly to his side and pressed into his ribs, the best hug she could manage. "Call your mother," she said. "We were supposed to have dinner with her tomorrow, but we're not going to make it. I'm going to get a bath."

"You're kind of ruthless. What punishment you dole out just for making you laugh."

Kate smiled and let him feel it against his neck before she eased away. "Go." She carried the plastic bag from the gift shop upstairs with her, every step a work of pain.

Castle came into the bathroom to find she'd fallen asleep in the tub. There was a sharp spike of panic, but it fizzled out fast. Kate fell asleep in the tub pretty much every time she took a bath. Nothing new.

"Kate."

She roused and opened her eyes, smiled at him. "It's Monday."

He sank to his knees beside the tub. "Yeah. I called my mother. She says feel better. I gave her a very shortened version."

"Thanks." Her fingers came up from the water, dripping, and she combed them through his hair, behind his ear, easy gestures. "I can't help thinking about what happened."

He nodded. "Me too."

"I'm not going to mind sleeping in the panic room."

He gave her a lopsided smile, settled down to lay his cheek against the porcelain. Her palm rested over his cheek, fingers stroking slowly. He closed his eyes.

"I hurt, but I'm going to be fine. It could have been very bad. But it's not. And I don't want to think about it tonight. I want to... be happy."

He opened his eyes and propped his chin on the bathtub, watched her.

She smiled and her fingers trailed out of his hair. "Get the bag from the gift shop, Castle."

The corner of his lips turned up. "Where is it?"

"Right there. On the counter."

He turned and stood, headed for the bathroom sink. He picked up the bag and resisted the temptation of looking inside. He came back to her and stood over the tub, waiting.

"Don't look yet. Just dump it out in the water."

"What?"

"Close your eyes. Do it."

He took a long look of her - those elegant limbs, the bruises mottling her skin, the beautiful shine in her eyes. And then he did as she asked, closed his eyes, and the world went dark. He let the bag tip and its contents spill; he heard the plopping splash of three things hitting the water.

She was laughing. "Okay, open."

He opened his eyes and glanced down, laughed. "You did not just buy a hippo."

"I did," she said, holding back her laugh with her arm wrapped around her torso. "They're rubber duckies. Well, except they're not ducks. A hippo, and look. An elephant. And a I found a wolf too. I made her open two different packages for them. Safari and woodland creatures. Aren't they perfect?"

A wolf rubber ducky. A bath toy. He sank down to his knees beside the tub and reached out a finger, made the hippo bobble.

"You said three weeks?" he murmured, watching the smiling little hippo float in the bath.

"Three weeks. Dr Boyd called me right before my meeting with McCord. I almost called you, but I wanted to see your face."

He tilted his head and studied her; she was studying him back. "Three weeks puts us... on the river." He dipped the hippo under water and held it there, then let it come springing back up.

"Yeah."

He heard the tremor in her voice and looked up; she was smiling though. He reached through the water to the arm she'd wrapped around her ribs to brace herself. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and slowly eased her arm away.

She let herself be opened up to him and he stroked his fingertips over her stomach.

"Kate." He closed his eyes, opened them again in a rush because he didn't want to miss it. Any of it. "Kate, I..."

Her hand came over his under the water, their fingers tangling together. So tenuous, this life. Any of it.

"I love you," she said.

He squeezed her fingers and pressed his other hand to his face.

She rocked forward, water sloshing around them both, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and head. "Don't, don't," she murmured. "Don't, Rick."

"I'm not, I'm not," he choked out, curling his fingers at her neck and hanging on. "I just - I love you. I love you and I don't know-"

"Don't," she insisted. "Hush, sweetheart. Just don't."

He cradled her face and kissed her lashes, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "I won't," he promised. "Am I hurting you?"

"Never."

They laid head to toe, Kate at the foot with ice packs on her ribs and hip, her hair drying over the end of the bed, and Castle at the head, his arm wrapped around her feet to keep her toes warm.

The pizza box was on the floor of their bedroom and Sasha came sniffing at the crusts Beckett had left. Castle snapped his fingers at the dog and Sasha put her muzzle on the mattress, licked his hand.

