Chapter 12

He had intended to start slowly, deliberately, and softly, befitting the smooth suavity he'd been projecting. He even managed it.

Right up until Beckett took control of affairs. Just as she had in the alley, months ago, he might have started it but she was definitely going to finish it.

He could get on board with that, for now, as long as she didn't stop.

She raided without mercy or pause, taking as she chose and as he was pleased to allow her; exploring and conquering – for now. When she nipped softly on his lip, though, his hard-held control snapped. He took charge of the kiss, ravaging and overrunning as she had done, devouring her; bringing her as close as he could manage; even in the depths of his desire conscious of her wound. His hand slipped under her t-shirt to the smooth skin of her back; stroking and pressing, beginning to flirt with her waist and gliding towards her stomach, then returning to slide up and down her spine. She curved into the assured touch, and made a pleased small noise into his hard kiss. Her left hand slid around his neck, the heat flared as the kiss turned from a battle to shared arousal; from a war for dominance to a mutual heat.

Still, the fire between them might rage and blaze, but it was confined to hard, deep kisses and careful touching, subtly erotic but never quite igniting into the inferno that would take them to bed.

Eventually, the fire burned down to embers: Beckett wrapped in Castle's arms, curled on his lap into his broad, warm chest, nose nuzzled into his neck.

"That was amazing," Castle rumbled gently, petting. "You're amazing." He smiled softly into her hair. "I don't know about you, but I feel better."

"Mmmm," Beckett hummed, snuggling further in. With astonishing self-control, Castle didn't spoil the moment by saying told you so. He intended to keep his snuggly, soft Beckett for as long as possible, and smug self-satisfaction wouldn't achieve that. It might achieve his imminent demise, though: a consequence devoutly not to be wished. He cuddled, and petted, and petted, and cuddled, and approved of this closeness. Perhaps…

His mouth ran some way ahead of his brain. "Tonight, you could come sleep in my bed," popped out, which lacked game, suavity, seductiveness and certainly any sense.

"What?"

Castle bulled through. "You could sleep in my bed. You'll sleep better, I'll sleep better, and cuddles are a good thing."

"Cuddles?" Beckett said cynically. "Is that what the cool kids call it?"

"I meant cuddles. If I meant anything else, I'd say so. You're welcome to suggest it, of course. I shan't object, if you do."

She gleeped, rather like a shocked canary. "Cuddles?"

"You could do with some affection. You're all prickly, like a cross hedgehog. Cuddles will soothe you and then you'll relax a bit."

She gaped.

"Relaxation is good for you," he pontificated. "Stress all the time isn't healthy." He had a thought. "Shouldn't those stitches be coming out soon? It's been nearly a week. What did they say? I thought it was only a few days stitches stayed in for."

"Yeah. I should go get them removed."

"We could go now. It's only three o'clock."

"I'll call my doctor first."

Beckett did, found that she could be seen in half an hour, and they left at once. Not much more than an hour later, they returned, Beckett poking at her arm to see if it still hurt. It did, which she didn't think was fair at all.

"It won't feel any better for you prodding it," Castle pointed out. She growled at him. "Don't growl. It's not nice."

"It still hurts," Beckett complained. "I thought when the stitches came out it would stop hurting, but it doesn't."

"You cut it badly. It takes more than a few days to repair itself. Anyway, your knees are pretty much better, so that's good."

She scrunched her nose up in disgust. She wanted to be completely better and get back to her job. Gates was being ridiculous to require a new clearance. There was nothing wrong with her. She humphed.

"What's up?"

"I don't need a new clearance. I just need to get back to work."

Castle's silence said you aren't fit yet, deafeningly. His mouth said absolutely nothing, though his tongue was screaming ow ow ow from being bitten half through to keep it quiet.

"I do," Beckett defended. "There's nothing wrong with me."

Castle still said nothing, half-choking on suppressed words such as you spooked, you have PTSD, you're having flashbacks, you didn't get any of your injuries treated and you expect me to believe that? Then he remembered that it was up to her, and absolutely did not say anything at all. He'd done enough damage that way already.

