A/N: Okay, like 50% of this chapter was written very quickly as 'filler' and my editing skills really aren't that great (I swear, this entire document is just a big blur to me right now) so if it is a spelling and grammatical disaster I do apologise.
The day had be long, tedious.
Spirits were low as they entered their twenty-sixth hour of searching for Oscar Radley; the man responsible for the two teenagers currently in the morgue.
He had managed to slip away when they'd gone to arrest him at his office, weaving through the sea of business men and women until all three of the detectives had lost sight of him.
They'd been doing everything possible to find him since; going over every detail of his life - again and again - trying to find out where he might possibly resurface. BOLO's had been sent out state-wide: to precincts, airports, bus and train stations. They had uniformed officers on constant patrols, the homes and workplaces of all known family and acquaintances under surveillance. There really wasn't much more she could be doing and yet she was finding herself getting increasingly more frustrated with each dead end they came up against.
"Maybe you should take a break."
The voice pulled her from her internal spiral, pushed away that harrowing voice in the back of her mind that taunted her.
You let him get away.
She looked up from her computer screen to see Esposito watching her with worry in his eyes.
"I'm fine," she said with a firm shake of her head.
No, she wasn't going anywhere. Not until this guy had been caught.
"Your phone has been going off," he commented before returning to his own desk.
He knew better than to push. She appreciated that.
She looked down at the phone that sat on her desk, atop a pile of paperwork she needed to catch up on. As if on cue, the screen illuminated. She lifted it, opened the string of text messages she had been ignoring for two days now.
Look, I'm trying not to be that guy but I haven't heard from you in a while. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.
She couldn't help but smile. After having to cancel their weekend plans she hadn't had a chance to see Rick in over a week. Not for lack of trying; she'd even gone as far as to promise she'd stop by his apartment after a late shift for a, uh, quick visit. But her 10pm finish quickly became a 2am finish and by the time she made her way to SoHo - and suffered through the awkwardness of meeting his mother for the first time when the woman had answered the door with a knowing smile - he had passed out on the couch. He had apologised profusely the next morning and promised to make it up to her but they were yet to get to that.
That was the last time she had spoken to him. Since then, this case had taken a turn for the worse and she had been neglecting just about every other aspect of her life for the past few days. She went home to shower, eat and maybe catch a few hours of sleep: only when she was ordered to. And her phone, despite being glued to her side, was for work-related communications only. Rick, her father, even most of her texts from Lanie had been ignored, placed in the deal with later pile.
She supposed now was a good time to deal with that.
Sorry, I've been swamped at work. But I miss you.
She sent the message before she even realised what she had typed. I miss you. After just a few days. How truly pathetic.
I miss you, too.
But at least she wasn't alone in that feeling.
Her smile only brightened and she marvelled at how easily he could do that: ease the pressures of a bad day and bring a little light back into the darkest parts of this world.
Dinner at mine tonight?
She sighed and began to type out her reply, the same reply she typed out the last three times he had asked that question: I'm sorry, but I can't commit to that right now.
They couldn't let this guy get away, couldn't rest while the families of two kids - kids! - mourned their loss with no answers to comfort them.
But running herself ragged wasn't going to solve this case. And the Captain had been circling her all day, monitoring her. She knew she was likely going to be sent home as soon as her shift was over anyway.
So she deleted the half-typed response and began tapping out a new reply.
I'll be there x.
She tucked her phone into her pocket - couldn't allow herself to be distracted anymore - and after several minutes of searching through Radley's phone records, again, Ryan rushed out of the break room with his phone pressed to his ear.
"Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, we'll be right there."
He hung up the phone, turned his attention to Kate.
"Radley's been spotted."
The three of them grabbed their gear and rushed to the elevator.
He had expected another no.
Gentle, yet firm, like each other time.
I wish I could. Always followed by a but...
But not this time.
The second he had received her reply he had rushed off to buy fresh ingredients to make her something spectacular, something memorable. Exactly what that would be, he wasn't quite sure, so he bought enough to have options.
He had a few hours to mull it over, to decide on the perfect meal to serve her. In the meantime, he needed to write.
