Another Nanny McDead chapter. This chapter goes out to KelliP, who graciously let me borrow this idea from her wonderful series What If. What if Beckett got hurt in that laundry room?

Thanks to my three doves Cartographical, Sparklemouse and chezchuckles for editing.

Chapter 45: 1x2, Nanny McDead

Your inspiration might strike you sooner than you think.

He slips into the laundry room – of course he does; did she really expect him to just stay outside? – and oh wow, a standoff. Beckett's in fine form, using that low voice, the calming one, and she's so good at her job (and hot) and he officially loves this new -

It happens so fast. So fast. Becca moves. The knifeblade flashes. And then there's a cry and Becca's on the floor, the knife dropped beside her, and as she falls and curls into an unresisting heap, Beckett - she's - she's shaking. She's not reacting. Not -

Half a dozen uniform cops come swarming, and immediately Becca's surrounded. Castle blinks stupidly. Beckett's on the floor, clutching at her thigh. It's bleeding. Blood is soaking through her clothes, spilling bright crimson into a pool around her leg. So much blood. Too much blood. Shit. How is there so much blood?

What just happened?

"Castle."

He swallows. Shit. Shit. "What?"

"Need - here." She sucks in a long breath. "Pressure."

It takes him a long second, too long, to realize what she's asking. He hurries to her side and presses his hands over the deep gash, trying to stop the flow of blood. Her face is dead white. Her breathing is slow. She's fading.

"Beckett. Beckett. Come on, you have to stay with me -" He chokes over the words because they're stupid, because words don't stop blood.

"It's - " her fingers slide over his and they're warm and wet and this isn't working - "- blood. Blood's clean."

She's barely conscious but she thinks he's worried about himself? Dammit. He didn't even think about gloves.

He's about to say something, anything, something stupid and inane like You're going to be fine or Hang in there, but before he can get words out he's stumbling away, shoved back by impatient-looking uniforms. One of them takes his place and he can't see her anymore, but then Beckett's totally surrounded by people who know what they're doing, efficiently covering the wound, calling for an ambulance, staying calm and collected and Castle suddenly realizes his hands are shaking.

At the hospital, his hands don't stop shaking.

He didn't get to ride in the ambulance. It roared down the street before he could even form words. Ryan grabbed his sleeve and dragged him over to the car, where Esposito drove to the hospital, siren shrieking as they raced through the streets too fast. No one spoke.

So he sits in the waiting room with the guys, folding his hands, staring at the floor. He's written this scene a dozen times. When he writes it, it always ends happily. But he's stuck out here with no information, just replaying over and over in his mind the sight of her slowly getting paler and paler. Her blood is finally out from under his fingernails; he'd bolted straight into the men's room and scrubbed until his skin was raw.

"Castle." Ryan patted his shoulder awkwardly, obviously trying for comfort. "She's gonna be okay."

And for all the words in all the dictionaries, for all the polysyllabic glory of his mental thesaurus, Richard Castle is having trouble coming up with a single verbal response.

He just swallows hard at the lump in his throat and tries not to remember her blood coating his fingers, hot and thick, welling up like a fountain with no off switch.

A wise, gentle doctor doesn't quietly join them and list off Beckett's perils and saying soothing things like But she's a fighter in appropriately hushed tones, with soft deep grave eyes and a determined smile.

The tired-looking middle-aged doctor with wispy strands of hair escaping her bun comes ambling out, examining a clipboard, tucking a cheap ballpoint pen into her pocket protector. Her pocket protector.

Castle clenches his teeth to hold in the strangled noise that's threatening to escape him - something between hysterical laughter because it's a damn pocket protector and ugly choking sobs because Kate Beckett's blood is still damp on the cuffs of his shirt.

She tells them Beckett waived confidentiality to let them know her condition. "She's going to be fine. We stopped the bleed, stitched her up. The cuts on her hands are mostly superficial; it's the leg that had us worried."

"Her leg?" Castle holds his breath. That's where all that blood was coming from.

"Nicked a branch of the femoral artery. Lost a lot of blood." She surveys Castle, her eyes scanning him, fixing on his bloody shirt cuffs. "You were there? You applied pressure?" He nods mutely, and her weary eyes soften. "You did good. Might have saved her life, hon."

When they finally go in, she's slumped on the edge of the hospital bed, her face dead white, frighteningly similar to the hospital gown wrapped around her thin frame.

He's swamped with the overpowering urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her close.

And that's not okay. Because he has no business thinking things like that, thinking about holding her, thinking about -

"Guys. Quit acting like I'm dying. I'm fine."

Esposito lets out a short laugh and even Ryan snorts a little. It eases the tension and Castle can feel the tight horrible knot in the center of his chest dissolve a bit. As pale and weak as she looks, she's still a smartass.