"There isn't! I didn't hurt myself deliberately whatever Gates" – Castle heard dumbass – "thinks. I'm fine."

"Doesn't matter what you think or I think or anyone else thinks," Castle pointed out. "If Gates says you have to be cleared, then you have to be cleared. You can't override that."

Beckett descended into a miasmic morass of mutterings that lasted all the way back to the loft, where Castle stopped it by hugging her firmly and planting a kiss on her lips that prevented any speech of any kind. "I know you hate it, but you can't do anything about it except work with Burke."

"Don't wanna," Beckett sulked, pulling away with a fearsome scowl. "Everyone's walking through my head like they own it. I hate it all. It's not necessary. I'm absolutely fine."

"Gates doesn't think you're fine," Castle said, losing patience. "She thinks your arm hasn't healed because you didn't look after it, and if you don't work through it with Burke, she'll think you don't want to do the one thing that'll help you get better. You can't get round Gates."

"I was fixing it just fine, when I was allowed to work," Beckett contradicted. "I want to be on the job. I was seeing Burke and working and it was all going just fine."

Castle harrumphed. "You spooked at least three times on the last case, even if you got past it and solved the case. We didn't suggest you should step away. Did Burke?"

Beckett coloured angrily. "He was wrong. I stayed on the case and I closed it. I got justice for the victim. That's what I do, but freaking Gates won't let me do it."

Castle boggled. Burke had suggested Beckett step back? Had he met Detective Kate Beckett, scourge of murderers, nemesis of killers? He'd suggested she step back from a live case? No wonder she'd ignored him. Presumably, since Beckett was still seeing him and hadn't shot him for the suggestion, he had some other advantages.

"He tried to stop you?"

Beckett nodded.

"That was never going to work."

She shook her head.

"So come here and be cuddled some more, before I make dinner." His brow furrowed. "Chicken pasta bake, then ice cream." He hugged her. "But not yet. All the ingredients are in the fridge – you remember what that is?"

"Yes," Beckett snarked. "It's where I put my takeout. I'm going to take my meds."

"Dinner will arrive shortly."

Beckett positively flounced upstairs, where Castle heard some not-particularly-muffled commentary on the nastiness of the antibiotics, and then, much to his relief, the sounds of Beckett returning. He hadn't been at all sure that she'd come back downstairs. Beckett's temper was, um, uncertain right now.

He was therefore utterly astonished when she padded up to him, asking, "Anything I can do to help?"

Beckett, having flounced upstairs and cursed the vile taste of the antibiotics liberally and with feeling, had realised that the following day would see the last of the course of meds, which had mightily improved her temper. Shortly after that, she'd also realised that she'd far rather be snuggled into a nice warm, comforting Castle than sulking alone in her room, and shortly after that she'd recognised reality in the form of Gates' authority to bench her until she engaged with Burke. Which, regrettably, meant engaging with Castle's commentary. She didn't like Castle's commentary on her injuries.

On the other hand, she could get on board with Castle's suggestion of sleeping next to him. She hadn't been sleeping particularly well upstairs, but she had slept soundly in his bed. Her arm twinged at her. It had to be worth a shot, and since Castle, despite his incessant flirting, had slept elsewhere simply because he hadn't been able to check with her if she was happy for him to spend the night next to her, she confidently deduced that nothing would happen unless she started it. Since she couldn't bear the thought of any pressure lighter than a sleeve on her wound, even after the stitches had been removed, she didn't think she'd be starting anything much.

She went back downstairs, saw Castle in the kitchen, and wandered up to see if there was anything she could do.

"You could chop the chicken?" he suggested, and passed over a board, a sharp knife, and the chicken. Beckett grinned to herself. She was perfectly well aware of Castle's views of her cooking skills, since she positively boasted about never cooking at all. In fact, she did, but only when she was off-shift, when she cooked perfectly well.

By the time she'd finished the thought, the chicken had been beautifully chopped into strips, and Castle was staring, dumbfounded, at them.

"But…but…but you don't cook."