Gina had, thankfully, not had a heart attack when he brought up the changes to his book. She simply smiled and told him she wasn't adjusting the project timeline. If he could get this new story written in accordance to the schedule they had already set, then he was free to do as he pleased. It was going to be tough, but he was sure he could do it if he really knuckled down.
Unfortunately, the story that seemed to be flowing so freely from his mind was not that of an ex-mob enforcer, wrongfully accused of murdering an undercover cop. No, the words he typed out so rapidly belonged to an idea he had tucked away weeks ago; they belonged to Nikki Heat.
He had typed for hours, barely pausing for more than a few short moments at a time. Before he knew it, the blank screen in front of him was filled with ideas that he just couldn't wait to bring to life. An entire story; for her. He couldn't think of a more perfect way to show her how much she meant to him.
You know, when the time was right.
His phone began to ring, breaking him from his writing trance. He saved the document and picked up his phone, bringing it to his ear without so much as glancing at the caller ID.
"Richard Castle," he greeted politely.
"Castle." The familiar voice filled him with dread. Unnecessary, he could have been calling for several reasons, but the tension that carried through the phone speaker told Rick this wasn't a casual call.
"Espo? What's wrong?"
"Look, Castle, I don't want you to panic-"
It was as if he blacked out.
There's been an accident.
He doesn't remember much after that, doesn't even remember if he asked a single question about, well, anything. All he remembered was Esposito muttering the words Beckett's hurt and suddenly he was forcing his legs to move - one foot after the other, faster and faster - navigating the never-ending corridors of this impossibly large hospital, desperate to be by her side.
He turned left at the end of one corridor, came face to face with a dead end. Staff only, the sign on the door read.
"Yo, Castle!"
He turned on his heel at the sound of Esposito's voice and panic hit him, like walking into a brick wall, when he saw the detective's solemn expression.
He had seen Esposito serious, he'd seen him annoyed and upset and outright pissed off, but never had he seen this expression mar the man's face. It was an expression of helplessness, of guilt.
"Where is she?" Rick asked.
"I didn't expect you to get here so quick," Espo commented.
"Yeah, well, when you get a call saying someone is in hospital, that's usually a drop everything you're doing and go kinda thing."
Esposito nodded. "I appreciate that." He looked to his right, through the door to their side. "I'd stay with her but unfortunately I have to get back to the precinct."
"I understand." Rick's focus followed the path of Esposito's eyes, but he couldn't see anything past the curtain drawn around the bed. "Is she okay?"
"She has a concussion and a sprained wrist: they're doing tests to see how severe, but they suspect a torn ligament or two. Knowing Beckett, the worst of it will be her wounded pride," he said, earning him a soft smile from Castle. "She'll be fine," he assured the writer.
"Can I go in there?" Castle asked.
"Yeah, I just stepped out to call Jenny." He held up his phone, just enough to bring Castle's attention to it. "Figured I should check in on Ryan."
Castle sighed; he hadn't even thought to ask about anyone else. His mind had been to consumed by Kate.
"Is he okay?"
"He made it home to his fiance," Esposito said, telling Castle everything he needed to know about the events of the day.
"And you?"
The detective looked up and met the writer's eyes. "It's all part of the job," he answered with a shrug. "The bad days are inevitable. It could have been a lot worse."
Castle shuddered at the thought; it didn't take a genius to know what Esposito had meant by a lot worse.
They faced death every day, in one way or another. To them, this was merely a case of could have been worse.
"Just a word of advice," Espo started, pulling Castle from his thoughts. The writer looked at him, gave him his fully attention. "If you can't be okay with this part, go home."
"I'm not leaving-"
"She doesn't need to be coddled. I can see it on your face, bro, you're too scared."
"She's in hospital. What, am I not supposed to care?"
"Every cop has seen this play out a hundred times. Caring is fine, you should care, but this isn't something that you just get used to. Either you understand that each day is a risk or you don't. All I'm saying is-" Esposito took a breath. He was overstepping, for sure. He knew he should just shut up, mind his own business, but he couldn't. "This is more than just a job to her. If you can't accept this part of it, it's never going to work out for the two of you."
Castle nodded. "I know. I know what this means to her and I would never not support that."
Esposito's eyes narrowed as if he was waiting for the catch that never came.