"If she jumps up here with us-" Kate warned. The vibrations would kill her.

"I'll pick her up," he promised, leaning over the side. She watched as he scooped Sasha up and settled her along Kate's knees, gentle and easy, keeping the bed from bouncing. "How're the ribs?"

"Getting cold," she said.

Castle leaned forward, touched the ice pack wrapped around her hip. "It's melted. Let me switch it out."

"Fifteen minutes on, five off," she complained. "You're gonna give me frostbite."

But Castle was already taking the gel packs from her hip and standing up from the bed, heading towards the hallway. She sighed and adjusted the pillow at her side, wincing as the movement rippled through her torso. If it had just been her hip, maybe it wouldn't be this bad. But her ribs - it affected every single thing she did.

Sasha lifted her head as Kate tried to find a comfortable position, watching her intently.

"I'm okay," she told the dog, scratching Sasha between the ears. "You and Castle. A little overprotective. But that's okay. Love you both."

Sasha belly-crawled up the bed towards Kate's chest, tried to lay her head on Kate's ribs.

"Oh, oh, sorry. Can't," Kate gasped, catching the dog. "I'm sorry. Sorry, puppy." She stroked Sasha's muzzle and ears, the silky fur at her neck even as she moved the dog away. "Lay right here beside me. Right here's good."

Sasha cuddled up under Kate's armpit, warming her skin where the ice had made it numb. Kate stroked her fur, over and over, let her eyes close as she focused on breathing shallowly enough not to stretch her ribs. The touch of the dog at her side was comforting, and Sasha kept licking her arm as if so grateful for the petting.

She must have fallen asleep because Castle was standing over her when she opened her eyes. She felt his fingers in her hair, combing through the curling tangles, the waterfall off the end of the bed. He massaged her scalp with his fingertips, hitting a pressure point that made her breath slip out.

His eyebrows looked crooked upside down and his smile was both silly and sad at the same time. "Hey," she said finally.

He scratched the top of her head, winked at her. "Day?"

"Monday. Oh, wait. Depends. What time is it?"

"Still Monday," he rumbled, a laugh somewhere in there. He was taking this a whole lot better than she'd expected, all things considering. "I've got fresh ice. You weren't asleep that long - it's only been a little over an hour, love."

His voice was low and Kate glanced down, saw Sasha was asleep against her. "An hour?" She sighed and patted Sasha's leg, stroked over her fur. "Time to shift, puppy. The cold has arrived."

"You know - she might like it," Castle said, kneeling down at the foot of the bed. He kissed her forehead and reached over her to wrap the ice pack at her hip first. He was right. Sasha cozied up to the ice pack as well, making Kate laugh pathetically, stuttering with it as her ribs pulled.

"Oh," she groaned. "That hurts. Stop, stop, stop."

"Not my fault you're so easily amused," he said, his grin a little devilish. "Now for this one. Stop squirming."

She sighed at him, but the heat of the bruise at her hip had been pulsing and she hadn't even realized. The cold felt good, though she was like a popsicle.

Castle smoothed the wrinkles out of her t-shirt, the heavy warmth of his hand making her smile. The soft black cotton between her skin and the ice kept the cold from burning, but it still pushed on the bruises. He was careful, meticulous with it, his brow furrowing as he made sure it stayed in place.

"It's not a bomb," she said, lifting her arm from the dog to stroke between Castle's eyebrows, erase the lines of concentration. "It won't go off in your face."

"Never know," he said wryly, giving her a quick once-over so she caught his meaning.

"You mean me," she murmured. "Making jokes at your wife's expense. I see how it is."

"Sweetheart, if I didn't laugh, I'd cry."

It was a little too real, but she pressed her thumb into that spot between his eyes. "Crawl in with me."

"Like the dog?" he rumbled, a laugh in his voice that made her breathe a little easier. He was okay; he was still okay.

"Well, if you're more careful than the dog, I'll let you actually lay on me."

