"Don't lick your wounds unless you care to taste the sting a second time."

Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway

A co-authored story by bravevulnerability and seilleanmor

The city hums outside of their bedroom window, the pulse of life pressing up against the glass, and Kate jerks awake on a gasp, suffocating. Reeling, she presses her palm over her eye and the sudden bloom of heat there. It's not painful at first, just strangely warm, but then the roar of it rolls in like the tide and she hisses through her teeth, gets to her knees in the bed.

Next to her, Castle is sacked out on his front, mouth open. Her husband's face is squished into the pillow and she can only see half of it, the hard line of his nose and one eye deep in shadow. He wriggles, burrowing into the sheets like he's getting comfortable, and she knows what happened.

He's a big guy, broad, and sometimes when he rolls over in his sleep he lands on her or he almost pushes her out of bed altogether, or his arm crashes over her like a felled oak. This time, it seems, he's knocked her in the eye.

The flood of pain and the way she can hardly seem to keep it open tells her it's going to be bad. Kate slides out of bed and snags his sweatshirt from the chair next to her side, tugs it on over her head. Her brain is careening into the sides of her skull, her vision a little blurry, and she presses her palms to the top of the dresser and sucks in a breath, ducks her chin so she doesn't have to meet her own eyes in the mirror.

Well. . .eye. One of them is almost useless to her right now.

Kate moves through the living room and to the kitchen, grateful for the envelope of darkness. Tugging open the freezer, she rummages around and comes up with a frozen bag of peas. There's a stack of clean dish cloths in a drawer next to the stove and she tugs one out, wraps it around the bag and holds the makeshift ice pack up to her eye.

It's cold here in the kitchen in the middle of the night; gooseflesh rises along the outsides of her thighs and she sighs, turns back for the bedroom. Kate climbs back into bed and arranges her pillows against the headboard, tugs the sheets up over herself and nestles down.

The movement - the shift in weight, something - wakes the sleeping giant in the bed next to her and he blinks, scrubs at his eyes before he seems to notice her predicament and rears upward. "Kate? What happened?"

"You punched me." She laughs, lowering the ice for a moment to show him her face. Beckett has taken enough hits on the job, gotten enough black eyes, to know just by the feel of it that it's turning rapidly purple. The place above her eyebrow is painfully swollen, her skin ripe to the point of bursting, and even though the ice stings it is infinitely better than not having it.

Even in the fog of the early hours, she can see the colour drain rapidly from his cheeks and the way the shock of it socks him in the gut, his breath catching. "I did this to you?"

"No, hey, babe." Kate gets to her knees next to him and curls a clumsy arm around his neck, finds she can't kiss him without the ice touching his skin as well, and that really would not help things right now. "It was an accident, and I'm fine. No serious damage."

"But you have a black eye. Everyone's going to think. . ."

He trails off and she watches him swallowing hard, thinks for a moment that he might get sick. He dials it back, whatever that was, and when he looks at her his eyes are alive with panic.

Kate smoothes the fingers of her free hand over his cheek, traces the swell of his bottom lip with her thumb. "I won't let anyone think anything. And Castle, honestly? Everybody knows you, has seen you trying to lay down your life for me over and over again. No one is going to think this was on purpose."

"But what about people that don't know us?" He whispers, and she knows the guilt must be swamping him. His being quiet always unsettles her, makes her skin prickle with how wrong it is.

"Forget them. Doesn't matter. I know that you would never, ever hurt me on purpose, and that's all that matters here, okay?"

"Okay." He grumbles, rolling away from her and tugging the covers up over himself. She knows it's just the shame that makes him not want to look at her, but Kate can't stand to see him sulking. Not when there's nothing to sulk about.

Even through the flare of pain, she finds the whole situation more amusing than anything. Kate sets the ice on the nightstand and curls up at his back, rests her injured forehead against his shoulder blade and grins when he shivers at the cold of her skin even through his shirt.

Her fingers slide to curl around his waist, bare skin, and she traces shapes with her thumb until she feels him go slack with sleep.

Her eye is shadowed in purple the next morning, the surrounding skin slightly swollen despite her late-night ice treatment, and even though she chose a red-toned concealer to counteract the blue of hematoma and applied an extra layer of it, he can still see the collage of blooming purples and reds painting her skin in an angry mosaic.

