Chapter 16

"Might be time for me to go," O'Leary rumbled after a moment. "Reckon you two got some" – he paused mischievously – "talkin' to do."

Castle regarded him over Beckett's dark head, presently tucked into his shoulder. "You don't want some dinner?"

"I don't wanna be a third wheel, an' you two got some talkin' to do, like I just said. It's a coupla hours home, an' I don't wanna be late. Pete cooks nice stuff." He lumbered to his enormous feet. "Now, you kids play nice. I don't wanna come back an' have to knock your lips together."

Both of them blushed. O'Leary regarded their scarlet-tinged faces with approval.

"I'll see you out," Castle said, and all three left the poolside.

"Bye," Beckett said, detached herself from Castle, and bumped fists with O'Leary.

"An' eat somethin', Beckett!"

"Yes, Mommy," she muttered. Castle escorted O'Leary away, and Beckett idly examined the table, which was devoid of any food except a rather sun-dried cinnamon bun. She ate it anyway, chasing each bite with a gulp of coffee.

Castle returned, still slightly pink about the ears, and took in the scene before him.

"Don't you want something a little less baked?" he asked, looking at the crumbs.

Beckett considered. Her gut was still deeply unhappy, but that might have been because it was also empty, though she didn't really think so. Her decision was made for her when she noticed her hand shaking slightly around the coffee cup.

"I guess," she said quietly. Castle disappeared and shortly returned with bread, salad, and the remains of the pie.

"Have something," he cajoled.

She leaned her elbows on the table, and stared at the surface, picking at the piece of bread she'd taken but not actually putting anything in her mouth.

"What do I do?" she said miserably. "Dad's going to drink himself to disaster and I'm just letting him drown." She picked the bread apart some more. "I couldn't save him last time and I can't save him this time," she added.

"Do you want to go to an ACOA? There's one not too far from here," Castle suggested.

"I know what they'll say. Didn't cause, can't control, can't cure. Why d'you think I" – there was a harsh breath – "left him to it? I know that. Just like I know he's most likely already drunk, at five p.m. The only real question is whether he's drunk at home or drunk in a bar."

Castle slid round and sneaked an arm around her shoulders. "I guess you can't help worrying about him," he said, "but...Beckett...um... you don't need to deal with it all by yourself. I get that you want to stand on your own feet, but you can always talk to me. I wouldn't do anything unless you asked me to," he added. "I'm not going to call your dad, or go and collect him and drop him off at a rehab, or get involved. He's your dad and it's up to you how you deal with him – but... just...you can talk to me, okay?"

"I don't like talking about it," she mumbled.

"I'm not saying you have to. I'm not even asking you to talk now. All I'm saying is that when it's all getting too much, instead of tossing and turning and sleeping outside, you can talk to me. You know I don't keep regular hours. Being woken doesn't bother me – my mother does it all the time though mostly it's not deliberate."

"Uh?" Beckett said, more alive than at any time that day. She stopped picking at the bread, now destroyed, and took a slice of cold meat pie, neatly cutting it into bite-size chunks.

"You know Mother. She's not quiet. Even when she comes in at three in the morning she's not quiet."

"Don't you sleep through it?" Three small pieces of pie were gone.

"Not since Alexis," Castle said simply. "You're always listening, even when you're asleep."

Beckett cut another slice of pie into pieces, and disposed of them too. Castle didn't move from next to her, and didn't comment. She nibbled at some salad, and then pushed her plate away.

"I'll put it away."

"I'll help," Beckett said firmly. It might also help them return to a rather better place than they'd been in for all of that morning.

"Okay."

Castle's casual acceptance, as he hopped off his chair and started collecting up plates, was reassuring. Beckett, feeling better for her pieces of pie, followed, a little cautiously, balancing the weight on her left arm. The doctor had been very definite about not putting strain on the healing arm.

The remains of lunch (or possibly afternoon snack) tidied away, and the early evening sun painting the ground, Beckett was still restless and fretful.