"Seriously," Castle assured him. "What do I need to do?" he asked, his eyes drifting toward the room he still couldn't quite see inside.
"She's pretty heavily medicated," Espo began to explain. "She keeps drifting in and out but Doc said that's to be expected. He said that if she's got someone to keep an eye on her for the next 24 hours, he'll be happy to discharge her soon."
"24 hours?" Castle repeated.
He had a meeting that he would have to reschedule but he would do that, of course.
"Lanie's shift ends in, like, six hours. And she's taken a few days off," Espo told Castle. "If you can just, I don't know, keep her from slipping into a coma or something in the meantime, that would be great."
"A coma? You're messing with me, right?"
The corners of Esposito's mouth twitched and he dropped his mask of seriousness, a smirk spreading on his lips. "She'll be fine, she's just a bit dopey. And she'll probably be a bit miserable once the good stuff starts to wear off. Nothing you can't handle, right?"
"Right."
Espo slapped his palm to Castle's shoulder. "You need anything, give me a call."
With Castle's nod of acknowledgement, Esposito walked away.
Rick slowly moved closer to the open door. He could do this: accept the risk, remove the worry from his face. He inched closer, pulled the curtain aside and allowed himself a moment to take in the sight before him.
Kate was lying on her side, her knees curled up to her chest and a troubled look on her face, as if she were having some horrible nightmare. There were drops of blood on her shirt - a deep crimson contrast to the baby blue button-up - that had undoubtedly spilled from the inch-long gash above her right eyebrow.
Over all, she didn't look too bad.
He could do this.
He moved around the bed, carefully lowered himself into the chair on the other side, trying not to wake her but the soft squeak of the plastic cushioning alerted her to his presence.
"Hey," she mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes with her fists.
"Hey," he whispered. "How are you feeling?"
"I, uh-" The crease between her brows deepened and her eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. "I'm just so tired."
"You got a pretty decent knock to the noggin'," Rick explained. "Between the concussion and the pain meds, you'll probably feel a bit drowsy for a few days."
"I don't like it," she groaned. "The boys?"
"They're okay," he assured her.
But she shook her head. "No, Ryan's hurt."
"He's fine," he tried to reassure her, but there was no point.
She reached for the bed railing with her left hand and - ignoring the bandage that indicated some form of injury - tried to pull herself upright. She sucked in a sharp breath and hissed a cuss word through gritted teeth as pain seared through her lower arm.
"Kate-" In an instant, Rick was on his feet and by her side, brushing her hair from her face as she flopped back against the pillow and clutched her throbbing wrist to her chest. "Breathe," he encouraged.
She closed her eyes, took slow, measured breaths as she waited for the pain to subside. Minutes passed in silence, nothing more than each purposeful inhale and exhale filled the space between them until she spoke again in a soft, shaky voice.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Kate forced her eyes open and looked up at Rick.
"For this. I messed up, I didn't-"
"Kate," he interrupted, stilling his hand to cradle the side of her head. "It's okay."
"I'm sure there are a million other places you'd rather be right now."
Rick pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling, pretending to be deep in thought. "I mean, the hospital didn't exactly top my list of most exciting places to spend my day but you definitely rank pretty high on the list of people I want to spend my day with."
She let out a loud huff of air. "Are you seriously flirting with me right now?"
"Well, that depends," he answered. "Did it make you forget about the pain?"
Kate looked down to her wrist, the one that - just seconds ago - had been throbbing with intense pain. She could still feel it, but it was more of a dull ache now. Subdued by the pain medication coursing through her veins, no doubt. But still, she'd give him credit for this one.
"You win this round," she said.
Her eyes remained downcast and focused on the material that wrapped around the lower portion of her arm, but a smile spread across her lips and Rick couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking about.
He was about to ask, when a panicked voice stole both of their attention.
"Kate?" the unfamiliar voice asked.
Unfamiliar to Rick, anyway. Kate's eyes lit up with recognition and she turned to face the man who had rushed into the room.
The unannounced guest was tall, he towered over her even as he hunched over and wrapped his large hands around the metal guardrail of Kate's hospital bed. A dark brown lock of hair fell forward, the tips of the tendril tickling at the corner of his eye but he made no attempt to move it.
