Chapter 11

"Of course I do!" Detective Beckett snapped. "I trust them with my life every single day on the job."

"Do you do trust them with anything outside your work?"

"It's irrelevant. We're a really good team. We don't sit around braiding each other's hair. We rely on each other and our different skills."

Dr Burke changed tack. "Why did you tell 'Espo' that you were damaged?"

"Because it was pretty damn obvious."

"You mean the effects of the case. Would you have mentioned it had the case not affected you so overtly?"

Detective Beckett squirmed. "No," she eventually admitted.

"Has it been mentioned again?"

"No."

"Did you tell them that you had injured your arm and knees?"

"No." Detective Beckett's words had become more and more clipped off as Dr Burke continued.

"Would you expect any of your team to inform you if they were injured?"

"Only if it affected their ability to do the job."

"As yours did," Dr Burke said neutrally.

"It didn't."

Dr Burke regarded Detective Beckett with an air that showed he knew that to be incorrect. "You have been removed from duty until it has healed," he pointed out. "That is hardly a sign of no effect." Detective Beckett scowled blackly. "I ask again, why did you not share that you had sustained an injury with your team?"

Answer came there none. Dr Burke waited for long enough for it to be apparent that there would be no answer, and then resolved to take a course which, he considered, was guaranteed to anger Detective Beckett.

"I can only conclude," he stated, "that while you would have regarded any of your team concealing such an injury, once they were aware that it was not healing, as a fundamental breach of trust, you do not consider that the same applies to you."

It took Detective Beckett a moment. Then – "You dare say I'm applying double standards? I told you and told you that I washed it out and thought it was okay. It didn't affect my performance on the case at all and it wasn't until after that when we had no new cases at all that Gates sent me home. That's not a double standard!"

"What would you have said to anyone who had ignored a clearly infected injury?"

"Sent them to the ER after I'd chewed them out for being such an idiot and not telling me," Detective Beckett said without thinking.

Dr Burke allowed her shocked realisation to stretch out in the following silence. "What would you have told such a person?"

Detective Beckett made a noise that approximated to urgh-ugh, and failed to answer. She continued to fail to answer, and the fast play of expressions over her face indicated that she did not like any of her thoughts.

"That they'd let the team down," she eventually growled out. Dr Burke waited. "That they didn't believe that we'd deal with it." She made an unpleasant noise. "You're saying that I didn't believe they'd be able to deal with it." She took the next step. "I didn't trust them to cope with damaged me."

"I am not saying that. You appear to have concluded it."

Detective Beckett returned to a mental morass of unpleasant muttering and trapped demeanour. "I do trust them," she eventually emitted, somewhat pathetically.

"In which case, it must be yourself that you do not trust."

"I don't get it."

That, Dr Burke reflected, was a statement of the blindingly obvious. "If you trust your team to cope with knowing about your issues, but you still did not disclose them, then either you are mistaken about your trust in your team or you do not trust your own ability to remedy your issues."

Detective Beckett scowled blackly. "Why am I here if I'm not trying to fix me?"

Dr Burke let that hang in the silence. Detective Beckett's engagement with her therapy had been partial, at best, and directed only to ensuring that she did not suffer any further flashbacks. "Perhaps you should meditate on why you are here," he suggested.

"To fix me," Detective Beckett snapped. Her words carried a noticeable flavour of you idiot. "So I…" she stopped.

"Mm?"

"It's not important."

"That generally means that it is important, but that you do not wish to talk about it."

"I was going to say, so I could talk to Castle. But since he already knows I lied, it's not important."

"Is your lie the only reason you want to talk to Rick? Is there nothing else you would like to say to him?"

Detective Beckett coloured ungracefully. "He's angry with me," she muttered. "There's no point."

"Most likely he is," Dr Burke agreed, to Detective Beckett's evident shock, "and he has acted in an unacceptably forceful way, which you would have been perfectly justified in rejecting out of hand. Indeed, I am surprised that you did not. However, that does not mean that he does not also care for you. I am not," he added, "suggesting that you should reciprocate his feelings. That is an entirely different matter. I am merely pointing out his feelings. We are often angriest with those we care for the most, because we care. Think back to your childhood. Were your parents not most angry when they were frightened for you?"