His heart tugs with guilt every time he looks at her.

Their entry into the bullpen morphs into a walk of shame. Kate appears not the least bit bothered by the fleeting congregation of stares they gain, the handful of double takes that one too many of their fellow officers indulge in once they notice the splotch of color claiming her eye socket. Everything she said last night, her multitude of reassurances, quickly begins to fade.

In his time at the Twelfth, he has seen his fair share of abuse victims, a majority of them women who have taken a hit from a significant other, and in this moment, it doesn't matter that every person on this floor knows what kind of man he is, knows how much he loves his wife and what lengths he would go to for her safety. In this moment, he feels just as despicable as the scum he's seen put away for spousal abuse.

"Yo, Beckett," Esposito greets once they've reached her desk, releasing a low whistle at the brief glance of acknowledgement she gives. "Where'd you get the shiner?"

Castle plops into his chair beside her, trying his best not to pout. She hates when he sulks.

"Yeah, Beckett," Ryan chimes in, approaching the group of them with a stack of files cradled in his arm. "What's the other guy look like?"

The corners of her mouth curl upwards as she spares a sideways glance to Castle, a secret smile on her lips.

"Looks just fine to me," she quips, managing a wink with her good eye, and he wants to laugh, to cling to her gentle teasing, but all he can accomplish is a strained grin.

"Damn, Castle. You did that?" Esposito raises his brow in surprise. "Has married life really become that tough?"

"It was an accident," Beckett cuts in before Rick can spring into defense mode. One of Castle's legs is shielded by the wall of her desk and the stiff wire of his spine, the tight knots in his shoulders, loosen at the curve of her hand over his knee. "Castle's just a very active sleeper."

"Jenny's the same way," Ryan remarks, the mention of his wife igniting a glimmer of affection in his eyes. "Always jabbing me with an elbow or smacking me with a knee."

"Alright, enough with the bedroom tales," Esposito grumbles, turning on his heel and heading back to his desk with a look of distaste claiming his features, dragging Ryan along with him.

"See?" Kate hums to him once the boys have departed, her fingers squeezing his knee. "Told you no one would think anything of it."

But what about people that don't know us?

Castle forces another smile, hopes this one appears more genuine than the last.

"Yeah, you're right," he decides, enveloping her hand in his own and smoothing his thumb over the skin of her knuckles like he wishes he could the swollen flesh above her eyebrow. Beckett is so much smaller than him, her frame easily lost in the shadow of his, and now more than ever he feels like a giant. A brute.

She is right, he's making a big deal out of a minor issue, a mere accident, and as long as it doesn't bother her, he won't let it bother him. "Besides, you look even more badass this way."

She huffs a laugh and releases his hand, powering up her computer and typing in her password, and Castle settles back in his chair, allows his tense muscles and constricting chest to finally loosen with the sweet taste of relief. They've been through far worse than an accidental black eye. It'll be fine.

They catch a case before noon, have a suspect in custody by lunchtime, and she's relieved to notice Castle has steadily become more relaxed with the passing hours of the morning. The hint of remorse still hides deep in the ocean of his irises, but he's finally able to meet her eyes without wincing. . .well, still one eye mostly. It remains a slight struggle to see out of the one he pummeled in his sleep.

The skin surrounding the socket continues to pulse regularly, still sensitive to touch, but the ice from the night before did an admirable job of reducing the swelling and the two Advils she swallowed on the drive to work have turned the heartbeat of pain her eye had pulsed with into little more than a dull roar.

All is going well, until they take a seat in interrogation room 1 and begin their usual tag team routine of taking apart the middle-aged man across the table. The guy is obstinate, wealthy and entitled, refusing to talk without his lawyer present. Her least favorite kind of suspect.

"Mr. Barnes," Beckett tries again, feeling her impatience rise as the man lifts his chin in defiance, cold eyes feigning disinterest and glaring back at her in response. "Why don't you just tell us where you were between midnight and five this morning?"

"Why don't you just wait until my lawyer shows up?" He volleys back with a smirk that has her gritting her teeth while Castle's knee begins to bounce beneath the table in a sign of growing irritation.

"Just trying to help you out here, Barnes," Beckett sighs, flipping the man's file shut and leaning back in her seat, crossing her arms in a show of nonchalance. "What's so hard about giving an alibi?"