"What happened?" He kept his moss green eyes locked to Kate's. "Are you okay?"
"Why are you here?" Kate asked, ignoring the man's questions.
"The hospital called me; I'm listed as your emergency contact."
Kate sighed, closed her eyes and hung her head low, using her good hand to massage her forehead.
"I didn't resubmit the forms," she said quietly.
Rick wasn't sure if she was talking to him, herself, or the mystery man who he was certain wasn't a mystery at all.
Surely... it had to be...
"Adam, I'm sorry."
Rick's stomach dropped as she confirmed his suspicions.
This was the man who had so carelessly thrown away a good thing, leaving her heartbroken and confused. Rick had assumed he would be filled with anger if he ever met the man; instead, he pitied him.
Did he realise the mistake he had made? What he had lost?
Was that why he was here?
"It's not a problem," Adam assured her.
Kate opened her eyes and looked back up at him. "You came all this way, it's such an inconvenience."
"Not at all." He smiled at her. "I've been wanting to see you, actually."
"Why?" Rick asked, the words spilling from his lips before he had the chance to stop them.
Two sets of eyes landed on him; apologetic hazel and irritated green.
"I'm sorry: who are you?"
"This is Rick," Kate introduced, hesitantly. "He's going to take me back to Lanie's."
Rick smiled politely and held out his hand.
Adam stood tall, straightening his posture as he reached across the bed and shook Rick's hand.
"Thank you for your kind offer," the man - Adam - said. "But, I'm here now."
But where have you been for the past two months?
Rick bit his tongue, kept his thoughts swirling in his mind instead of spilling freely: it wasn't his place to comment.
"I'm happy to take you home, Kate," Adam said, returning his attention back to her. "As I said: I've been wanting to see you again. I think we have a lot we should talk about."
"She's concussed," Rick stated, his frustration evident in the furrow of his brow. "I don't think now is the time."
Adam inhaled, equally as frustrated, apparently. "I think that's up to Kate to decide."
"Are you two done?" Kate asked.
She didn't have the energy to deal with wherever this testosterone fuelled face off was headed: she was sore, she was nauseous and she really just wanted to curl up and go to sleep. She sighed heavily, turned her attention to Rick. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should..."
She didn't finish her thought but she didn't have to, he knew what she was trying to say. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't wanted to argue, to insist that she should just go home, save this conversation for another day. A day when she was stronger, not drugged up and hazy. Instead, he smiled and took her hand in his.
"That's okay," he assured her. "Just call me if you need anything, okay?"
She nodded slowly, but it wasn't enough. He needed to know that she understood.
"Anything at all," he added for clarity.
"I will." She squeezed his hand. "Thank you."
The house had changed. Nothing too drastic but it was enough to make her feel uneasy.
This wasn't home anymore. All traces of her were, just... gone.
Her DVD's and books that lined the shelves of the living room, the knitted throw that they'd kept draped over the arm of their lounge, the little trinkets and mementos she had collected over the years... gone.
And their photographs - the frames that decorated the buffet and shelves, that hung from the walls - they had all been replaced with photographs of her. Becca: the ex-wife.
Instead of the art they had bought together - an abstract piece she knew he never really liked, but had pretended to because she had fallen in love with it the moment she laid eyes on it - an unnecessarily large wedding portrait hung on the wall by the dining table.
"Does it count if you're not actually married anymore?" Kate muttered to herself as she stared at the canvas print.
She found herself wondering why she was here. Why she had insisted on putting herself through this when Rick had been right there, more than happy to take her home, to look after her while she wasn't well.
Closure. That's all she could come up with: a reason for allowing herself to be taken back to the place she used to call home.
"Becca just wanted to fill the space until we decided on what to put there," Adam explained as he stepped up to her side.
The space was filled, she thought to herself.
His shoulder brushed against hers, as it had so many times before. But it was too much: his touch; the way he could so easily act like nothing had happened, like he wasn't flaunting his betrayal in her face.
She turned away from the depiction of marital bliss that taunted her, and walked toward the couch.
"What happened to our canvas?" she asked.
Her only hope was that he had stored it properly. But when he looked at her with guilty eyes, she realised that didn't matter: she wasn't getting it back.
