Chapter 15

Silence strung out, and out, and further out. Castle waited, ever more nervous, fingers fidgeting on Beckett's still shoulder. Her breath remained shallow, not quite even, not quite smooth. She didn't sniff, or move a hand towards her eyes; she didn't curve into his touch or nestle against his chest. She just lay there, lax, unmoving. If she hadn't been breathing, he'd have thought that she were dead.

The first words she said in a full five minutes were, "Stop fidgeting." He forcibly stilled his fingers. "I can't think when you're fidgeting."

"Think?"

"Yes, think. That's what you call it when you use your intelligence." She snapped her words off, though Castle was pretty certain you should try it sometime was lurking in her throat. Still, she hadn't said it.

Another stretched, uncomfortable silence.

"I haven't found my mother's killer." It fell like hail: little strikes of pain.

"Nothing else, then."

For the first time, she moved, separating herself. When she'd achieved a little space, she shrugged.

"Serial over-achiever," Castle teased gently. "How am I ever going to keep up with that?" She didn't answer. "I always wanted a hot, intelligent, gorgeous girlfriend, and now I get one who's a total success too. I mean, she needs someone to look after her because she won't cook and never lets anything stop her, including her own health and safety, but I guess there are worse flaws. Best of all, she can break me out of jail."

"I can so cook," Beckett retorted, snapping her head up, irritation flashing in her eyes.

"Gotcha. Now, come out of your own head and tell me what's wrong." He reassessed. "Or snuggle up and don't talk, if that makes you feel better. Snuggling up to me is a sure-fire way of feeling better."

Beckett made a disagreeable noise.

"You don't like snuggling? I don't believe you, but if you want to pretend that, how about I kiss you instead. Kisses make everything better."

"You keep trying that line and the kisses and I don't see anything getting better," she said bitterly. "All I get is more problems." He was about to argue, reeling from the hit, when she went on. "It doesn't matter what you try to do to fix it, it's just never-ending problems 'cause every time I solve one another pops up. Whack-a-mole with added psychotherapy."

"But" –

She rolled right over his words. "It's time I went home. I'm a mess and that's not what you need."

His arms tightened around her. "Nope."

"What?"

"You're running off again. You're still on that dumb idea that you should run off and try to handle everything alone – like that's worked out so well for you till now – but what you actually think is that you don't trust me to stick around if I can watch you working it all out. Well, we're not doing that. We agreed in Burke's office that you slay dragons and I look after you while you're doing it, or in between dead dragons, so you should stay here and be looked after, while you do. The only difference is that the dragons you're slaying are your own misconceptions, not some crazy killers." He tipped her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. "So you can stay. We fight it together." His grip loosened slightly. "Well," he grinned, "you fight, and I stick the Band-Aids on afterwards."

He bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. "There, all cleared up. Should we go out for a drink?" He grinned. "We should go out. Like on a date. We should date."

"You…you…" She failed to find useful words, or indeed any words.

"Yep, me." He turned serious. "Trust me. You have to fix it, but you don't have to do it on your own. You can have back-up."

"You get my back up," she snarked, which he heard with some relief. Snark was good. Snark meant Beckett-normal returning.

"I can certainly get back up," he oozed.

"That's inappropriate."

"What? I can get up from the bed, like this." He stood up, smirking. "Whatever were you thinking?" He watched the blush bloom in her pale face. "Tut-tut. You're corrupting my childlike purity."

"Purity?" she squawked. "Purely provoking."

"Oooh, alliteration. You're so hot when you alliterate."

Beckett opened and shut her mouth a few times, while Castle sat back down, watched his moment, and then kissed her firmly in between her spluttering non-words. He pulled back, and received a full-strength glare.

"Don't glare at me," he whimpered theatrically. "It's scary."

"You're nearly as scared as a wolf facing a mouse."

"I could be the Big Bad Wolf if you like."

Beckett's blush would have lit fires. Castle smirked evilly, and then licked his lips. Just as she was about to say something, he wiped his expression to sweet innocence. "More coffee?" he asked.

Beckett fixed him with a fulminating stare that should have scorched him to ashes. "Yes," she gritted. He scampered out, before she could use his brains for coffee beans, but celebrated his on-the-fly brilliance in irritating her into life again all the way to the machine.

