Chapter 20
"You can't not clear me! I'm fine," Detective Beckett protested vehemently. "You're wrong. I'm not punishing myself. The punishment is Gates not letting me work. I enjoy my work."
"You do enjoy your work," Dr Burke agreed.
"So let me get back to it."
"I had not finished," he chided. "You do enjoy it – when you are fully fit and able to perform the full gamut of your duties. You are presently not fully fit, physically and psychologically. You must, as I have already said, address your subconscious reasons for punishing yourself before I will provide clearance." He regarded Detective Beckett straightly. "Your actions have increased in severity. The first time, it was purely psychological, and you exhausted yourself. This time, you have been injured, and were it not for Captain Gates' actions in sending you for medical treatment, you would have become gravely ill. Should you continue in this manner, the next episode might be much more severe. You are at liberty, of course, to refuse further treatment, but, if asked, I would be obliged to share my conclusions with any subsequent therapist."
Detective Beckett's face turned black with fury. Dr Burke wondered whether she would leave, and flicked a glance at his clock. There remained a quarter of the session. She stomped to the window, and stared out of it with such ire that Dr Burke, not normally given to hyperbole, wondered if the glass would melt under her gaze.
For a full five minutes, there was utter silence. Abruptly, Dr Burke realised that the atmosphere of utter fury had entirely reversed, to utter misery. Though there was still no sound, her shoulders quivered. Dr Burke considered, then quietly left the treatment room, made a short telephone call, and then returned. Detective Beckett did not appear to have moved in the short interval in which he had been absent.
Almost immediately, Mr Castle arrived. Dr Burke concluded, quite correctly, that he had not been far away.
"Beckett?" he said uncertainly, but there was no hesitation as he strode over to her, nor as he turned her into him. Dr Burke observed with interest, but no surprise, that Detective Beckett made no protest, and concluded that the majority of matters, including any that had been significant, between them had been entirely resolved.
Detective Beckett snuffled something inaudible into Mr Castle, who clearly understood it. He raised eyebrows at Dr Burke, who readily interpreted his expression.
"I cannot break Kate's confidences," Dr Burke pointed out.
"He won't clear me," emerged from Detective Beckett, somewhat muffled by Mr Castle's chest. "I want to go back."
Mr Castle cossetted. Detective Beckett remained almost invisible within his embrace. Dr Burke came to a decision. "I believe we should end the session here," he suggested. "Please return in two days, having thought about your position and, if you wish, discussing it with Rick. I also consider that you should continue to undertake actions that you will enjoy."
Mr Castle steered Detective Beckett out of the treatment room, to Dr Burke's unspoken approval.
"Let's go get dim sum," Castle suggested, "and you can tell me what you want to tell me, or nothing."
"'M not hungry," Beckett dripped.
"I am. You don't have to eat much, but something in your stomach will help you feel better."
"Going back to work would make me feel better," Beckett snapped, spoilt by sogginess. "But he won't clear me." She sniffed damply. "It's not fair. I'm fine."
Castle bit his tongue, hard. She wasn't fine, and nothing proved that more than her reaction to being told Burke wouldn't clear her. Despite his cooking, she was still massively underweight, and though the cut was healing well – now – he didn't expect her fitness to be back to normal yet. Now there was a thought. "Why don't you go for a run, or a drill session? Have some lunch, and then go do that."
Beckett considered. "Yes. It's dry, so I won't slip. Yeah. Okay. Let's go eat."
Beckett, despite her claim of no appetite, had put away a decent lunch, then returned to her own apartment, changed, and gone out to run – though Castle had extracted her promise that the finishing point of her run would be his loft. He ambled home, and spent a short time happily ensuring that any small remaining items of Beckett's were relocated to his bedroom and bathroom. Moments after he finished, there was a knock on his door. Curious, since he wasn't expecting anyone and even in Beckett's current state he thought she'd take longer, he opened it.
It was Beckett, white to the lips and clearly repressing furious, frustrated emotions. "I couldn't run even half a mile," she bit out. "It's pathetic." She – oh. She hobbled in, rather than the stormy stalk that he'd expected. "I'm exhausted, my knees both hurt, my arm hurts. It's pathetic," she repeated, and aimed for the stairs.