"Where is it?"
Adam shrugged. "Sold it."
"What?" she groaned and flopped down onto the couch.
"Your half of the money is in a box of your stuff," he said, as if that made up for what had been done.
"I don't want the money," she whined. "I want my painting."
"What did you expect me to do, Kate?" He walked toward her, frustration growing evident in his voice. "You just left me. With no warning. Suddenly I'm paying twice the amount of rent-"
"Oh, I'm sorry that Becca isn't pulling her weight financially," she spat bitterly. "Maybe you should have thought about that before screwing me over."
"You didn't even give me a chance to explain," he argued.
His raised voice, the accusatory tone; it made her blood boil.
She rose to her feet, ignoring the way her head felt too light yet too heavy. "What could you have possibly said that would have changed anything?"
He opened his mouth, but no words would come out.
No excuses, no justifications, no apology.
Kate closed her eyes, took a deep breath in and then let the air expel from her lungs slowly. Once, twice, three times. And when she had calmed herself down, she opened her eyes and continued.
"What do you want from me, Adam?"
He looked at her with a sadness in his eyes that - once upon a time - would have melted her into submission.
"I want to know that you don't hate me."
She gently pressed her teeth to her bottom lip and let her eyes drift to the floor. She had told herself, a hundred times over, that she hated him.
He had her - so hopelessly in love with him, so willing to give everything she had to this relationship, to their future - but he didn't want her. He kept her in the dark, oblivious to his indiscretions: he broke her heart; shattered her trust.
She wanted to hate him, for ruining her.
But, lately, she was starting to think that maybe she wasn't ruined.
"The writer-" Adam began, bringing Kate from her thoughts. "Is he-? I mean, are you dating him?"
The question filled her with anger. No, they weren't dating. They could be. Hell, they should be... but she was too scared to take that leap, to risk her heart again because she had chosen to give it to the wrong person: to him.
"Thank you for boxing up my stuff," she said, purposefully ignoring his question. "I'll organise to have everything picked up within the next week or so."
Adam rolled his eyes. "You think I don't see the photos plastered all over Page Six?" he huffed angrily.
"Who I choose to spend my time with isn't any of your business anymore." She turned and began to walk toward the door. "I'll text you the details once I have a removalist organised," she called over her shoulder.
"I didn't sell the painting," he confessed in anger. "We burned it."
She stopped in her tracks, her hand still mid-air as she reached for the doorknob.
The one thing she wanted - that he would have known she wanted - and he destroyed it. Her anger surged through her: she wanted to scream.
But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
She took a deep breath and continued on her way out, slamming the door behind her.
She realised that this was probably the last place she should be right now. When she had managed to hail a cab, she was intent on going home. She just wanted to shower, to wash away the horrible day she'd had, and to go to sleep.
And yet, here she was.
Rick's address had apparently spilled from her lips and, by the time she realised the cab driver was not taking her to Lanie's apartment, she realised that was exactly where she wanted to be. With Rick.
He opened the door with curiosity on his face, but it so quickly morphed into something else.
Hurt, or anger, or maybe even disappointment. Either way, she couldn't bear to look at him anymore.
She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shirt. She felt his arms wrap around her, his chin resting on the top of her head.
"Guys suck," she mumbled.
His arms tightened around her body, a reassurance.
"I'm sorry?" he said, a little unsure if he was included in this general disapproval of his gender.
But she shook her head - her hair tickling along his jaw - and mumbled. "Not you. Never you."
She breathed in deeply, savouring every part of him that overwhelmed her senses: the warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne, the beating of his heart in his chest. He was all around her, like a protective shield, and nothing else seemed to matter.
"I'm sorry, Rick." She pulled back, just enough to look up at him. "You dropped everything to come and help me. And I just... dismissed you. I'm so sorry."
"I take it your talk didn't go very well," Rick surmised.
Kate huffed out a caustic laugh. "Closure is a myth," she asserted, so sure in her conclusion.
But Rick shook his head. "The idea that you can get closure from the person who hurt you is a myth," he said. "Real closure comes from you. It comes from accepting what happened and allowing yourself to move forward."
He brought his hand to Kate's face and gently brushed his thumb across her cheek.