"Come on," Castle said. "Let's go swimming. You might not be able to do much but it's better than wearing a hole in my beautiful wooden floors."

"We're outside."

"My paving. Or carefully maintained turf. It wouldn't like holes."

"You care more about your paving than my feet?"

"No, I care a lot more about seeing you in that tiny green bikini, though." He gazed soulfully at her. "C'mon, let's go swimming."

Oh, why not? It had to be better than wearing holes in the soles of her feet.

"And after that I'll put the grill on and we can have barbecued burgers just like Remy's."

She quirked a very sceptical eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe not quite like Remy's. But still, grilled burgers. I've got plenty of toppings."

"Sounds great." It did. Simple, easy food was just what she needed. She had to eat: she was still far too thin for her own liking and she needed something to fuel the physio exercises. Oh. She hadn't done them today. "I can't come swimming. Yet," she added at Castle's disappointed look. "I haven't done my physio. I've got to do that first."

"Go do it, then," he said easily, "and I'll play fair by doing some swimming for exercise while you do." He paused. "But before you do..." He put his hands on her waist and tugged gently. "Hug," he explained unnecessarily. "Hugs are good."

Hugs were good. Much better than physio, but unfortunately physio had to be done, which meant that hugs had to be vacated. Beckett released herself, slowly.

"I won't be too long," she said.

"Good."

Castle disappeared in the direction of his bedroom, and Beckett went to hers, changing into a neat black bikini which flattered her just as much as the green one, covering it with a t-shirt and soft shorts, and then making her way to a deserted patch of Castle's immense grounds to conduct her exercises. They were a lot easier without a cast on one arm. Still not easy, but better. Maybe some very gentle swimming – breast stroke only – would be possible? That would be much nicer than nothing. And she'd have to concentrate, which would keep her mind away from her father. She concentrated very hard on her exercises, at that thought. It didn't stop a stray drip from trailing down her cheek, or the twisting of her abdomen. She concentrated harder.

Back in Roscoe, Jim had vacated the tank, fortunately without having been charged. He guessed that meant that he hadn't done anything other than be incapable of leaving under his own steam. It...

No. It was that bad. He couldn't remember anything. He could have done anything.

"Where do you live?" the cop asked him.

"Got a cabin a few miles out of town."

"How are you getting there? Got a ride?"

Jim stared at him. "My car" – he began, and then swallowed. "I'm not fit to drive," he said.

"Glad you worked that out," the cop said. It wasn't a compliment. "If I was you, I'd get a motel room and not touch your car till tomorrow." He stared bleakly at Jim. "If we catch you in your car, we'll breathalyse you, and if you fail you'll be charged."

Jim suddenly realised that to this burly, rural cop he was – just another drunk. Just a puking, puling mess that the cop couldn't care less about. All his professional reputation, his Manhattan background, his comfortable life – to this cop, they didn't exist. He was just another drunk.

"I'll do that. Thank you," he said, uselessly.

"Roscoe Motel is nearest. 'Bout a mile back towards town."

"Thank you."

Jim turned and trudged out the door. Each step roiled his already-unhappy, acid-burning stomach; thudded through his pounding hangover. Not one whit of the pain blotted any iota of his scalding shame and self-disgust. Seven years he'd been dry, but that had been destroyed in one horrible moment when he'd thought that Katie had been shot again; seen her crumpled and in agony at the bottom of the cabin steps... seen her dead. He couldn't bear her like that.

She'd left him. She'd said she couldn't bear him like this, and left. No attempt to save him, no Dad, please stop. Just the cold note, and his watch that he'd given her and she'd worn every day for the last seven years. She'd simply...gone.

Run to Rick Castle.

Run to Rick Castle, who hadn't saved her and didn't protect her, rather than staying with him, her dad, the one who'd taken care of her and helped her recover and been there for her. Rick Castle hadn't done any of that. Who did he think he was, telling Jim to go to rehab? He didn't need rehab. He knew what to do. He could fix himself.