A flicker of hesitation ripples through deep brown of their suspect's eyes, the war of uncertainty waging as his gaze roams the room, searching for a way to buy time, a distraction. Beckett knows he's found it when his eyes pause on her, narrowing on the bruise consuming her face, and then land to rest on her and Castle's matching rings.

"Honey, did he knock you around so hard your hearing was damaged? I said I refused to talk until my lawyer is-"

Castle's chair screeches when he jerks upright, shaking the table that suddenly seems small in comparison to the behemoth of a man towering above it.

"What did you just say?"

"Castle." The low but stern call of his name, the warning, has him standing straighter, backing off.

"Tell me, will her other eye be matching soon?" Barnes muses and then Kate's the one rising from her seat, catching her husband by the shoulders before he can do something stupid like lunge across the table.

His anger trembles underneath her palms, the heat of it radiating beneath the layers of his clothing, and Barnes must see it, must finally take notice of the damage her husband can do when provoked, because at last, he shuts up.

Esposito is already at the door, ready to step in, and Beckett walks Castle out of the room with a hand fisted at his lower back.

"Wait for me out here?"

Castle swallows, nods, and brushes past both her and Esposito, wasting no time in rounding the corner and disappearing from sight. Indecision rips through her chest for too long a moment. She's at work, the case should come first, but. . .oh, Castle. Esposito catches on quickly and nudges her shoulder, already herding her out of the room and away from the suspect, towards the direction she's been fighting against going.

"You know, his lawyer is taking his sweet time. I can babysit him for a bit."

"Thanks, Espo," she breathes, patting him on the arm and slipping out of the doorway, following the path Castle took down the hall.

She finds him hiding out in the men's room, his back to the sink, his jaw squared and taut, and his hands in fists at his sides.

"Rick," she sighs, stepping into his space as the door swings shut behind her, one hand finding rest at his sternum, splaying wide over the wild cadence of his heart, while the other rises to spread across his cheek. He won't look at her, his eyes clamping shut, and Kate huffs, presses her forehead to his in a gentle kiss of skin that makes her tender flesh throb. "C'mon babe, don't let that asshole get under your skin."

His chest expands, a burdened exhale flowing past his lips and over the exposed skin of her neck, and one of his fists unfurls, lifts. Castle's fingertips dust softly, oh so gently, at the encompassing flesh of her eye socket, the hardened pads barely touching, but still managing to soothe.

"What's it going to take to make this okay?" Her fingers curl over his, holding his large palm to her cheek, a quiet desperation coming alive in her stomach when he fails to answer. She can't bear to witness him beat himself up over a silly mishap any longer, can't stand the sullen silences and inner turmoil that swirls to the surface so easily. She has to fix this. "I have an idea."

Castle's eyes flash open, blue and fierce, and hope flares in her gut. She can fix this.

"Where are we going?"

It isn't the first time he's asked her, but she finds that for once it isn't the slightest bit annoying. Sort of. . .cute, actually. Makes her want to mother him. Maybe pass him over a juice box and a colouring book. Kate flexes her hands against the steering wheel and takes just a second to sneak a glance at him. He looks tired in a way that runs bone deep and suddenly Kate knows what they need.

A sort of addendum to her earlier plan. "Castle, call Alexis and tell her we're not coming home tonight?"

"We're not?" He sits up straight in his seat, pulls his phone out automatically just because she asked him to. It's that trust in her, that total faith, that imbues her with confidence now.

"We're not. Could you let our family know?"

She doesn't miss his shiver of pleasure at that, the pleased little grin that quirks mostly at the left side of his mouth. "Of course."

Beckett tunes out most of the conversation, focusing instead on not missing their exit. It looms up ahead and she moves the car across a lane and flicks on the blinker, checks her mirrors before she takes the exit. It's only a few miles, Castle still chattering to his daughter, before the buildings start to melt into forest.

These trees know her, dip their heads in welcome as she drives past, and Kate doesn't bother to stifle her smile. When her husband hangs up and pushes his phone back into his pocket, he glances around for about half a nanosecond before his whole face lights up in recognition. "Are we going to the cabin?"

"We are." She says, because as much fun as it is to tease him with secrets, she'd rather share the excitement. "That okay?"

"Um, yeah."