"I probably could have told you that a few hours ago and saved you the hassle," he admitted with a smirk. "But I figured this was probably something you had to figure out on your own."
She smiled, knowing that he was right. If he had asked her not to go, told her that it wouldn't be worth it she probably would have ignored his warnings. Too stubborn for her own good; her father would get a kick out of knowing she had finally accepted what he had been telling her for years now.
"Still, I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"
"There's nothing to forgive."
He smiled, ran his hands down her arms until he reached her hands - sure to be cautious as he fingertips ran over the splint that covered her wrist - and then slowly led her inside his home.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked cautiously.
He didn't want her to feel pressured, like he was prying for details out of mistrust: he just wanted her to know that he was there if she needed to talk. He wanted her to know that, despite where he wanted this to be heading, he wanted to be her friend first and foremost. He wanted to be someone she could talk to about anything.
She shook her head. "I don't think so."
He let go of her hands and stepped around her, moving closer to the door to push it shut.
"If you're upset," he started to say as he walked back to her. He reached for her coat, slipped it off of her shoulders and she muttered her thanks.
She turned to face him, watched as he hung her coat in the closet by the front door.
"I am," she admitted.
Rick looked at her, concern swirling through the blue of his eyes.
"Or... I was," she corrected. "Being here helps."
He understood the words that remained unspoken: being with you helps.
"You're always welcome here," he told her. He stepped closer, took her good hand in his and gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Stay. As long as you'd like."
Kate's eyes flicked across to the staircase, then back to Rick's.
"Is Alexis home?"
The question - although innocent enough - sent a flutter through his belly and into his chest.
"No," he answered with the gentle shake of his head. "Not until morning. It's just us."
Just us.
He loved it when they were alone. When they were alone, she would let her guard down just that little bit more. They'd share space, as if any amount of distance between them was too much. She'd allow him to touch her, to hold her, as if his hands on her were the only thing keeping her grounded. There was an easiness that came with being alone, an easiness that was slowly but surely convincing her to take the risk, to let him in. And knowing that that was what she craved in this moment when she was both physically and emotionally hurt and drained, knowing that - deep down - she knew that she could be at her most vulnerable with him made him realise that perhaps she was even closer to being ready than he had thought.
He smiled. "Are you hungry? I can make you some dinner."
Kate shook her head. "I'm not feeling great, to be honest."
"Are the pain meds upsetting your stomach?" Rick dropped Kate's hand and shifted to gently touch her stomach. Her focus dropped to the unexpected touch as the breath she inhaled hitched in her throat. "You know what?" he asked, waiting for her eyes to return to his before continuing. "Why don't you have a quick shower while I heat up some soup? It'll make you feel better."
She smiled and nodded slowly. A shower sounded wonderful. "Thank you."
"Come with me."
Still holding her hand, he led her through his bedroom and into the en-suite.
"That cabinet there-" He pointed to the cabinet he was referring to. "Has clean towels. There should also be a plastic tub to the side that has my little stockpile of toiletries. Grab whatever you need: loofah, toothbrush, whatever. I'll grab something you can wear."
He heard her mumble a shy thank you as he ducked out of the en-suite in search of suitable clothing for her to wear. The options were limited: short of borrowing clothes from his teenage daughter or elderly mother - both options that he was not sold on - he could offer her sweatpants, boxers, a cotton t-shirt or a sweatshirt. All of which would inevitably swim on her. After a few moments of deliberation he grabbed a pair of boxers and his most comfortable sweatshirt.
"I hope these are okay," he said as he re-entered the bathroom.
He looked up at her just in time to see her fumbling with the top button of her blouse and - for just a moment - he froze, considering that maybe he should have knocked or announced his presence or something rather than just walking in. But, when he saw the frustration on her face, he stepped closer.
"Did you need help?" he asked cautiously.
He didn't want to overstep.
Or make her feel like he thought she wasn't capable.
Kate sighed and turned to face him.
"They're just really fiddly buttons," she excused.
Rick placed the clothing on the vanity, took another step closer to Kate and reached for the tiny iridescent buttons. She hadn't been kidding when she said they were fiddly, but he managed to slip them through the buttonholes with relative ease.