"Glad you're okay, Beckett." Ryan shoves his hands in his pockets. "Hate to have to break in someone new."

"I'm glad I could help,"she says dryly.

Esposito nods. "You want us to call your dad?"

She shakes her head, her face strained with exhaustion. "I'll do it."

Castle's suddenly hit with a wave of what it would feel like to hear the words Sir, your daughter's been stabbed and his stomach turns.

He wants to stay but they make him leave.

He thinks he could stay, make sure she's alright, take her home or something, but that's not how real police work. Ryan and Esposito drag him back to the precinct and for hours, he's grilled on the day's events, over and over, reliving the blood welling up under his fingers until finally he just drops into his chair, numb. But her chair's empty and there's no reason to be here.

Ryan and Esposito walk by, talking quietly, and he turns. "Is she - is she here?"

Ryan shakes his head. "When the hospital let her go, the captain told her to take the day, rest up. She'll be back tomorrow."

Tomorrow's not soon enough. Tomorrow means he has to wait all night. Tomorrow is a long time to think about the thin, pale waif in the hospital gown who needs to call her dad and tell him she got stabbed today.

"Guys - can you tell me where she lives? Just so I can go see her?"

Ryan and Esposito exchange a look that very pointedly says No and he hastens to explain. "Look - I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just - I feel bad. I want to check in. Make sure she's okay. See if she needs anything."

Ryan and Esposito share another long, wary look before Ryan reaches for his notebook, scribbles on it, and hands it to Castle. Her address. "Don't be a creep, okay?"

Esposito nods. "You try anything, we'll kill you."

"I figured."

Castle half-expects her not to answer when he rings, but surprisingly, she unlocks the door and lets him inside. She even seems to accept it when he says he just came to see if she's okay.

He tries not to stare at her too openly. She's still deathly pale, and there's a stiffness in her movements, a carefulness to the way she holds herself, avoids keeping weight on her injured leg. At least she's walking, though he thinks maybe she should sit down.

But she lets him follow her into her kitchen. He suddenly wishes he'd brought her something. Flowers. Why didn't he stop to get her flowers?

Is there a bouquet that says Someone panicked and slashed a knife at you today and I did my best to stop the bleeding?

He steals a long glance. Kate Beckett's apartment. It's nicer than he'd have expected. A lot nicer, actually. Spacious. Warm. Personal. Dozens of little details he wants to walk around and examine until he -

"Is there a reason you're here, Castle?" She folds her arms, leaning heavily on the cabinets behind her. Her palms are both bandaged, and he has a terrible memory of her trying to grab the knife before Becca can do more damage. She's breathing harder than he thinks she should be and it's making him anxious. "I'm not really up for entertaining right now. And how do you know where I live?"

"I asked Ryan and Esposito. They told me."

She presses her lips together but just nods. He wonders if Ryan and Esposito are going to get slapped for it. "Well, you can see now that I'm fine, Castle. Something else you need?"

"I'm sorry."

She freezes, startled. "What?"

"I'm sorry. You told me to stay out. I shouldn't have gone into the laundry room."

She wasn't expecting that, he can tell. She sort of deflates, her shoulders sinking, and she's doing it again, looking small and pale and tired and he just wants to take care of her.

"No. You shouldn't have." She agrees quietly. "I already had an unstable variable in the room. You coming in just introduced one more variable. One more civilian I had to worry about."

"I know." He hates himself a little bit right now. "I'm sorry."

This quiet, strained version of Kate Beckett is making him horribly nervous. She needs to yell at him. Slap him. Do something. But she just shrugs. Turns, opens a cabinet like she's reaching for a glass.

She stretches to pull it out when she puts too much weight on her leg, or maybe twists it or something, because she lets out a cry and catches herself on her counter. She sucks in a long breath, leaning on her elbows, her face strained. He's at her side in an instant. "Are you okay? Beckett? Can I help?"

She lets out a long shuddery breath, and he has to clench his fists to keep from touching her because he doesn't think she wants him to. The only physical contact she's been comfortable with so far has been grabbing his nose. Words just keep spilling out of his mouth. "Beckett, please. What do you want me to do?"

She sucks in a shaky breath, her face still screwed up in pain. "Why don't you go ask your friend the mayor? You seem to take his opinion over mine."

"Beckett -"

"What am I supposed to say, Castle?" She looks up at him, her soft, pretty face so weary. "Am I supposed to be flattered? Charmed? You can't take 'no' for an answer, so you just stop listening?"

He freezes. No - not - "Beckett, no, it's not - it wasn't - "

"Then what was it?" she sighs. "Because I don't know why you can't just listen when I tell you something."