He wriggles down into his seat and her heart bursts wide open, again, at the little boy in him. Lately she hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. A little one with his father's eyes and grin and joy. Kate isn't sure what of herself she would really want to give their son; a mini-Castle, as much as everyone teases, sounds pretty perfect to her.

"You left some stuff there the last time, right?"

They've only been up to the cabin twice together. The first time was that summer she was suspended, when the city blistered and cracked with the heat and all she wanted was to swim in the lake and lay on the dock, let the sun-warmed wood roast them both.

It had been ten days of playing like children in the water and glutting themselves on the barbecue and sleeping out on the screened porch underneath the stars. Making love, slow and lazy with the sun kissing his back or hers; in the narrow twin that has belonged to Kate since she was seven, because she couldn't quite stomach doing that with him in her parents' bed.

When they eventually had to come back to the city, Kate spent the entire drive waiting for the haze of love and satiation to melt away, but it never did. Still hasn't, and if that makes her a sap then so be it.

The second time was over the new year. Alexis wanted to have a party at the loft and Martha had plans with friends, so Kate and her husband escaped up to the cabin for a handful of days. This time, she got to teach him how to build a fire, a skill Castle had never picked up as a kid.

They spent long, lazy hours curled up in front of it in a fort Castle insisted on building, listening to music and drinking hot chocolate and laughing. It had been just exactly what they both needed after the chaos of the previous few months and the wrenching sorrow of Castle being unceremoniously thrown out of the precinct. The warmth and the closeness and the quiet had her falling in love with him all over again.

"I'm pretty sure I did. Are you. . .allowed to just skip work?" He winces, draws himself up into the seat and she laughs, head thrown back for a moment before she refocuses on the road.

It makes him laugh too, at least. The drive here has helped her to forget all about the ache that still hums in her eye, waiting just below the surface. She'll have to take a couple more Advil when they get to the cabin, but that doesn't really bother her.

All she wants is for her husband to stop feeling guilty for it, stop looking at her like a kicked puppy. She doesn't want him to yelp and whine and cower away from her. Not ever.

"It's fine. Gates isn't there so technically, I'm in charge."

"Yes, exactly." He says quietly. "Shouldn't you be there?"

Beckett sobers, moves one of her hands from the steering wheel to smooth her fingers over his knee. "You are more important than my job."

He knows this already; she did, after all, quit for him. Hearing her say it again has his face flooding with light and he captures her hand, kisses her palm before he returns her grip to the wheel again. Kate has always been a stickler for road safety, always kept her hands carefully where they're supposed to be, and he respects that enough not to whine and pout and reach for her. Not while she's driving.

The rest of their journey slips away in a blur of colour that explodes in streaks past the windows and the quiet roar of the car's engine. When they pull up in front of the cabin Kate turns the key in the ignition and silence descends like a bell jar over their heads. In a few minutes nature will spring to life around them again, birds chattering and crickets calling out to one another, but the noise of her cruiser startles the world so greatly that for a moment, it's only her and Castle here.

Undoing her belt, Kate leans across the center console and palms her husband's cheek, tilts his face into hers so she can press a hot and dirty kiss to his mouth. A swirl of her tongue has his hips lifting against the binds of the seatbelt and she chuckles low in her throat just to hear him groan, is out of the car before he even seems to know what's happening.

She's suddenly a little girl with her first crush, foolish and smitten as she jogs up the three steps of the porch and spins around to wait for him, bouncing on her toes to let the adrenaline burn through her calves. The cabin was always her favourite place to come when she was a little girl, gangly and awkward, and even though that terrible summer left some ghosts to wait in corners and clutch at her with icy fingers, coming here with Castle washed it all clean.

So now, she's as excited as her eight year old self.

He's playful while they cook dinner together. The cabin had been stocked with canned vegetables, all the nonperishables her dad packs the pantry with every time he stays for a visit in their warm, wooden vacation home, and after Castle offered to make the short drive to the nearest convenience store, they have enough ingredients to put together a nice stew.

And now, she's chopping vegetables, swaying her hips to her favorite Coltrane album that croons from his phone on the counter and savoring the rush of heat that floods her back as Castle steps up behind her.

"You're supposed to be stirring," she murmurs, chuckling low in her throat when the wall of his chest presses against her, his palms draping along her waist, following the slow undulation of her body.

"I'm letting it simmer."

