5: Time after time

It's too early to descend upon Michael – he doesn't open till nearer ten, although Castle supposes the workshop opens earlier and therefore sends a hopeful text to ask – so Castle repairs to his office, pretends to write and spends some happily focused time thinking about Beckett, kisses, and bed. He thinks he's worked out why she wasn't worried about sleepwalking into his bed now – she knew he'd be careful of her, and she wants to – finally finally finally! – move this on to a different footing. He wafts off into a happily contented daydream of cuddly Beckett until her ribs heal – three weeks? He'll be a wreck, though if he's going to be wrecked so will she be – and then a rather differently close-held Beckett. Only the ting of his phone breaks him out of his reveries.

It's Michael, telling him to come by around ten. That would be in about forty minutes, then, and it'll take him twenty-some of those minutes to get there. He pulls himself together and whisks through washing and shaving, by which time it's really time to get going.

The final few pieces of watch are neatly arranged on a dull green cloth when Castle is admitted to the workshop. He looks at them worriedly. This seems complicated, and the tools are very tiny set against his broad hands and large fingers.

"What do I do?" he asks plaintively.

"Only what I tell you to do. Don't worry, Rick. I won't let you make a mistake or mess this up. Just listen, and don't rush anything."

"Okay," he says nervously.

"We're going to start with the face." Castle listens very attentively and does exactly as he is told without a single deviation. The tools are tiny in his hands, and his concentration is absolute. "Good. Now the hands. See this little point?" Michael points.

"Mmmmphm."

"Put them on, very gently. If you over-tighten it will break." Castle complies, as if he were placing soap bubbles. "Good." Michael smiles. "For all those broad fingers of yours, Rick, you're not bad at this. If you ever want a new career…"

"No thanks. I'll stick to writing."

"Okay, then." Michael shrugs. "Last part – the glass."

The glass is safely installed and Castle puts down the tools with a sigh of considerable relief. Michael fusses with the watch for a few minutes, polishing with a soft cloth till it's completely clean.

"Now, Rick, you need a strap. What did it have before?"

Castle thinks. He's seen that watch on Beckett's wrist every single day he's followed her… "Definitely leather, not metal," he says, trying to conjure up the picture. "Mmmm – dark brown, smooth. Not a snakeskin, or a colour."

"Do you want the same?"

"Yes. I want it to be just like it was. It means so much to her."

Michael casts him a piercing glance and, as before, declines to comment. He doesn't really need to. Castle can read his silence like a book. Well, Michael's curiosity will have to go unsatisfied. Castle intends to hold this very new, fragile, delicate, about-to-be a relationship close to his chest (like Beckett, he thinks, which is entirely unhelpful) for some time to come. Let the seedling grow proper roots, before tugging it.

"I'll get you a box."

Michael returns with a watch-box and a dark brown – nearly black – leather strap, which he rapidly fits to the correct points. The watch safely stowed in its box, Castle tucks it into a pocket, settles up with Michael, casts a casual glance over the display cases and, despite Michael's urgings to look more closely at this, that and some other pieces of expensive prettiness, manages to escape his clutches without adding further to the shop's monetary profits but leaving Michael even richer in profuse thanks.

It takes him until he returns home and wonders why he hasn't heard from Beckett for Castle to remember that he switched his phone to silent so that it wouldn't disturb him at an inopportune moment. He finds a single missed call, and then a text. Medical leave. M not happy with me. It's timed at nine-thirty or so, and it's now close to noon. Castle puts the watch in its box safely in his office, investigates the loft, and finds no Becketts but only a neat note near the coffee machine. Came back, gone to see real estate agent. Oh. That's… depressing.

His good mood rather gone, Castle makes himself a consolatory coffee and is around halfway through it when the outer door opens slowly and Beckett inches through it, carrying a squishy-looking bag and appearing tired, fretful and pale. Castle relieves her of the bag, which squashes in a very interesting manner that he is unable to investigate, and steers her to the couch, putting the bag down close by. She stands, looking exhaustedly at it, clearly trying to work out the least painful method of sitting down. Castle solves the instant problem by putting both hands on her waist, at which point Beckett folds at the knees and is safely lowered on to the cushions.