Castle caught her in a bear hug, wrapped her in, and then half-lifted her to the couch. "Let's get your running shoes off." He put her ankles across his knees, and unlaced the shoes, dropped them on the floor, and let her legs down gently while he cuddled her in. "That's better," he soothed. "C'mere, and tell me about it."
"It was all going okay – for the first three hundred yards," she said bitterly. "Then I tried to stretch it out." She moved, and winced. "I couldn't," she admitted, defeated.
Castle looked at her legs. "Uh…I think you're bleeding."
Beckett stared at her discoloured running pants. Castle, more practically, began to take them off, with a detached air that allowed them both to believe that it was purely to examine the re-opened scratches and cuts. When he gently peeled them away, it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd feared, minor damage that would only need a little cotton wool and warm water to clean up, followed by some Neosporin and Band-Aids. He hugged her again. "It'll be fine in a bit. I'll clean them up. You just sit there while I get the cotton wool." He was more worried that she did, without complaint. He heard a sniff behind him, and deliberately didn't look back. If she'd wanted to cry in front of him, she would have been crying already. Still, he didn't dawdle over finding the cotton wool, Band-Aids, Neosporin, and a bowl of warm water; and returning.
Beckett's eyes were suspiciously liquid, but he didn't remark on that. He put everything on the table, and repossessed himself of her legs, adding a flirtatious little fingertip stroke some way above her knee. As expected, it distracted her, though he'd have preferred a sexy lip-nibble to the glare he actually received. He dabbed at her knees, when she wasn't looking.
Oh. She still wasn't looking. In fact, she was staring over the back of the couch and not looking at her knees at all.
"They're only a little bit cut. You haven't done any damage, just pulled the scabs so they've come apart a bit." He didn't ask why did you carry on if it hurt?
"I stopped as soon as it started to hurt but I still didn't get it right."
Castle bit his tongue. She'd stopped when it hurt? Wow. That was a change of emphasis if ever he'd seen one. Beckett stopping? Exhibiting care for herself? Wow. "You did get it right," he contradicted. "You stopped. That was right. Uh…how did you get back here?"
"Subway," she muttered.
"Definitely the right thing. You were right to go running – you enjoy it and it always clears your thinking – you were right to stop when it hurt, 'cause that meant you weren't punishing yourself, and you were right to get the subway rather than making it worse, ditto." He grinned. "And I get to take care of you and put on the Band-Aids when you're done. Like now."
Beckett stared at him, eyes huge and somehow exhausted. "I was right?" she queried, fatigue flattening her words.
"Yep. Totally." Castle finished dabbing at her cuts, and put a Band-Aid on each one. "That'll stop you getting blood on the knees of your pants." He hugged her gently. "Though you can leave your pants off. I wouldn't mind," he leered.
She didn't reply – not even a tiny glare or eyeroll. Castle hugged some more, and tried not to think about her amazing – and bare to her pretty panties – legs.
"Snuggle up, or maybe go have a nap?" he suggested. "You're tired and upset. If you're more tired, nap; if you're more upset, snuggle."
Beckett burrowed into his chest, which he supposed was an answer. He left one arm around her, and reached for his laptop with the other, thereby, a little awkwardly, keeping both Beckett and the need to do some writing satisfied.
A while later, Castle had become sufficiently frustrated with one-handed typing that he gave up, at which point he also realised that Beckett was asleep. He repositioned her, and returned to two-handed touch-typing, becoming lost in his creative Nikki-haze.
A couple of hours later, he emerged, to find an absence of Beckett and a presence of hunger. He listened, but couldn't hear anything. He set a stew simmering, and went to investigate.
He found her, curled up on top of the coverlet, asleep on his bed. Her face was whiter than he thought it should be, but the circles under her eyes were almost gone. If it hadn't been for the still-livid cut along her arm and the fresh Band-Aids on her knees, she'd look nearly normal. Well. Nearly normal if she wasn't still so very thin. However, he preened, his excellent winter beef stew would help to fix that, and he'd just make dumplings to go with it, later on. The stew needed at least two-and-a-half hours to be perfect. He left Beckett to her slumber, and returned to writing until the timer beeped for him to make the dumplings and drop them in. That done, he went to wake Beckett.