Jim tramped painfully along the road to the motel, allowing the hammers in his head and his stomach-ache to drown out the voice saying Rick Castle was there in the ambulance, and the hospital, and you know he was as devastated as you. Rick Castle is totally in love with Katie and you know that Katie is in love with him.

The motel was quiet, small, and cheap. Jim checked in for one night, and was shown to a neat, clean single room. There was no mini-bar. A small devilish voice said you could go buy some. He pushed it away. He'd show Katie he could do it and she didn't need to go running to Rick Castle. That whippersnapper had no right to interfere.

He drank several glasses of water, and fell asleep, waking only to drink more water and undress to sleep properly. All the time his shame warred with his anger at Rick Castle, and, subconsciously, with Katie for abandoning him without a word, all over again.

"You done?" Castle said happily. "Come on in, the water's lovely."

Beckett plodded to the sun lounger and carefully took off her t-shirt, still not able to raise her arms fully, though they had more flexibility than on the previous day. Her shorts followed. She could feel Castle's eyes on her, and knew without even looking that they would be warm and appreciative. She turned around, still unhappy about the scars, but determined that they would not stop her wearing what she wanted to wear or doing what she wanted to do.

Right then, what she wanted to do was see the heat in Castle's face as she came towards the pool, to remind herself that he, at least, loved her. Her step faltered on the thought, though, and warmth turned almost instantly to worry: he half-moved towards her, then forcibly restrained himself and waited, saying nothing. As she reached the edge and sat down, he floated towards her, sleek wet hair pushed back untidily, back slightly tanned. He stood up, smiling. Water trickled over his shoulders and also-tanned chest. As he took in her black bikini, any worry dissolved in the heat she'd wanted to see.

She smiled back, deliberately seductive, and surveyed him as he took a step-stroke and arrived right in front of her, resting his hands either side of her. For once her head was above his. She had to work hard not to cover the red knot at the point of the V of her bikini. She wouldn't hide it.

Castle leaned forward and kissed just above the scar, exactly as he had done two days ago, then put big hands around her waist and lifted her off the edge and into the water, holding her close.

"There," he said. "Told you the water was lovely."

Beckett wasn't convinced he was only talking about the water. Tentatively, she tried to raise her arms so that she could balance against his shoulders, and found that if she didn't try to lift the whole arm but only fold up from her elbows, she could. Her feet floated off the bottom of the pool, and Castle loosened his clasp slightly.

"Can you swim?" he asked.

"Usually. Can I swim now? I don't know."

"Wanna try?"

Beckett shrugged. "May as well."

Castle let go of her and swam out of her way. Beckett pushed off the bottom with her toes, attempted the arm movements for breast stroke, got halfway, and stopped abruptly.

"Ow," she emitted.

Castle was there in a heartbeat. "What?" he questioned.

"Can't push my arms forward. It pulls on the scars," she added bitterly.

He hugged her gently. "Do the exercises help? I mean, isn't it better now than when you left Manhattan?"

"Yeah," she dragged out. "But I'm so sick of not being able to do anything properly."

"I know something you can do properly."

"What?"

"Kiss me," he said, and promptly forestalled her by kissing her instead. His arms wrapped round her, hers mysteriously fastened around his broad back, and his mouth played delicately over hers. She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips, seeking entrance, and he opened up and let her in to explore and tease as she pleased.

"See," he said happily. "You can kiss me properly. You can kiss me any time you like. In fact, you can kiss me all the time – ummffff."

She did. It was the only way to shut him up, and it was working brilliantly. It was also working brilliantly to push away all her other worries and fears, because all she could think about were Castle's firm arms around her, his wide chest against her, and his soft, sensual mouth on hers. She held on to him as best she could and let herself drown in his strength.

At last they parted their lips, but he still held her close, carefully not touching near the surgical scar, equally careful not to slip his hand down on to her rear. She leaned into him, unwilling to let go, for the first time accepting all the comfort which he was offering. Let him look after you, O'Leary had rumbled. 'S no shame. Suddenly, she understood what he'd meant. Castle wasn't going to store it up; use it later. He was just there. Her partner...