"Don't. Not can't. I can cook, but takeout's quicker if I'm on shift."

"How did I never know you could cook?"

"You didn't ask. I let you drown in your own assumptions."

Castle made a you-got-me gesture, and smiled ruefully. "Okay. Anything else you haven't told me?"

"So many things." He looked hopeful. "And they're all staying untold."

He pouted. "No fair," and produced a puppy-dog expression that would have softened all but the hardest of granite hearts.

Beckett's adamantine heart remained unsoftened, mainly because if she started giving in to Castle's pathetically puppy-ish pleadings, she'd be giving in forever. He was astonishingly hard to resist when he was cute. "Nope," she said briskly.

Castle's vegetable chopping and sauce stirring made it clear that he still didn't think Beckett was being fair, but he didn't comment, instead putting together the pasta bake and popping it into the oven to cook.

"Wine?" he asked.

Beckett considered the antibiotics. "I'd better go check," she said. "Your wine's nice enough that I don't want to lose it."

"Why, Beckett, that was almost a compliment," Castle teased. "I'll start to think you like me."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she snipped, but her eyes danced as she swung off. A few moments later she returned, scowling. "No alcohol."

"It'll keep till tomorrow, or the next day. As soon as you've finished the course we'll have some."

Beckett humphed. As soon as Castle had suggested a glass of wine, she'd thought that it would be nice to have some. However, she was a mature, responsible adult, and she wasn't going to mix alcohol and antibiotics. (Shame you weren't that responsible about the cut in the first place, a nasty voice insinuated.)

"Dinner will take about half an hour." Castle waggled his eyebrows. "What shall we do?"

"I'm going to borrow a book from your study and read." His face fell. "Shouldn't you do some writing?"

"You're mean. No. For once, I'm ahead." He grinned. "So you read your book, and I'll read my book, and we can snuggle up together until dinner's ready. Beautifully cosy and domestic. We should do it more often." He plumped down on the couch.

Beckett, somewhat staggered, dropped down near enough for Castle, without so much as an excuse-me, to sling an arm around her and encourage her to curl in. She wasn't (was this really her?) objecting. Castle was big, warm, comforting and smelled deliciously of cologne; which made him an excellent thing to lean on while reading. She wriggled to become perfectly comfortable, and immersed herself in her book, safe with Castle.

After dinner, they resumed the same positions, which suited them both admirably, and stayed there, with short breaks for coffee and comfort, until Beckett yawned gapingly and decided that it was probably time to take the day's final dose of meds and go to bed. She wriggled out of Castle's encircling arm.

"Where're you going?" he complained. "Stay here. You're cuddly."

"I'm tired."

Castle grinned mischievously. "So sleep on me."

"I'm going to sleep in a nice comfy bed that won't leave me with aches in the morning."

"Mine, then."

"It's in your loft, so I guess it's yours."

"No, no. You agreed. You said you would sleep in my room tonight. In my bed. It's nice and comfy too, and it has me in it, so it's extra wonderful."

Beckett concealed her bogglement. She had rather thought, since he hadn't done anything remotely intimate or erotic, that he'd been joking about her sleeping in his room. "Uh," she managed, which did nothing to retrieve her rapidly departing composure.

"Go do whatever you do at night, and then I'll tuck you in."

"Aren't you going to bed too?" Beckett's mouth said without permission from her brain.

"I'm not sleepy and I'm not the one recovering, so not yet. If I toss and turn and can't sleep you won't sleep either."

"Oh."

"Unless you don't want to sleep," Castle added provocatively. "I can think of plenty of other things to do in bed."

"Sure," Beckett snipped.

"Read."

She spluttered.

"Whatever did you think I meant?"

She blushed, though she'd fought not to do so.

"Ooohhh, naughty thoughts. Any time, Beckett. You won't be disappointed."

"You will, because I'm not" –

"You'd never disappoint me," Castle oozed. "We'd be great." His mouth drooped sadly. "Unless you didn't like kissing me?"

"You…! That is not the point."

"So you did. See, we were great at kissing."

