Chapter 19

Castle's bed, Beckett thought, was particularly comfortable. Of course, that had much to do with the faint, pleasant scent of Castle, and even more to do with the presence of large, warm body of Castle. She turned into said large, warm body, and disposed herself around it. Her mind wandered back to their earlier make-out session, and the thoughts she'd had about how to...um... enjoy each other without damaging her half-healed scars and without raising her arms above her shoulders.

As her mind wandered, so did her hands. One hand, attached to an arm carefully bent at the elbow, wandered over Castle's broad shoulder – just one shoulder, since her head was pillowed on the other – and then up to his slightly scratchy jaw line. She'd never told him how sexy the scruff was at the end of a long day. He rumbled happily and brought a hand up to rest against her scapula, fidgeting his fingers gently. Amazingly, it wasn't irritating or tickling her. Her thumb slipped across his jaw, closer and closer to his lips, her featherlight touch learning the curves of his face, the small dents at the edge of his mouth, the cleft in his chin. His rumble added an edge of leonine purr as she touched his lips, and he kissed her thumb as it glided by.

Her other hand also wandered, rather less innocently. It paused for a while at his firm pecs, playing idly along his side, then, done with that, skated down Castle's abs and on to his hip, where it rested peacefully while she stroked his face. Castle's fingers had moved their fidgeting down somewhat, to the small of her back, where fidgeting was gradually becoming more of a stroke, a longer sweep of his wide span. It was very soothing, causing her to hum contentedly and curve a fraction into the warm pressure, not demanding or urgent, simply a slow, smooth petting which relaxed her spine and limbs. He was considerably more present than he had been a moment ago. Beckett reorganised her legs to drape about his, and thereby found that Castle was delightfully firm. She wiggled a little to be perfectly positioned, and found that Castle had two very available hands not just one, both of which were now fully engaged in petting her in a mildly meaningful fashion, which was precisely what she wanted.

Petting ceased. That was deeply unwanted – oh. Castle's broad hands carefully rearranged themselves around her skull, cupping her face, and brought her to his mouth without causing the slightest twinge. She was quite happy with the change, she decided. His lips were soft, teasing, and gentle: he ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her mouth and she happily opened to let him in, nipping lightly on his lower lip to encourage him to kiss her more intently. Kisses were exactly what she needed.

The assured touch didn't hurt either. Castle's hands glided down her back and drifted under her sleep tee, not encroaching on sensitive areas, but Beckett was quite sure that with a bit of encouragement that could be arranged. She gave herself up to the kiss: mutual exploration, delicate but never diffident, starting where they'd left off earlier, but learning how different it felt when they were tucked together in bed, naked legs entwined, her soft t-shirt over his bare chest, the flimsy barrier of boxers and panties between heat and hardness.

She deepened her kiss, tracing his mouth, twining her tongue into his and letting her hands cradle his face: everything slow and easy, nothing that could break the dreamy, drifting mood around them. Slowly, responses intensified, he held her closer, his hands firm and starting to slide over the swell of her ass; she moved from his mouth to his neck, and heard his mutter of come back with pleasure, nibbled at his ear and mischievously teased the shell until he emitted a deep noise and essayed some teasing of his own.

She slid sideways to allow herself to make more mischief at his ear, which helpfully freed his torso to her wandering hands, still slow, but slithering further southward over suddenly-tense stomach. His hands cupped her at shoulder and rear, a little wickedness, a teasing stroke to match hers; and heat swirled in her stomach.

Castle shifted slightly, and Beckett found herself looking up at him looming over her.

"Easier," was all he said. She could get on board with that. He leaned down and kissed her searchingly, tracing down her stomach, returning to pull up the soft tee and expose her breasts.

"How do we take this off?" he mused.

"Carefully," Beckett flipped back. "Very, very carefully."

"Do you want it taken off?"

She smiled seductively. Silly man. Of course she did. "I could easily be persuaded," she husked.