"I'm not a child."

"That, as you are perfectly well aware, is not the point I am making. Please consider it."

"I get it." Dr Burke raised his eyebrows. "Castle wouldn't be so angry if he didn't care. This isn't news. I know he cares. He said so. But he's really angry and it hurts." She pinched her lips shut, as if she had not meant to say that. "It hurts," she finally repeated desolately, and stared at the floor.

"Why does it hurt?"

"Because I care for him."

Dr Burke rejoiced. Detective Beckett had refused to admit her, blatantly obvious, feelings for Mr Castle ever since he had begun to treat her, so he considered this a major step forward. "Mm," he encouraged. "Does he know that?"

"I…I don't know." She looked up, huge, dark eyes liquid. "I don't know."

"How do you think you might resolve that?"

"I could tell him."

"Mm?"

"But he won't believe me. He doesn't trust me to tell the truth."

"Do you wish to try, or would you prefer to exist in this unhappy limbo where neither of you is believed to trust the other?"

Dr Burke was employing a strategy which he would have deplored in almost any other circumstance and from almost any other practitioner. Instead of allowing Detective Beckett to come to her own realisations, he was, colloquially, 'pushing the pace'. Allowing her to set the pace had achieved very little in the previous few months, and therefore he considered that it was time for a different approach, although he would not have done so had she not appeared, finally, to be receptive. Mr Castle's theories had, at least, permitted the door of Detective Beckett's obduracy to be opened by a crack.

There was a ghastly, horrified pause.

"Bring him in," Detective Beckett said; and a condemned woman could not have made her final words sadder.

Dr Burke hurried to obey, before Detective Beckett could change her mind. He had the most ridiculous impression that this would be the only chance to move forward. He hastened to the room where Mr Castle reposed himself, and found him sucking the end of his pen, brow furrowed.

"Rick."

"Oh, hey." Mr Castle snapped his gaze up. "What's happened?"

"Do you trust Kate?"

"What?"

"Do you trust Kate, and in what circumstances?"

Mr Castle stared at Dr Burke. "What the" – he stopped. "I see. Yes, except when it comes to emotions. She never admits her emotions or any weakness." He smiled. "I'd trust her to try to save me ahead of herself in any dangerous situation; or to find the right perp; but she'll do everything possible not to appear weak in any circumstances – I don't trust her to take care of herself." His smile had dropped, to be replaced by a rueful expression. "Which is why she should let me take care of her, rather than running off." He wriggled uncomfortably. "But…uh…she has to make that choice."

"Do you think she trusts you?"

"Yes." Mr Castle had no hesitation. "Up to a point." Dr Burke regarded him. "She still doesn't trust that I don't care that she has weaknesses. Everyone has weaknesses. She just doesn't have very many and she spends all her time hiding them." His rueful face added a slight smile. "Fruits of being a muse, I guess. She trusts me with just about everything else." Ruefulness disappeared. "And she loves me."

"I am sorry?" Dr Burke failed to comprehend Mr Castle's astonishing words.

"She loves me. Okay, it was all wrapped up in about twenty-five layers of subtext, but she basically said she was only trying to fix herself because of wanting to be with me."

Dr Burke was astonishingly relieved. If Mr Castle knew that Detective Beckett loved him, the next few minutes would be considerably simpler.

"Kate would like to discuss a matter with you."

"Okay," Mr Castle said, bouncing up.

"Kate?"

Dr Burke perceived that she was, as she had been at the previous session, staring out of the window; her posture dejected.

"Beckett?" Mr Castle said. "Dr Burke said you wanted to talk to me."

Her shoulders slumped further. "I hate that you're angry with me. He" – she gestured at Dr Burke – "says it's because you care. But it hurts. Because" – she gulped, and stopped.