"Coffee's ready," he called up. Beckett positively stomped down the stairs, which proved that her knees were entirely healed and that her arm wasn't hurting her.

"Thanks," she growled. Her anti-social growl was completely contradicted when she took her coffee to the couch.

"Awww, you're back to normal. Snapping at me to cover up that you want a hug." Castle followed her to the couch and plumped down next to her.

"Don't want one," Beckett grumped.

"Liar," he teased. "You're all cross and spiky, so you need a hug." He didn't provide it, though. He wanted her to admit it, first.

She humphed, and swallowed her coffee. Helpfully, she didn't run off again. After a few silent, sulky seconds she shifted slightly towards him. He pretended not to notice, as if she were a dangerous wild animal, who might make friends – or might attack. After another gulp of coffee, there was another tiny move towards him. He sipped his own coffee, and waited. Another clutch of small shuffles later, she was almost touching him. Castle thought that was enough of an indication of intentions to co-operate, and draped his arm around her, which rapidly became a hug. There was an instant's resistance, and then complete relaxation.

"There, hugs. Like you wanted, but wouldn't ask for." He smiled softly at her irritated, reflexive glare. "You don't need to ask, you know. You can snuggle in as much as you like. It's very soothing. Good for restful sleep, and calming down before bedtime." He grinned. "Though if you don't want to calm down, I can certainly help you, um, with excitement."

She raised one eyebrow, excruciatingly slowly. The Beckett left eyebrow struck fear and dread into the hearts of almost everyone, not excepting the heady heights of 1PP. Strangely, Captain Gates had always seemed to be entirely immune to it, which Castle thought was entirely unfair. Gates could use something that stopped her cold, especially when she – Gates – was intimidating him.

"Excitement?" she queried. "I suppose I could always try one of your books. They're supposed to be thrillers."

Castle snorted. "Meanie. I know you've read them all. You don't need to try them."

"So how are you suggesting you help with excitement? A good movie?"

"Yep. Mission Impossible, or something similar. Guaranteed to have your heart pounding, though me sitting next to you should manage that nicely."

Beckett blew a raspberry at him. "Conceit isn't your middle name, it's all three of them."

"It's not conceit if I can prove it. I can see the pulse in your neck thumping – which means not just that you are excited" –

"Annoyed!" –

"but that you're still too thin. There's some candy…" He knew Beckett adored candy. She always had some hiding in her desk, and everyone knew that touching Beckett's candy would have you in a cell – if you were really, really lucky.

She made a small noise, which Castle took as agreement even though she hadn't actually said Candy? Hell yeah. He hopped up to find the candy, and brought back a bowl of mixed treats. Beckett's hand automatically went to it. Castle's arm automatically went back around her. Chocolate doth soothe the savage Beckett, he thought, with some self-satisfaction. His disobedient brain added and Beckett doth soothe the savage Rick Castle. It was all the excuse he needed to keep hugging her, while she nibbled candy.

Mission Impossible was followed by Die Hard, but as that progressed Beckett's candy consumption slowed and her body and head drooped. Castle dropped a fond peck-kiss on her hair, which elicited no reaction, and then stroked a thick finger down her cheek. "I think it's your bedtime," he murmured.

"Ur…mmm."

Castle paused the movie, and raised Beckett to standing, then turned her in the direction of his bedroom and steered her through the study. "Night-night," he said.

"G'night," she yawned, and shut the bathroom door.

Castle went back to see the end of the movie, and eat some of the candy. There wasn't much left, he noted, and resolved to buy some more the next day.

Much later, he eased into bed, careful not to disturb the dark-topped lump otherwise known as Kate Beckett, and wriggled down, finding her hand on his way. As with the previous night, she turned into him and draped herself over his chest. Castle had absolutely no objection.

He only wished that she could be as open emotionally when awake as she was physically when asleep.

Beckett woke with a strange resonance in her ear, which, along with the side of her face, was somewhat warmer than normal. A little further waking allowed her pre-caffeinated brain to deduce that her head was not pillowed on, well, a pillow, but on a chest, and the resonance was a heartbeat. Specifically, Castle's heartbeat, and Castle's chest. Naked chest, comprising rather more muscle than she'd previously noticed. She supposed that she'd just been in too much pain to realise, since being able to pick her up and carry her didn't indicate a weakling. Anyway, now that she had noticed, he had a very comfortably muscled chest.