"Maybe try to avoid buttons for a few days," he suggested with a small chuckle.
She hummed and nodded slowly, seemingly agreeing with his suggestion until he saw the corner of her mouth curve into a smirk. "Or I could just keep you handy for all my undressing needs," she mused.
Rick's smile grew tenfold at the suggestion. "That could work, too, I guess."
He slipped the last button through it's corresponding hole and waited for her to slip the material from her shoulders. He couldn't help but let his gaze drift down her body, drawn to the red markings on her ribs that were already darkening into a rather nasty bruise.
"It doesn't hurt much," she assured him, pulling the cuff of her shirt over her wrist splint before tossing it aside.
Rick smiled, forced his eyes back up to hers. "I'll remind you of that once the cocktail of medications starts to wear off," he remarked. "Turn around."
She obeyed his request, turning without hesitation. With her good hand she gathered her hair to one side and pulled it over her shoulder. Rick's fingertips at her spine tickled as he unclasped her bra for her.
She briefly considered asking him to stay, to forget about the food he had promised (the food she honestly didn't really want) and join her in the shower instead. But the persistent thump and throb and fogginess of her mind told her that maybe that wasn't the best idea right now.
"I'll be in the kitchen," he said softly, his lips at the shell of her ear. His hands smoothed a path down her sides before pressing firmly to her hips. "Call out if you need anything else."
She nodded and waited for the sound of the door closing behind him before she continued to undress. Piece by piece, the rest of her clothing joined her shirt in the corner of the room. With her right hand she began to pull on the hook and loop straps of the splint, loosening it just enough to slip her arm free of the confines. She tossed it haphazardly onto the vanity then - supporting her left forearm with her good hand - she cautiously stretched out the fingers on her left hand. She grimaced as the movement sent sharp bolts of pain radiating from her wrist.
It was going to be a long few days.
His mother had never been a shining example of domesticity, but one 'life hack' she had shared with him was to always keep half a dozen individual servings of the family's remedial chicken soup in the freezer.
It can cure just about anything, she had insisted. But it's a pain to make when you're feeling like death!
He hadn't appreciated the advice until the first time he and Alexis had been struck down by a horrendous winter flu. It felt like a million years ago now, but he would never forget how physically draining the simple act of preparing food for his daughter had been at that time.
His freezer had remained adequately stocked ever since.
It didn't take long to bring the soup to temperature. He lowered the cook top settings to keep the broth warm, then moved across the kitchen to put a slice of bread in the toaster. Just as it popped up again, Kate emerged from Rick's bedroom dressed in his clothing.
She'd had to roll the waistband of his boxers over to keep them from slipping too low on her hips, but she couldn't deny that she was comfortable.
"Feeling any better?" he asked as she approached.
She smiled and sat on one of the stools at the counter. "Much. Thank you."
He ladled the soup into a bowl and slid it across the bench to her.
"Eat up." He smeared some butter onto the toast and placed it beside the bowl. "It'll help settle your stomach."
"You always this bossy?" Kate asked in jest.
"Only when necessary," he replied.
Kate picked up the slice of toast and dipped the corner into the soup, taking a hesitant bite. She had expected her stomach - that had been churning incessantly since she left the hospital - to protest the meal, but it didn't. She took another hesitant bite, then another, and still nothing.
"You're a miracle worker," she said softly and Rick smiled proudly.
They had agreed on one movie before he would - reluctantly - take her home.
But as soon as she settled in - pressed against his side with one of his hands holding her securely and the other absent-mindedly combing through her hair - he knew that she wasn't going to last the whole movie. Sure enough, not even twenty minutes in, she was fast asleep.
Rick considered waking her but when he shifted to get a clearer view of her face - and she, in return, snuggled in closer to him - he very quickly decided against doing so. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up his call log to send a text to the last number that had called.
Kate is with me, safe and sound asleep.
The reply came after just a few minutes.
Lanie assumed she would make her way to yours. Cap wants to see her in the AM but only when she's ready.
Rick replied, assuring Esposito that he would pass along the message when she woke.
He tucked his phone back into his pocket and shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable.
"Sweet dreams," he whispered as he pressed a kiss to the top of Kate's head.