He found her already awake, though still on the bed, propped up on the pillows and reading. She looked up, and blushed. "I borrowed a book," she murmured. "You were writing and I didn't want to disturb you."
"You snuck off," Castle pouted. "I looked up and you'd vanished. That wasn't nice."
"You were miles deep in your own head," Beckett riposted. "If you hadn't been, you'd have noticed me getting up."
"You were asleep," he complained. "So I put you into a comfy position and left you to it. Then you snuck off." Suddenly, he smiled smoothly. "But I'm delighted to see that you went to my bed to rest. It's just as well I put all your products in my bathroom and your clothes in my closet. You can sneak into my bedroom any time you like, now." His smile turned rakish. "I like you in my bed. You like you in my bed." He sat down on the edge of the bed, and cupped her face, then dipped to kiss her thoroughly.
And kiss her, and kiss her, because Beckett was kissing him back: trying to take control and almost, almost succeeding until he brought expertise to bear and seduced her mouth into gentleness.
The recurrent beeping of the timer brought him back to reality. "Dinner time," he rasped. His stomach agreed.
Beckett slid cautiously from the pile of pillows and stretched, yawning. "I didn't do anything much and I had a nap. How can I still be tired?"
"Healing takes energy. It's tiring. You know that."
Beckett muttered. Castle drew her out of the bedroom and towards dinner. Beckett not only didn't resist, she laced her fingers into his, and then slid into his arm.
After dinner and coffee, Beckett disappeared, returning in a sloppy tee and sleep shorts that looked like she'd had them for years. Castle applauded the informality, and especially the display of several miles of legs, silently. From her expression, he had a feeling Beckett read his mind anyway.
In which case…
He drew Beckett into his arms, then on to his lap, and slowly slid one large hand over the outside of her thigh, down to her knee and back up again. She held his gaze, tiny golden specks flecking her hazel eyes, pupils already a fraction dilated. Her hand came up to his shoulder, paused, then glided across to his neck; she acquired a half-smile, and nibbled her lower lip invitingly. Castle accepted her invitation to kiss it; stroking softly along the seam so that she parted her lips for him; a slow, sensual exploration that nevertheless carried the promise of passion. His hand slid over the outside of her leg again, and again, gently insinuating that it could explore other areas in a little while. She shifted to press into his fingers, turning to be closer, deepening their kiss. Slim fingers began to open buttons, sneaking beneath the cotton to flirt with the skin beneath; stoking the heat that surged through his body, leaving him fully aroused. His grip tightened, his kiss became harder, more demanding, his free hand slid from her thigh to her waist, slipping under the sloppy tee and finding smooth skin, creeping upward to her lowest rib.
Beckett lost herself in Castle's obvious appreciation and desire, feeling her own need rise with his. His strength surrounded her; his hand at her ribs left small flames licking down her nerves, pooling in her breasts and core. His hand wandered further upward, and she shivered as it reached the undercurve of her breast, stopping to explore: flirting and teasing without touching the nipple: now peaked and proud. She breathed more deeply, and he turned his hand upward to cup the fullness above and drag a thumb over the hard point. She fell into the touch, and found his flat nipple in turn, pulling off his mouth and seeking out the nerve below his ear that would make him gasp and flex.
Barely a subjective instant later she found herself landing in the middle of the bed: Castle looming over her in a thoroughly predatory fashion; his big body caging her and his mouth already taking hers with complete confidence. She surrendered without a fight, wanting – needing – to know that he wanted her with all the power and potency at his command; needing him to prove the truth of his words from his actions and the hard body beside her.
He pulled back from the kiss, flung his shirt aside, and returned before she'd really realised that he was gone: kissing her deeply. One hand played with the hem of her t-shirt, slowly raising it, inch by inch, revealing toned stomach and then ribs. He smiled wolfishly, and traced sensual, slow patterns on her skin, never quite high enough to reach her breasts, never low enough to push her shorts away. The touch seared through her veins and synapses to take her higher, but never high enough.