"Could you? Guess I'll need to do some persuading." He ran a light stroke just below her breasts, then dipped his head again and flicked his tongue over them. Beckett found herself positively purring with pleasure, and returned the favour by petting his pert ass, with a wicked little flicker of her own fingers which produced a rasping growl. Castle persisted in his ministrations, until Beckett was more panting than purring and perfectly persuaded that the t-shirt should go. She executed a complex wriggle developed precisely to avoid any discomfort, and the t-shirt departed her arms. After that Castle disposed of it – where, she had no idea, and nor would he since his eyes hadn't been on the t-shirt at all.

"Even more gorgeous than in a bikini," he murmured against the creamy side of her breast, and kissed it delicately, avoiding the surgical scar and bullet wound. Beckett liked that. She held his head in place, so that he would do it again, and again – and he did. So in return she petted and stroked and left him just as aroused as she was. The slight stubble tantalised her, but then her nails would tantalise him too, and they did.

Slowly, heat built between them, languorous strokes, sensuous touches, nothing hurried, nothing harsh or rough or forceful. It was almost serene, small soft noises, careful movements, lightness: until she pulled him over her, hands at his waist, guided him home and sighed in satisfaction as he sank into her mouth and body both, stroked her intimately and brought her over with him, rolled away but left his hand in hers.

"Are you okay?" he asked, after a moment.

"Yeah." The smile on her lips was there in her voice. "All good." Her fingers twined across his. "Sleepy."

Castle could hear her slowing down. "Sleep, then."

"Yeah."

He lay, listening to her breathing ease out, sensing her limbs relaxing, but just as he thought she was completely asleep he heard a tiny murmur. "Was perfect."

He thought so too. None of the high drama or emotions that might have prompted it – okay, so they'd had to be slow and gentle because of Beckett's injuries, but they hadn't been angry and it certainly hadn't simply been an overspill of the sexual tension and downright lust that had sparked between them for the last three years. It had been, well, he hated the term, but it fitted – growth. Emotional growth and a natural extension, not some crisis-driven outpouring that wouldn't be real the next day. Or, more accurately, that neither of them would admit to being real the next day. That, however, had been real, it had been loving, and more importantly it would still be real the following day.

He slipped into sleep, still clasping Beckett's limp hand, on a tide of happiness.

In Manhattan, Jim was sitting in his apartment, staring at the AA booklets on his table and his hands in equal quantity. He was not staring at his sponsor, who was sitting across from him, quietly waiting. He couldn't meet Ed's eyes.

"I fell off the wagon," he eventually scratched out. "Seven years dry and I fell off."

"What happened?" Ed asked, no judgment or condemnation in his tone, only understanding.

"Katie got shot." He raised his gaze to Ed's. "She died, Ed. Twice in the ambulance, and once in surgery. But they brought her back."

"Mmmm?"

"So I took her up to our cabin to recover when she got out of the hospital, and a week in she slipped and fell and broke her arm and I thought she'd been shot again. Her screaming in pain..." He swallowed hard. "I couldn't stand seeing her die too."

"Too?"

"My wife was murdered. I...didn't take it well. Took me five years to stop drinking then. I couldn't deal with Katie dead too..." He swallowed again. "Anyway. I managed the first time in the hospital because she was okay before I could leave and Rick was there and he was as upset as me – more, maybe – and I couldn't let him down."

"Who's Rick?"

"Rick Castle. That author fellow. He follows Katie around for his books – you know the Heat books?" Ed nodded. "Well, Katie was his inspiration, in the beginning, but now he's head over heels for her and I really thought she was for him... still do. I asked him to stop her but he couldn't, and then she got shot and I reckon he blamed himself for that. So I couldn't be less than him. But then she fell down the stairs and there was no-one but me... and I couldn't do it. I couldn't cope."

"No shame in that."

"So I needed it... and just a little helped. I didn't have the nightmares and I didn't see her dying or sprawled out on the ground. But then... I don't know how she found out but she did and then she just left. Didn't say a word to me, just left me a note and ran straight to Rick."

"You don't sound like that's a good thing," Ed said neutrally.

"I know he couldn't have stopped her. But he should have."