"That was pointless," she says with some irritation. "Not a single suitable property in Manhattan from any of the agents I went to see. What am I going to do?"

"Stay here," Castle says with rather more happiness than is perhaps appreciated by Beckett.

"I can't do that for ever, Castle. You've done so much already and I can't keep imposing on you like this."

"Beckett, it's been three days. My mother's been here for thirteen years. Trust me, you're not an imposition." He grins evilly at her. "You don't even seem to need a bed." She growls. "Too soon?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I got nowhere to go. How can there not be any rentals in the whole of Manhattan?" She grins back, ruefully. "Looks like you're stuck with me for a day or two yet."

"That's okay, Beckett. You can stay as long as you need. Have some coffee."

"Thanks."

Castle makes more coffee and comes to sit next to Beckett, placing a comforting arm around her and metaphorically crossing his fingers that she won't object. She doesn't. She doesn't move in, either, but that can be put down to her inability to move easily.

"How'd it go with Montgomery?"

Beckett cringes.

"Could've been better," she starts. "He…wasn't at all happy I'd gone out with the Feds – though he was less unhappy when I said that I was in charge of the situation and they did what I told them – and he got really unhappy when I told him that my ribs got broken." She starts something that looks like a guilty squirm, and stops hurriedly. "I – er – didn't get into details. Then he put me on medical leave for a week. Said that if I couldn't obey a simple order like sticking to desk duty when hurt he'd make sure I couldn't get more hurt. So here I am. Again." She makes a face. "Hope you didn't want to charge me rent. It's unpaid leave."

Castle snorts. "Charge you rent? Not likely. I'll take it in trade, though." Beckett emits a noise that would scare tyrannosaurs out their senses. If they had senses. He rapidly carries on. "If you give Alexis sensible advice you can stay for as long as you need."

"Huh?"

"C'mon. You know my mother. D'you think I really want my mother's – er – unique view of life and how to deal with it being the only female role model she sees?" He drifts off the original track. "Come to think of it, Alexis should see Lanie working, too. That would help. Maybe Lanie would let Alexis shadow her for a while."

"Doesn't Alexis have school?"

"Oh. Yeah. I suppose that would be a bit of a problem." He smiles happily. "See, you're being useful again." The idea has clearly captured his mind, though. "Maybe in vacation." And then his mind escapes again. "Anyway. Did you get lunch?"

"No. I just got some stuff and came back."

"Stuff?"

"Replacement clothes," she says wearily. It sounds very much as if even shopping for the necessities – he's sure it's only necessities – has tired her.

"Take a couple of painkillers, and I'll make lunch." Castle helps her stand, but fails to let go and compounds his sin by wrapping Beckett tidily into his arms. Well, she fits there very neatly and he does like having a tidy home. (His desk is often a whole other matter.)

"This is making lunch?"

"No, this is self-indulgence. I forgot to buy chocolate ice-cream."

"I'm a substitute for ice-cream?"

Castle opens his mouth on a reply that centres around the word lick but rapidly thinks better of it when he sees the fire rising in Beckett's suddenly-steely eyes.

"Um… what would you like for lunch?"

"Not ribs. I've had enough of ribs for the next few weeks. Or years."

Castle grins in appreciation. "Sandwiches," is all he says. "I think there's some soda, too. Or milk."

"Milk?"

"Calcium. Mend all those broken bones." He smirks. Beckett growls. It's rather spoilt by the fact that she's still in his grasp, and either hasn't noticed or isn't objecting.

"My diet is perfectly well-balanced."

"Your diet is one hundred percent takeout."

"But balanced. How do you think I'd be able to do my job if I wasn't fully fit?"

"Sheer force of will," Castle says mischievously. "Mind over matter." He takes a preventative grip of her arms, just in case. "Anyway, that's irrelevant. You're not fit. You're on medical leave, and apart from anything else you've got broken ribs and probably lots of bruises and cuts." He has a happy thought. "You should put lotions on those. Or embrocations. I could rub them in for you. Very gently, of course. I took a massage course once."