She snuggled closer, which was a thoroughly comforting place to be. Castle's arm flopped across her back, keeping her close without actually holding her there, and her arm seemed to be clasping his shoulder. She didn't see a problem with any of that. She'd just enjoy it; stay there for a few moments; take succour where she might – and then face the day, and Burke, and all the issues that she hadn't resolved.

Yet.

She had to believe it was yet. She was trying to unpick it all, and she was succeeding. So she could cuddle close to Castle, and enjoy it, and remember what he had said, and what she felt and had – sort of – said, so that he knew.

Castle made a sleepy, contented murmur containing no words at all, and then an even sleepier one, which, translated, became not breakfast time, go back to sleep. His arm tightened just a little, and he sighed happily without opening his eyes. "Cosy," he breathed, and then the breaths deepened, his arm relaxed, and he fell back into slumber. He was astonishingly, adorably cute when he wasn't awake. She breathed in his unmistakable aroma, and dozed.

Castle wasn't entirely asleep, though he certainly wasn't taking any steps to become more awake. He was coated in a soft, happy haze of warmth and the unmistakable scent of Beckett, spread across him in the best comfort blanket ever in his whole entire life. He loved this peaceful togetherness. Surely they could have it more often; all the time? He hoped so. He really hoped so. He lay, dozing, and wallowed in his own happiness.

A while later, Castle emerged from his dozing, looked at the clock, and gasped. "Beckett! Wake up! You're due at Burke's in an hour."

"Not," she slurred. "Monday. Not Monday."

Castle relaxed, and then realised that Beckett had woken up, slid up his body, and was smiling. His hands slipped to her waist, pulling her over him, and when her smile shifted to feline, brought one hand up to her skull and encouraged her lips down on to his.

It didn't take much encouragement, since Beckett was already there. She kissed him slowly and firmly, with considerable attention to detail. When she stopped, he whined, and then pulled her head back down and reciprocated.

On balance, Beckett thought, kissing Castle to wake him up properly had been…

Not a mistake.

And then she stopped thinking altogether, because Castle was kissing her, and all the pent-up knowledge from the day before, from an alley, from the first time they'd met – had exploded into heat and hurry and heaven. He really, really knew what to do. His mouth was soft on hers, though the kiss was firm; his arms held her close, and then he rolled them and smiled down lazily.

"That's a better way to say Good morning," he rasped. "Let's say it again."

Beckett wasn't interested in talking. She tugged him down to her, and held him there as she took his mouth for her own.

There was no more talking. Tongues twisted, lips pressed hard against lips, hands began to wander over lithe curves or hard muscle; over smooth skin or coarse hair. Heat rose, bodies twined, restraint departed unmourned and unnoticed. The only thing that mattered was touch and taste; the blaze that swept them up and, finally, subsided to soft embers.

Castle lay next to his Beckett, holding her hand, slowly returning to himself. That had been so far beyond his dreams and hopes that he couldn't quite believe it. His dreams had always come true – but he really had had no idea at all, whatever his dreams. He twined his fingers gently through hers, and luxuriated in the soft haze of mutual afterglow. Beside him, Beckett twined back, and then nestled in.

"You're amazing," he murmured.

"Nice," she slurred, dozing, and then, "Mine." She tucked his hand against her, and slid back into slumber, where he rapidly followed.

After a late breakfast, much improved, from Beckett's jaundiced perspective, by no longer having to take the antibiotics, Beckett realised that she was out of clothing and would need to do some washing. That provided her with a problem. She could ask Castle if she could use his machine, or she could go home and deal with everything there. Neither of which should have been an issue, but…the first felt as if she were presuming on a one-week invitation (command, said a nasty voice), and the second felt as if she might be running away. She'd resolved not to run away, and if she hadn't so decided, she should have.

"What's up?" Castle asked, as she sighed. She wriggled to become comfortable, which entailed arranging Castle's arm around her.

"I'm out of clothes, and I've been here a week." The arm around her tightened briefly, then loosened.

"You could use my machine, or we could go to your apartment so you could deal with it there, or get some more clothes, and come back." He hugged her closer. "You slay dragons. I look after you. You need to be looked after for a little longer. So which is it? My machine or yours?"