Mr Castle was at her side in an instant. "I know. I know, Beckett. You already told me. I mean," he smiled, "there was a whole bunch of subtext, but you told me. Now, c'mere." He hugged her. To Dr Burke's eyes, it was an exact replay of the end of the previous session, down to the protective posture of Mr Castle and Detective Beckett's air of fragility. Dr Burke felt most strongly that Detective Beckett should allow Mr Castle to take care of her – if Mr Castle could resist the temptation to try to tell her what to do. Self-reliance was, of course, a virtue, but not to the extent that one became unable to trust others. Detective Beckett should also realise that those around her cared for her: Mr Castle most of all.

"I told you?" Detective Beckett whispered.

"Yep. You said you were fixing yourself so you could be with me." Mr Castle's ears pinkened. "I don't think you were exactly talking to me at the time, but you said it." He patted her back. "So sure, I'm angry you don't take proper care of yourself, but you can fix that. It's up to you. I" – he wriggled – "I shouldn't have pushed you into everything. Uh…well…uh…I was wrong. I shouldn't have… I'm sorry." He paused, uncomfortably, then his tone turned teasing. "So you go slay dragons and solve murders and be the best detective in New York, and I'll provide meals, Band-Aids if you want them, brilliant theories…that sort of thing."

Detective Beckett emitted a soggy splutter at Mr Castle's words, but her shoulders straightened. Mr Castle patted her again.

Dr Burke looked on fondly, and twinkled at Mr Castle's blush. "I believe we are done for today," he said. "Kate should make her next appointment for tomorrow. We are making excellent progress, and I do not wish to see it stall."

Castle walked Beckett out of the room without further ado, waited briefly while she made the next appointment, and then grinned. "I'm hungry. Want to go get dim sum for lunch?"

Beckett turned a woebegone face up to his. "I guess," she drooped, as they went down to the car.

He cuddled her in. "What's up?"

"I hate therapy and my arm hurts and we can't go for dim sum without going back to the loft first so I can choke down another dose of meds."

"That's okay." Castle put the car into gear and pulled out. "We'll go home, you can take the meds and a couple of Advil, and then we'll go for lunch. I really want some of those lovely little pork and prawn siu mai." He turned the car towards Broome Street. It wasn't until he'd almost parked, Manhattan driving needing a reasonable amount of concentration, that he realised Beckett had said nothing and had stared out of the car's window all the way home.

"We're home," he said. Beckett unclipped her seatbelt in a way that meant her hair hid her face, and struggled out of the car without touching her arm on either edge of the door. Castle came round, but somehow she was already at the door, which the doorman had opened for them, and he still couldn't see her face.

So he didn't try. He slid an arm around her waist, tucked her close, and pretended with all of his considerable ability not to notice the small sniffs and damp eyes; the scratchy breathing. He pretended not to notice all the way up to the loft, and in, and until Beckett fled upstairs.

Some ten minutes later, he went after her, prompted by the rumblings of his stomach. He tapped on the door and went in, to find Beckett lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, cradling her arm. He eased down beside her, and put a careful hand on her shoulder. "Does your arm hurt?"

"I'm waiting for the Advil to work."

"Yes, then." He suddenly smiled, bent over, and planted a butterfly kiss on her arm. "There. That'll help."

"I'm not five."

"No," Castle said with an appreciative scan from her head to her toes, "you're not. But kisses always make everything better." He smiled more mischievously. "Kissing you makes me feel lots better, so I'm sure kissing me would make you feel lots better."

Beckett sighed, and delivered a tiny eye-roll.

"You could try it," Castle suggested smoothly. The eye-roll recurred, slightly more sizeably. He grinned naughtily. "Or I could." He dipped again, and plopped a kiss on her scowling mouth.

Beckett's eyes widened. "What was that?"

"A kiss. Shall I do it again?" He didn't wait for her, and did it again: a plopped, closed-mouth kiss squarely on her lush lips. "See, you feel better. You're smiling. Just a tiny bit, but it's a smile. Now, can we pleeaase go get some lunch before my stomach shrinks to nothing?"