"I'm - I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to take me seriously. If you can take anything seriously." She grits her teeth, and for a second he sees the Beckett he knows, prickly and irritated and gorgeous, in this tired woman. "Why couldn't you just back off?"

"I thought you wanted me here."

"Didn't I tell you to go away?"

"I thought -" oh, there's no way this won't make him sound like an asshole, but he blunders forward anyway because at this point he really thinks he might actually be one - "I thought you were attracted to me."

She stares at him. "You - "

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He feels like an idiot, and an asshole, and every possible kind of creep but come on, can it really be such a surprise? Doesn't she understand she's gorgeous? He had to try.

"What was your plan, Castle? Irritate me until I agree to date you?"

"Well - not exactly - " he huffs - "it sounds stupid when you say it like that."

She lets out a soft laugh. He's not sure what to make of it. She's laughing at him? Is she just tired? Is she planning to hurt him? Is her medication kicking in?

She meets his eyes, and her gaze is so soft, so quiet, he catches his breath. She's never looked at him like this before.

"Castle. I don't hate you." She shrugs. "I don't like when you do stupid things. But I don't hate you."

He has no words. Because she's looking up at him, so much shorter in her bare feet, her short hair tousled, and she looks so young.

And she doesn't hate him.

"Okay. I'm glad you don't hate me."

"Castle?" Her eyes are getting hazy. He wonders just how tired she is.

"Hmm?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure."

She bites her lip and looks up at him from under her eyelashes, and his heart stumbles in his chest because she's gorgeous when she does that. "You weren't wrong."

"About what?"

She doesn't answer, just smiles this little catlike smile, and his mind is racing, trying to remember what he said. He can keep a secret...he's sorry...he thought she was attrac-

Wait.

What?

"Beck-"

She cuts him off with the firm, insistent press of her mouth to his. Oh.

He can feel the scratch of her bandaged palms against his cheeks. He can't breathe.

She pulls away and he gapes at her.

"Just - so I'm clear - you are attracted to me?"

She lets out a short laugh, her breath washing over his face, and his heart is pounding in his chest like he's some kind of teenager. Kate Beckett makes him an idiot. She turns him upside down.

He doesn't mind.

Castle decides since she's kissed him and he's still alive, he can steal a hug, right? He slips his arms around her waist and she lets him for a moment.

It's not quite right, though. She's warm and slender against him, but instead of soft curves settling into his body, she's all lines and angles, kind of bony, and this was supposed to be sweet and romantic but it's mostly kind of uncomfortable.

She lets out a long breath and sort of sags against him, and that's when he remembers that she's medicated right now. And lost a lot of blood.

"Castle -" she shifts against him and his arms tighten around her as he feels her sway a little unsteadily. "Can you help -"

"You want to lie down?"

She nods, her fingers tightening in his shirt, and screw it, he can tell she's wiped out and he wants to keep this physical contact thing going any possible way he can. So he slides one hand over her back and tucks his other arm under her knees, pulling her up into his arms easily.

Beckett lets out a startled noise, clutching at his shoulders for balance, but she doesn't fight him, just curls up against his chest. She does manage a faintly irritated glare, though now that she's kissed him, he finds it more adorable than anything else. "Castle. I can walk."

"I know." He just grins. "But this way I can show off my manly physique."

She eyes him suspiciously. "You're just trying to feel me up."

He scoffs at her. "Why Beckett, I would never."

She just rolls her eyes, but curls back against him as he shifts her carefully in his arms. "Alright. Which way is your bedroom?" She shoots him an arch look. "I mean. So you can sleep. Bed is better than couch. Not - I mean, your couch is nice, but -"

"Shhh." She nods down the hallway. "Second door."

Castle carries her into her bedroom. It's pretty, neat, with little personal touches like the rest of her place. He sets her down on her bed and tugs her comforter over her, soft deep purple. It suits her.

"You tucked me in," she mumbles. Her eyes are starting to close. But she's smiling.

"Want a bedtime story?"

"No thanks."

He sits gingerly on the edge of her bed, not sure what to do, not willing to move away. "Do you need something else? Water? Aspirin? A footrub?"

"Mmm."

She sighs and tugs him closer by his shirt, pulling his mouth down to hers for another long, deliberate kiss.

He steals one more kiss and smiles into her mouth. "Or that."

"Now go away. I'm tired."

"All right." He stands, heads for the door. Pauses. "Can I tell Ryan and Esposito you're my girlfriend now?"

"No."

"Can I tell them we kissed?"

"Absolutely not."

"Can I tell them I copped a feel?"

She yawns. "No." Her eyes are fluttering shut and she's so pretty he thinks he's going to have to kiss her again very soon.

"Fine." He watches her eyes close, her body already loosening with sleep. "Sweet dreams, Detective."