"Mine," Beckett said, having just realised that going home would allow her to acquire some more appropriate nightwear. Castle's sloppy t-shirt might smell deliciously of Castle, but it was annoyingly prone to falling off rather more than just her shoulder, and she preferred to have any falling-off of that nature be because she wanted to make it happen, not by accident.

"Okay." Castle grinned. "Let's go."

Half an hour later, they were walking into Beckett's apartment. Castle carried the hold-all, ignoring Beckett's protests that she could perfectly well manage it with perfect aplomb, and set it down by the washing machine. She whisked it in, set the programme going, and without any thought turned to the coffee machine and set that going.

"Yes, please," Castle said mischievously. "It's supposed to be my job to make coffee, but I won't say no if you're offering."

Beckett blushed. "Habit," she admitted.

Castle ambled up, and sniffed happily. "Coffee's a good habit." He sneaked an arm around her waist. "How long will your washing take?"

"Whatever the timer says."

Castle glanced at it. "Long enough," he murmured, and kissed her before she could ask For what? The answer was pretty obvious.

Or maybe not quite. He drew her to the couch, and sat down with her planted firmly in his lap, but making out was as far as he went. He couldn't forget the mess her apartment had been, and in all his tidying, the bed had not been a part of it. Mainly, of course, because Beckett had been lying on it. Anyway, his bed was larger, more comfortable, and all-around better.

Beckett stopped snuggling into him, which was unwelcome, and went to fuss with the coffee machine, which wasn't. She brewed their coffee, and brought it back, but stood, unusually irresolute, rather than sitting back down. Without a further word, she walked into her bedroom. Castle heard her noise of irritated disgust, and deduced without effort that Beckett didn't like what she found there. Shortly, indeed, the sounds of bed-stripping were heard, as were the sounds of laundry – more laundry – hitting a hamper. Shortly, Beckett stomped out, carrying a pile of bedlinen that she dumped by the washing machine with an expression of disfavour. Castle didn't comment. He liked living, and besides, if he said anything Beckett might remember that it was his fault she hadn't been here for almost a week.

"I should have come back and cleaned this place up days ago," she griped. "It's a mess."

Castle heard her complaints with relief. Beckett was hard-core tidy, and he'd been more worried than he'd have admitted under torture that her apartment had been such a mess.

She looked around, brow creasing. "Hold on," she said slowly. "This…" Her face turned an ugly shade of shamed red. "You cleared up." She choked on the words. "You… You shouldn't have had to. You shouldn't have. I would have" – she broke off.

Castle was already moving before she'd finished her thought, catching her before she could hide in her bedroom or worse, lock herself in the bathroom. "You couldn't have," he pointed out firmly, pulling her in. "You were already in so much pain you couldn't have used your arm, or even moved around properly, and you were starting a nasty infection. So whether you would have tried or wanted to, you couldn't. And I could."

"You shouldn't have had to," she repeated miserably, not meeting his gaze. "It's too" –

"It wasn't too much. Anyway, it's not like I ever clean up at home. I have a service for that. And all I did was cleared the glass. I didn't wash the floor or bleach your sink. You can do that if you think you have to. I might spoil my delicate hands and soft fingers."

Beckett made an annoyed noise. "Your fingers have callouses from typing."

"That is just not true," Castle said, pretending to take offence. "You know just how soft my hands can be." He smirked. "Or should I remind you?" He cocked his head faux-sympathetically. "You know, you really should get that memory loss checked out."

"I do not have memory loss!" Beckett squawked indignantly.

"Sure you do," Castle said annoyingly. "You've forgotten already that I'm here to look after you while you slay dragons. Tidying up a little so you don't hurt yourself any more falls squarely within that." He stopped any further complaints by kissing her, which worked perfectly.

She opened to him, but when he finished a leisurely, sensual exploration of her mouth she tensed up in his arms, again.

"That wasn't the idea," he complained. "You're supposed to melt into my strong arms and not think about anything but me."

"What?"

"You're supposed to melt into my arms," Castle repeated, "consumed with romantic passion and happy for me to do anything I want."

Beckett glared at him. "That's sexist nonsense," she growled.

"Yep," he said happily, "but it's stopped you being so miserable. Now you're cross and glaring, so you must be back to normal. Time to deal with your washing."

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.