"No." Castle pulls on a pleading, puppyish look and widens his eyes. It doesn't work. "Absolutely not. You're just trying to get a look at me nearly naked."

"Another one," he lets slip. Ooops.

"I knew you peeked!" Beckett squawks. "You…you…voyeur!"

"That is such a hot word," Castle says unhelpfully. "It just slides over the tongue, slickly."

"That is not the point. You said you wouldn't look!"

Castle notices that while Beckett is berating him for voyeurism she is not beating him about the head and nor is she extricating herself from his arms. It seems that that thought has not occurred to her. He takes shameless advantage of her lapse and moves closer: all two inches of available space that used to be between them now gone.

"But it was such a pretty sight," he says insinuatingly. "How could I resist? Just like you couldn't resist sneaking into my bed last night."

"That's entirely different," Beckett says crossly. Castle raises an eyebrow at her. "It is." His other eyebrow rises. "I wasn't ogling your naked body."

"I wouldn't have minded if you were. Anyway, you sneaked into my bed twice."

"I was sleepwalking. Hardly sneaking."

"You still ended up draped all over my naked chest. I'm sure some ogling was involved."

"I was asleep. What part of asleep don't you get?"

"The bit where you said it didn't matter that you'd sleepwalked into my bed but any other bed would have been a problem." Admittedly, that doesn't exactly follow logically. But Beckett is delightfully flustered and still locked in his arms, so she might not notice. "I think it matters a lot," he adds annoyingly. "I think you should explain."

"I think I'm hungry," Beckett deflects. "You promised me lunch. Sandwiches."

"Deal. I'll provide sandwiches if you provide explanations. Why's sneaking into my bed not important?"

She looks up, sharply, as if he's said something stupid, then looks down again. At that point she realises that looking down is restricted to Castle's shoulder since she's held close to him. She sighs.

"I'm tired." She looks and sounds it, again.

Castle decides to stop teasing, fun as it is, walks her back to the couch and sits her down again. "You stay there. Please?" he adds as she starts to growl. "I'll make lunch."

"I thought you were blackmailing me with the sandwiches." Castle turns back, surprised.

"Not when you're tired. You need fed." He grins mischievously. "After all, if you're that tired you might fall asleep again. Who knows where you'd end up if you went wandering in your sleep."

Sandwiches duly appear, with soda. Castle sits down far closer to Beckett than he'd ever have dared a week ago, doesn't get shot or maimed, polishes off his lunch in extremely short order and thereby frees up his hands to put an arm around her. Purely to hold her up straight, of course. To stop her slumping with tiredness and hurting her ribs. Of course. And being tucked against her – or her against him – had nothing to do with it at all.

Of course it didn't have nothing to do with it. It had everything to do with it. Beckett tucked beside him is just plain perfect. He wriggles into the ideal alignment, and waits happily till Beckett finishes eating.

Finishing eating does not appear to translate to finishing her sandwich. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She wrinkles her nose disgustedly. "How can doing hardly anything make me this tired?"

"Well… you did crack your ribs three days ago, follow it up by breaking them, get blown up and then beaten up and have to go to ER both times, so you're probably tired because you're healing. Take the painkillers you were going to take a little while ago." He glances at her unobtrusively. "I'll go get them. You stay here."

" 'Kay." As he makes for the stairs he thinks he hears don't wanna move. Can't move might be more accurate, but then when has Beckett ever admitted she can't do anything?

She takes two painkillers and is reinserted into the curve of his arm. This time, unfortunately, she notices.

"What are you doing, Castle?"

"Don't you know what a hug is?"

Beckett rolls her eyes. "Sure I do."

"Then you should know what I'm doing. Hugging you."

"Why?"

"Hugs cure everything."

"I prefer Advil."