"I get it. You know you shouldn't blame him but you can't help feeling he should have done more."

"Yes," Jim admitted miserably. "Except I told him so. And then he said he wasn't the one she was running away from, he was the one she was running to. And cut the call." Another painful swallow. "And then I went into town and next thing I knew I was waking up in the tank and they said Katie didn't want to know."

"And?"

"And I knew she meant it. She meant it the first time and she meant it now. She didn't try to stop me this time. She just walked away and let me drown."

Ed quirked an eyebrow.

"Okay. No. It's not down to her. It's down to me. But..."

"But it's hard." Ed took a moment to think. "Jim, you've taken the first steps already. You're back here, you're talking to me, you're sober right now, you're reflecting on what's happened and you've identified the problem. Have you talked to Katie at all?"

"Not talked. I sent a message. Saying I was trying again and not to give up on me."

"Has she answered?"

"No." Jim's face was lined and old with misery. "I didn't expect her to. If it's like last time, she won't answer till I can tell her truthfully that I'm dry." He sniffed. "Maybe then she'll take the watch back."

"Watch?"

"I gave her my watch, last time. Because the thought of her saved me. She left it with her note..." His control dissolved.

"You can fix this. You've taken the first steps."

"I really hope so."

A week later, Beckett was beginning to manage a slightly abbreviated breaststroke in the pool, and their range scores were evening up. Castle was still 5-2 ahead, but the margin was no more than a couple of points either way.

"Now you're pretty much better, Beckett, do you want to go back to the city for a day?"

"Why?" she said from her sun lounger, where she was toasting gently to a beautiful golden colour.

Castle's eyes crinkled with his smile. "I thought you might want some more clothes."

"I thought you were pretty keen on me with no clothes," she pointed out.

"Yes, but walking into a restaurant naked isn't your style."

"Restaurant?"

"I thought – even though my cooking is top-notch and my taste in wine exceptional" – Beckett stuck her tongue out very childishly – "you might like to go out for dinner for a change, to somewhere nice. But you can't wear shorts and a t-shirt, or a bikini, so..."

"So I need" –

"A dress," Castle bounced. "Not an evening dress, a pretty sundress would be just fine."

"Or pants and a smart top."

He pouted. "Dress," he reiterated. "I wanna see you in a dress."

Beckett raised a highly cynical eyebrow. "Why?"

There was a noticeable pause in which Castle failed to assemble any sensible thoughts. "It would be pretty."

"Are you saying I'm not pretty if I'm not wearing a dress?"

He gaped. "No. Of course not," he said indignantly. "You're gorgeous in anything. But the restaurant is quite smart and you'd hate to stick out."

Beckett snickered at him. "You're so easy, Castle. Yes, we can go down to the city if you want, though I have a dress here already."

"You do?"

"Yep." Her eyes opened fully. "But...we could get everyone out for a drink. Say hello. Book my psych eval and retesting..." She snapped into focus. "Great idea. When? Now?"

"It's six o'clock. How about tomorrow?"

"Sure." She reached for her phone. "What time shall we say – and can we go to Remy's?"

"My burgers not enough for you?"

"We-ell," she drawled, "your buns are excellent, but Remy's does better burgers."

Castle spluttered, and then kissed her soundly. "Witch," he said affectionately. "Tell them six. Who're you thinking of?"

"Espo, Ryan, Lanie. The old gang."

"Not O'Leary?"

"Not this time." Castle raised his eyebrows. "He and Espo get a bit competitive."

"Oh."

She rapidly tapped out texts, and then put her phone down. "Done."

"Good. When do you want to go?"

"No need to hurry. It won't take me long to pack anything, and the city's horrible in August. I can't go to the precinct, so the only other thing to do would be book the evaluations. Mid-morning? After lunch, maybe?"

"After lunch," Castle decided. "Might as well enjoy the morning."

The elephant in the room, of course, was that Beckett had neither contacted her father nor heard from him since his text. Still, that wasn't Castle's issue, as long as the universe didn't mess it all up by ensuring that they experienced the million-to-one coincidence of meeting Jim Beckett in the few hours they'd be in Manhattan.