"I am not" –

"You don't need to be modest about it. You're great at kissing me. I mean, you might be good at kissing other people but I'm not into threesomes. Anyway, you liked kissing me, so you don't need to kiss anyone else."

Beckett choked. "You…you…"

"Yes, me. Just keep kissing me and we'll do just fine."

"That was" –

"Amazing. Kissing you is amazing, don't you think?"

Beckett threw her uninjured arm up and departed before Castle could deliberately misunderstand her any more.

Some moments later she returned, clad in soft t-shirt, and slipped through the family room so softly that Castle didn't notice her until she had ghosted through the study and into his bedroom. He only knew she'd gone there because he heard the rustle of his high thread-count sheets and quilt. He smiled to himself, and read until he was fairly sure Beckett would be asleep.

Two hours later, he ambled into his bathroom, went through his night-time routine – wouldn't want wrinkles, now, would he? – and then, book still with him, burrowed into his bed, noting happily that today Beckett liked the other side. He meant to read, but, abruptly, he found himself tired, and snuggled down, careful not to disturb her.

He hadn't considered that she might disturb him. Not deliberately, of course, but he hadn't bet on Beckett turning over in her deep sleep, then dropping her arm over him in a highly possessive fashion that she'd never have displayed when awake. He was definitely thoroughly disturbed, though not so disturbed that he couldn't insinuate an arm under her neck, pull her closer, and enjoy the long-wished for sensation of Beckett sleeping beside him. Other sensations, he hoped, available on request.

He fell asleep as quickly as a contented baby, smiling.

Castle woke in the small hours of the morning, cold, and, he swiftly discovered as the chill woke him fully, alone. He didn't like that. He wanted his lovely cuddly Beckett. He sat up, switched on the side light, and looked around. The quilt was entirely on the other side of the bed, which was otherwise empty. He listened. No bathroom-type sounds. Switching the lamp off again, he gazed through the open bedroom door, and saw a smudge of soft light, from which he deduced that Beckett was in the main room and the sludgy streetlight glow was puddling through the study. Further thought suggested that she was likely thinking, and a pang of common sense told him not to disturb her. He squinted, and failed to see his robe, which meant that she would be warm. No matter how much he wanted to go and find her, he knew he had to wait.

He tried to doze, but it wasn't until Beckett slipped silently back in beside him that he fell properly asleep.

Beckett had woken shortly after one a.m., but after only a few moments, in which she had become aware that she was draped over Castle as if she were a blanket, she had realised that her brain was whirring, and that falling back to sleep in the cosy warmth of Castle's bed and body was, most unfairly, not about to happen.

She unpeeled herself from Castle, carefully, so as not to wake him. She didn't want company, and she didn't need to carry any more guilt, however minor. She did want to think about the next point Castle had raised, before she had to face Burke the next day. Or this morning, more accurately.

She hadn't deliberately cut herself. She hadn't, either, deliberately ignored the cut. But, she reluctantly accepted, she had failed to have it seen to when the case was done and she'd known it wasn't right. She couldn't have been expected to take time away from the case. Nobody would have expected that. Nobody.

Suddenly, a memory came to her, unasked and unwanted. Montgomery, finding her in Archives, a few months after she'd started looking into her mother's case, ordering her to leave. The next day, he'd hauled her in, sent her to mandatory therapy, and told her that killing herself through guilt at not finding her mother's killer was a form of punishing herself for letting her father fall, for leaving him to drown, for saving herself when she couldn't save him – for everything since the day the cop had knocked on their door with Mr Beckett? I'm sorry…

Punishing herself? That was what Castle had said about not having her arm treated. Punishing yourself for lying. She hadn't been, she told herself. Not then, and not now. Why would she punish herself?

But she knew she had been. Subconsciously, she insisted. She would never do it deliberately. Never.

You deliberately ignored it when your cut was looking nastier by the day. She hadn't. She'd just been fully involved in the case and she'd thought it would be okay for another day or two. And when the case was done? You didn't do anything then either. That was a decision you made.

Beckett cringed, alone in the dark. She didn't like that idea.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers. You are very much appreciated.