"Ouch." Castle fake winces, only too glad to see a little bit of Beckett back, even if it is snark. "After I've fed you sandwiches – well, half a sandwich – and painkillers, too." He smirks. "And after you kissed me. If you're going to kiss me without any provocation at all then I'm going to hug you. Fair's fair, Beckett."

"It's entirely different" – He doesn't let her finish that sentence.

"Okay, I'll make it fair."

He turns just a little towards her, bends his head and kisses her. It's just his good luck that her lips were opening on an irritated protest at his words. He doesn't even try to stop his unopposed invasion: exploring and then devouring; the same heavenly taste as last night; the same instant, raging fire. His hand slips into her hair, his mouth moves on hers as her hand rises to grip his shoulder and he holds her body still so that she can't shift and be hurt. The easiest way to do that, his desire-fogged brain tells him, is to lift her on to his lap in one single smooth movement. So he slides one arm under her knees and clamps one around her shoulders and does precisely that, settling Beckett very gently against him and then repossessing her mouth without a hitch. Or even a hint of a wince, for that matter.

Eventually, some time around a hundred years later, he stops kissing her, very reluctantly. Beckett seems equally reluctant to stop, which is both reassuring and fortunate. Even with broken ribs Castle is pretty sure she could kill him without difficulty. Instead she's nicely positioned in his lap (he'd say comfortably, but he's really not very comfortable at all) and has lain her head on his shoulder, nuzzled into his neck, and is very nearly purring.

Stroking her would be a really, really stupid idea. Keeping her cuddled close would be a much better plan. Yells of pain are not what he wants to hear from Beckett. Other yells, now… Which thought does nothing for his comfort level at all. He exerts amazing self-discipline and simply cuddles her. Well, with the occasional stroke of her hair. He's not that self-disciplined.

"Now we're even," he says.

"Even?" Beckett hums.

"You kissed me. I kissed you. Even."

"Are you keeping score?" Hum has changed to forcefulness.

"Yep," Castle says annoyingly. "Otherwise you'll cheat."

"Cheat? I never cheat!" Her voice is rising. Amusing as this is, if she takes a deep breath she will be in agony.

"Okay, you don't cheat. But you do take advantage of me."

"Anything less like a Victorian virgin than you would be difficult to find, Castle. How am I taking advantage of you?" Castle pounces on her mistake like a starved wolf on a dead horse.

"We could start with you sneaking into my bed. Twice. And kissing me. Twice."

"You are obsessed with me sneaking into your bed. I did not sneak. I sleepwalked."

"The first time, maybe," Castle says, with a fine air of disbelief, "so you said. The second time you sneaked. And I notice you're not mentioning the kisses."

Beckett says nothing, for a moment, gulping like a goldfish.

"I did sleepwalk," she says indignantly.

"And then you sneaked."

"Will you shut up about the sneaking? You know why" – she stops, abruptly.

"So why didn't the sleepwalking matter?" This does not produce an instant response. "C'mon. If you're going to sleep in my bed" – he only just avoids the words sleep with me, since they haven't yet slept together though he really, really hopes that it's not far off – "you can at least explain why you sleepwalked into my bed."

"I don't know." Castle considers what he has just asked, recognises his mistake and that Beckett has taken full advantage of it, and rephrases.

"Why didn't it matter that you sleepwalked into my bed?"

"Are we back to this again?"

"Yes."

"I'm not in Interrogation."

"No, but you are arrested."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are. Arrest means stop, and you are quite definitely at a stop. You can't move unless I let go and probably help you move." He grins very smugly. "You're stuck. You don't get to move unless you answer my very reasonable question."

"Blackmail is very unbecoming, Castle."

"Unbecoming? Who's behaving like a Victorian virgin now? And anyway, it's not blackmail. Merely using the advantages I've got." Unbelievably, he musters another layer of irritating smugness. He's managed a new high score on the smugometer. He'll mark that on his calendar. "Besides which, you like it here. And I like you here." He thinks for a second. "But I like you even better in my bed."

There's a furious growl in his ear. Success. Now if he can only annoy her a little more she'll lose her temper and then he'll get the answer. Perfect.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers. Much appreciated.