"If you've finished bronzing, let's make dinner."

Beckett drifted through dinner-making without much in the way of conversation or interaction, though she ate well enough when it was done. Castle left her to her thinking, until she should share it. Or, given that this was Beckett, not share it.

Over coffee under the stars, she said out of the blue, "I don't want to."

"Uh?" Castle said inarticulately, having no idea to what she was referring. "Don't want to what?"

"Call Dad."

"Why?"

"We'll be in Manhattan. He's trying. I feel guilty that I'm ignoring it – not even acknowledging that he's trying. But I don't want to get in touch. I don't want to watch it if he fails."

"Mm."

"You told him to get in touch when he was dry. It's up to him."

"I guess." But she didn't sound convinced. Shortly, she got up and wandered past the pool to the edge of the grass, looking out over the dark sea. Castle followed her, and slung an arm around her: there without suffocating her.

"Sleep on it," he said.

"Yeah... I think I might stay out here for a while. It helps. It's so big..."

"Do you want me to stay out with you?"

She stiffened. "Do you mind... not?" It was Castle's turn to stiffen. She breathed in deeply, painfully. "I need some time on my own, to work out what I really think. You... it's too comfortable. Everything seems so easy for you, and then I think it's easy but it's not easy, it shouldn't be easy, there's more to it than just a simple easy answer. You go straight to the fixing things, and I need to work through the whys."

"Okay," Castle said slowly, unable to keep a slight hurt from his voice. Naturally, Beckett picked up on it. Not naturally at all, she explained.

"It's not that I don't appreciate everything. It's just... I need to do this by myself. You said – okay about me getting better but you still said it – you'd let me do it myself. Be strong enough. So let me do this too. You let me get better, and here I am because you did and now I'm strong enough to be here with you. So let me do this, tonight."

Castle still didn't like it. Only a few days in, and he'd become totally used to sliding into sleep with the faint cherry scent of Beckett in his nostrils and the sensation of Beckett's skin next to his. He didn't want to lose that.

"Okay," he said again. "But... when you're done, or sleepy, come in, huh?"

"I will."

Castle turned away inside, leaving Beckett to sink down on to the dry grass and stare out over the sea, not seeing the gleaming on the small swells or the path of the moonlight on the water, but instead finding history in the dark edge of the horizon. The first time... the previous time.

Eventually, she'd given up. Walked away, joined ACOA, Al-Anon, anything that she thought would help her. Dived into the morass of her mother's case, and almost lost her job thereby. Went to therapy, and finally understood. But through all of it, once she understood, she'd waited until he was dry. She couldn't hold him up; couldn't control or cure him. She hadn't, in the end, tried.

So, here she was again. Same situation. Same options. Only difference was that she'd walked away immediately.

Well. Not the only difference. Because the first time, he'd taken months – years – to realise that she was gone for good, unless he fixed it. This time, he'd taken a week. Conditioning, she thought acidly. The previous time, she'd finally done what she'd said she would do – left, and not contacted him – so he'd taken the painful lesson and was already taking steps, sure that she'd meant it.

She had. Every last tear-stained word of the note had been meant with her whole heart and mind and shattered soul.

She stared out, into the unforgiving ocean and the cool moonlight flickering on the tide. It had been a week since she received his text, and she hadn't replied. She hadn't replied the first time. If she replied, would she be rewarding his fall – or his struggle to get up again? Did she want to reply to assuage her guilt or to help him, or both?

The dark sky and wide ocean gave her no answers: she would have to find those within herself. For a moment, she wished she'd asked Castle to stay: to hold her undemandingly, and to reflect her thoughts. Only... she wouldn't think, she'd put it off: snuggle into Castle and ignore it.

Time passed, and her thoughts circled her head: round and round the hamster wheel. Another week, she eventually decided. She'd give him one more week, and re-assess then.

Quietly, she went inside, prepared for bed, and slid in beside Castle, who mumbled contentedly in his sleep as she curled in and held him close.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Only three chapters left after this one.