"More?" he inquired, in a deep bedroom baritone that matched his touch. "I think so." His wicked fingers teased at the top of the shorts, then rolled the soft cotton down an inch. She gasped. He rolled another inch, and another: slowly removing them to leave her in a pair of tiny panties. "Pretty," he commented, and ran one thick digit over their front. She squirmed. He did it again, rather lower, and she whimpered softly and tried to push his hand to where she wanted it.
"Naughty," he said. "Be patient." His smile turned feral. "It'll be worth it." She growled at him. "Patience," he repeated, and moved his fingers. She gasped. "See?" He did it again, an inch closer to where she wanted him to be.
And then he stopped. She opened her mouth to demand he continued, and was forestalled as he kissed her again. Her hands locked around his neck, so that he couldn't stop kissing – and so that she could turn the tables and have him below her so that she could tease him just like he'd just teased her. She pulled him down to her, and tried to roll them – but Castle went with it, then kept going with all the advantages of size and weight, so that she ended up exactly where she'd started.
"That wasn't nice," he said. "Just lie back and enjoy it all."
Suddenly, she capitulated. Why not let him make her blissfully happy? He wanted to. She wanted him to. She knew they were good together. "Give it your best shot," she invited, and acquired a smile that said come and get it.
Castle leaned up on one elbow, and raked his gaze up and down her body, with particular attention to the area just south of her navel. This time, she flexed, enticing him to touch. Pleasingly, his fingers did just that, and even more pleasingly (and arousingly) they wandered up to her ribs, collected the hem of her sloppy sleep tee, and dragged it up, over her head, and off. She flexed again. It was Castle's turn to growl darkly, eyes fixed on her chest. One large palm cupped the nearer mound, and played with the pink peak. She arched into it. Castle grinned at her, and stopped to divest himself of his shoes, pants and socks. Beckett watched the show with considerable appreciation, practically purring with pleasure. He returned to the bed, slid an arm under her neck, and lifted her so that he could kiss her hard. She sneaked fingers between them, and found the opening of his boxers, then the hard mass inside, closing around it. He jerked, making an animalistic noise deep in his chest, as she palmed him, teasing at the soft skin, thumbing over the head.
An instant later, he'd lifted her enough to whisk her panties off and leave her naked, delicately flushed with desire and heat. She was definitely down with that programme. As, it seemed, was Castle. Accent firmly on down.
Any last remnants of her upset incinerated in the scalding heat of utter lust as Castle pinned her beneath him and began to kiss his way down from her mouth, her cleavage, sternum…navel…oh god! Castle! He'd breathed lightly over her, and it hit every single ending of that sensitive knot – Castle! His broad hands clamped on her hips; his shoulders held her wide; and his mouth… She didn't know what he was doing but he wasn't allowed to stop.
Castle did know what he was doing. He whiffled gently, to tantalise, then flicked his tongue out to taste, then licked once from end to end and heard Beckett's high, wordless noise with immense satisfaction. If she liked it that much…he'd simply do it again. And again. She half-shrieked his name, and he added a thick finger, playing at her liquid entrance: a fraction in, a slow withdrawal: matching the rhythm of his mouth on her. She writhed and screamed and came hard against him.
"You liked that," he purred darkly. "I liked that." He slithered up to wrap her in. "My Beckett." She wiggled in his arms. Ohhhhhh. He rolled on to his back, holding her above him, and she slid down to take him in and it was perfect. Better even than their first time. Ohhhh Beckett. She moved, and he moved to meet her: and then there was only she around him and he within her and the fire took them both until they lay sated together.
Cleaned up, Castle cuddled her into him and waited until her breathing had softened and slowed, her head on his shoulder and her lithe body against him: trusting and close. He relaxed into his own slumber with a contented smile.
Thank you to all readers and reviewers.
Posting of the last few chapters will be at slightly odd times, though the days will remain the same. I'm travelling.