Castle gruffed something unintelligible that she took to mean not on your life, but he did get back in bed with her, head to toe again. It was warm enough without the covers, but he'd dragged the blankets from the linen closet and made a nest for her, trying to keep her braced and off the worst of the bruises. He dug into the blankets now, his toes niggling at her arm.

She trapped his foot there, ignoring the short jab of pain in her ribs as she did. Castle gave her a knowing look but he didn't comment, let her keep his foot. His hand came to the top of her thigh and rubbed slowly, in the same way she was rubbing at Sasha's back.

He propped his head up on his pillow and crossed his feet at his ankles, waving his toes at her. Pizza was gone, the bath had been just what she needed, and she was wrapped in ice. Resting, like he'd asked of her.

And he'd been on his phone a lot of the afternoon, emailing and messaging the boys, keeping things under control.

She had just killed a United States Senator. Shit.

"You gonna debrief me?" she murmured. "I know I need to give my statement. Probably have to be held for questioning?"

"Among other things," he sighed. "But not tonight."

She shifted carefully onto her side, bruised hip be damned, laid her cheek against his ankles so she could watch him. Castle sat forward and rearranged the ice on her ribs where it had shifted, and then his hand lowered, skimmed her abs. His fingers traced her belly button and even though he wasn't smiling, she saw it there, so close to the surface.

Kate reached down and closed her hand around his wrist, holding on to him as he took his moment. A baby. They were having a baby.

Like he could hear her thoughts, his eyes lifted to hers and the smile cracked through, just for her. "Hey. I printed the ultrasound."

"Yeah? Where is it?"

"On our fridge."

She caught her breath to keep from laughing, her smile widening and splitting. "On the fridge." Just the beginning; it was just the beginning of this for them. There'd be newborn photos and first day home, there'd be schedules for preschool and cute crayon drawings and probably little smudges of fingerprints at knee level.

"I can see you thinking about it," he said. His palm stretched across her stomach, fingers stroking, thoroughly distracting. "I'm thinking about it too."

"Tell me," she said immediately, watching the way his smile darkened his eyes. "I like your stories better than mine."

He laughed, a rich thing, and she was grateful for how easy it was for him, how he was able to do this with her - forget the horror of the day and dwell instead on their news, on them.

"My story? Well, it's kind of R-rated."

She laughed, groaning when it echoed in her ribs, tightening her grip on his wrist. He caught the ice pack when it started to slip, repositioned it.

"R-rated," she repeated. "Well, I really like those stories."

"Not tonight, you don't," he warned. His voice was soft though, amused, and she gave a lopsided shrug, short to keep from pulling her ribs.

"Not tonight," she admitted. "But soon. Little pain never hurt anybody."

He groaned and tilted his head back, but he was laughing. "Yeah, you know... never mind. I'm not touching that. Keep the ice packs on for another 48 hours, and then..."

"And then you'll touch it?" she smirked.

He laughed again, harder this time, his mirth so vibrant she could practically feel it wrap around her, holding her up. He leaned in, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her head, and he lowered a kiss to her lips, gradually more aggressive, more insistent, until she realized how much he was holding back, keeping a tight control over everything he wanted to do to her.

He wanted her. Badly.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were dilated, a darkness that sparked and burned.

Suddenly, she didn't feel any of it, not a thing, no bruised ribs, no ache in her hip, not the pound of her heartbeat in her head, nothing. It was just the heat of his body radiating into hers, the lust crawling under her skin, the current that pulled them closer.

"Lay down with me," she murmured. "I wanna celebrate as best we can."

Castle's fingers spread and touched her jaw, stroking, and then he lowered his body alongside hers.

The pain surfaced, but so did the want. She dipped her fingers under his shirt and touched his skin, and Castle kissed her.

It felt so good, to touch, to have her lips raw and tingling with the sensation of his kiss, to run her hands up and down the warm skin at his back, to tuck her fingers into the waistband of his pants and dip close to the heat, so close.

After the initial rush of his mouth over hers, she realized his hand was between them at her stomach, purposeful and gentle, little strokes, over and over, and it struck her again what they'd done.

He caressed her, and she felt the answering tug, deep, so deep.

And she felt how much, how desperately much she loved him.