"You always know," she murmured. "Every time. But..." her face fell. "I get you wrong. I didn't want to see." He made a sharp sound. "No. Because only my mother mattered – I thought. So I kept you at arm's length because..."

She dropped her eyes, unable to meet his open, understanding gaze, and gulped. "Because I knew you'd be more important if I let you in," she spilt out, and tried to move.

"Don't," he breathed. "Don't run away. Let me in now. You told me you loved me, and you know I love you. Don't hide or shut yourself away. Just be here with me." She hid her face against him. "I've got you now. Next time, maybe it'll be you holding me up – just like you did after Damien. It's not one way."

His fingers stroked, barely moving but ever-present, soothing and caressing, while Beckett recovered herself, and finally, a little damply, met Castle's eyes. He only smiled softly.

"Thank you," she said, heartfelt.

"Any time." He shivered. "But it's a bit cold and I'm turning into a prune and since I need to help you out, let's both get out of the pool and have some dinner. I'm hungry." His stomach agreed, very audibly.

A short time later, both separately tidied up and dressed, they reconvened in the kitchen: Castle searching out burgers and accompaniments, Beckett preparing a salad and managing, still a touch cautiously, to slice buns open.

"That's everything. I'm going to go and start the barbecue. Will you bring out the salad and buns?" He was piling burgers, corn on the cobs, cheese, ketchup, mustard, onion rings, and mayonnaise on a tray, precariously balanced on his forearm.

"Sure," Beckett agreed, waiting for the crash. There wasn't one. Instead there was the happy noise of male-meets-barbecue. It must have been some Palaeolithic hindbrain reaction, though since Castle actually liked cooking and did a lot of it, he probably simply enjoyed the change of style. She followed the noises and her nose and, depositing salad and buns on the table with the heap of other foodstuffs, found Castle happily firing up the charcoal.

"It'll take a bit to get going," he noted. "How about a glass of wine while we wait?"

"Okay."

Castle wandered off and wandered back again with a bottle of Californian rose and two glasses dangling from his fingers. He opened the bottle efficiently and poured the wine. Beckett curled her fingers round the bowl of the glass, but didn't taste it, staring at the fluid and making it spin gently.

"Don't you want to try it?" Castle asked, after a few moments of spinning and silence.

"Oh... yeah." She took a sip. It was very nice. Of course it was. It came from Castle's collection of wine, after all. He'd never produced anything that wasn't very nice.

"You can grill burgers if you want to," he said after another few moments.

"Uh?"

"Beckett, wake up! I know you hardly slept last night, but you had a nap this afternoon, so you can't be that tired already. What's up?"

"Nothing," she said, absolutely truthfully. She had no thoughts in her head at all. In fact, she couldn't hold on to a single idea any more: completely exhausted by the emotional upheavals of the day and, indeed, the previous evening and night. All she really wanted was dinner and sleep... actually, there was one thought that had managed to cling on to her brain. Sleep next to her Castle. "I am tired. Can we just get dinner and then I think I'll have to go to bed?"

"Sure," he agreed, tinged with just a hint of disappointment, which Beckett, yawning, entirely missed. "I'll start the burgers now."

Grilled burgers appeared, were decorated, and disappeared into their mouths. Beckett, finally discovering that she was hungry, disposed of three, to Castle's astonishment, topped it off with his best chocolate ice cream, and then sat, completely unable even to consider action, while he ate his ice cream more slowly. She did manage to stack up crockery, and even to take some through to the kitchen, but Castle refused to allow her to do anything further and backed it up with a gentle but decisive shove in the direction of her bedroom.

Beckett prepared herself for bedtime in her own room – and then stumbled sleepily across the passage into Castle's bedroom, tucked herself into his comfortingly Castle-scented bed, and was out almost faster than the light.

Castle, left to his own lonely devices, finished clearing up, pouted a little that Beckett had been so tired that she couldn't even face coffee – oh. No coffee? She must have been unbelievably exhausted. Normally nothing short of a nuclear bomb or the zombie apocalypse would have divided Beckett from her coffee.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.