"Not very likely," Beckett snipped, then blushed beautifully scarlet as her own stomach made its wishes known. "Okay, lunch," she conceded, still scarlet.

A delicious lunch, involving all of Beckett's favourite dim sum without her actually needing to state what those were, did much to improve her mood; as, naturally, did the Advil finally kicking in so that she wasn't in constant low-level pain. Unfortunately, Advil didn't remove the pain of therapy. Good dim sum washed down with several gallons of jasmine tea, however, softened it slightly. She finished off with red bean paste pancakes, and gladly assented to going back to the loft, where she could commune with her digestion until she didn't feel quite so much like an anaconda who had swallowed a whole tapir, tusks and all.

Castle, also in need of communing with his digestion, thought that some nice trashy movies and a quiet afternoon snuggled on the couch would be a perfect plan. If Beckett could see her way to a few kisses and a little light petting, that would be even more wonderful, but he somehow didn't think so.

He was therefore considerably surprised when Beckett didn't hesitate before snuggling in, arranging Castle's arm around her to her satisfaction, and laying her head on his shoulder. He co-operated quite happily, and started the movie. Contrary to his expectations, she didn't fall asleep immediately, though she wasn't entirely awake either. He thought she was simply letting the movie wash over her, while taking – he hoped – comfort from his embrace and closeness.

By the time the movie ended, Beckett hadn't moved, Castle hadn't moved, and as a consequence his arm was asleep; as, he noticed, was Beckett. He carefully repositioned her and waggled his fingers until the blood flow had re-established itself, then went to make a pot of coffee.

The scent of coffee woke Beckett instantly, though moving from her relatively comfortable position on Castle's very comfortable couch didn't figure in her plans for the immediate future. Drinking the coffee that Castle had just put in front of her, however, did; along with reinstating his arm around her. She nestled back in, and sipped. When the coffee was done, some brain function had been restored, which, regrettably, also brought memory. She hated therapy. She didn't like Dr Burke much right now, and she hated Gates for making her undergo yet more clearances.

"Are you okay?" Castle asked. "You're shivering again. Are you cold? I'll keep you warm." He cuddled her closer. "He's not that bad."

"Who?" Beckett said mendaciously.

"Dr Burke. I can hear you calling down curses on his head." He traced a soothing little pattern on her arm. "He's helping, though."

Beckett humphed.

"Don't humph. It's not nice. Be cuddly instead. That's nicer. Or kiss me. That's even better."

"For you."

"For you too. Didn't we discuss this before lunch? Kisses are good for you."

"So you say."

"We could test it…" Castle enticed. "See what you think. Or don't think, since my kisses are the best kisses you'll ever have and thinking won't be on your mind."

"I know what your kisses are like," Beckett snarked. "You tried it in an alley, remember?"

"Oh, I sure do remember," Castle purred. "I kissed you and then you hauled my head in and kissed me back a lot harder. If it hadn't been for that guard and saving the boys, I think we'd have had a lot more fun."

"Groping in back alleys is for uncouth teens."

"This isn't a back alley, though, and I don't grope. Groping is classless. I pet. Or stroke." His eyes darkened, intent on Beckett. "Or kiss." He smiled wolfishly. "Shall I kiss you, to see if it makes you feel better?"

Why the hell not, thought Beckett, clearly undergoing a moment of complete insanity. "Give it your best shot. It won't make any difference and it won't make anything better, though," she added sulkily.

Castle loved a challenge, and here was a perfectly delicious challenge to overcome. Beckett's sulkiness had left her with a small, adorable pout, so he began with that: dusting a featherlight kiss on the slight protrusion of lower lip. She didn't object. He tucked her a tad closer, one hand curling around her shoulders to turn her to him; the other cradling her skull; supporting her too-light weight and keeping her in the perfect position for kissing. It would be a terrible shame not to kiss her properly…

If only he'd remembered how the alley had almost incinerated.

He kissed her properly….

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.