Mm, she loves the deep husk of his voice, the way it swells with want for her.

"Just don't let it burn."

His lips dust over her nape, caressing the top of her vertebrae, before dropping his forehead to the curve between her neck and shoulder, resting. Kate pauses in her decapitation of a celery stick and reaches down, finding the strong branch of his forearm at her abdomen, grazing her fingers through the short hairs, trailing a nail over the pale blue stream of a vein.

"Won't burn," he assures her, flexing his fingers at her hip. "Once all the vegetables are in, we'll have to wait a couple of hours for it to cook."

Her unoccupied hand uses the knife to sweep the diced bits of celery into a neat pile atop the cutting board. "In that case, we have time for a shower before dinner."

Castle's eyes have darkened a shade when she meets them, brushing past him to approach the stove with the giant pot of boiling broth on the first burner. He's already added the other vegetables – carrots, green beans and potatoes all bobbing in the well-seasoned soup – and after she transfers the celery in, he places the clear cover on the pot, coaxes her out of the kitchen with wandering hands.

Those hands slide beneath her sweater, heated palms caressing the planes of her back, tickling the expanding cage of her ribs with teasing fingers, and her hips arch forward to meet him, nearly causing him to stumble into the arm of the couch

He kisses her when she grins, pressing her tongue between her teeth, and she moans around the insistent claim of his mouth, the exhilarating nip of his teeth and swipe of his tongue, surges on her toes to take everything he will give.

She has his shirt unbuttoned and his belt on the floor by the time they make their way to the tiny en suite of her childhood bedroom. Her jeans are unfastened, ready to be shoved downwards, but he focuses on her shirt first.

The removal of her sweater is a delicate process for him, his hands stretching the neck of it so the fabric doesn't brush her injured eye, and she just wants to rip the material over her head, but she lets him do it, allows him to take his time and enforce a moment of reverence. It's worth it once her top is finally gone and his hands are skimming her bare sides, his gaze riveted to her revealed upper body as if he hasn't already memorized the sight.

They part in the doorway and a shiver of delight races up her spine at the blue flame of desire in his eyes. No regret, no shame, only a familiar need that has her crusade to eradicate his guilt feeling like a true success.

Kate palms the side of his face, relishing the scratch of his stubble on her skin.

"Turn the water on while I take my makeup off?"

He nods, the eagerness she felt emanating from him in the car fully resurrected and shining in the raised apples of his cheeks. She smears her lips to one, as if she can taste the happiness blooming in the flush of his skin, and pulls back with that smitten smile back on her face.

Castle sits at the edge of the bathtub while he adjusts the water nozzles, intent on getting the temperature just right if the determined crease of his brow is any indication. She keeps sneaking glances at him in the mirror as she uses a makeup wipe to clean away the light strokes of eyeliner adorning only one of her eyes, keeps feeling her lips tug and has to shake her head at herself.

He exclaims in quiet indignation when he puts his hand beneath the gush of water flowing from the tub's faucet, jerking it back and lifting the burned side of his hand to his mouth to soothe the flesh with his tongue, glaring at the falling water like an offended child, turning his glare on her when she laughs at him.

That little boy who exists happily inside the caverns of her mind comes out to play for the second time that day, filling her mind with blissful images of what could be, of a future that is just within reach, ready to be claimed someday soon. She sees the boy, the spitting image of Castle, more often than not lately, the want, the hope for him growing stronger with each glimpse, and she allows herself to become wrapped up in the vivid slideshow of bringing her 'mini-Castle' to the cabin, sharing her love of the place with their son and watching him overflow with the same beautiful enthusiasm his father possesses.

Castle hisses when he disappears behind the white plastic curtain of the shower, the old creak of the nozzles resounding through the small bathroom as he works once again to adjust the chilled temperature. It's always either too hot or too cold, she's warned him of that in the past. Despite the copious amounts of handiwork her dad has put in to the place, the water is always frigid in the winter, taking time to heat up, but Castle tends to forget about all of these technicalities, obviously, and Kate bites back her smile as she listens to her husband whine in protest.

"Should have given it more time," she calls to him over the dull roar of the water.

"Just hurry and get in so you can warm me up." He responds with urgency, but there is laughter in his voice, a hint of amusement that's been absent since the night before, and while still careful, she attempts to speed up the tedious process of removing the light coat of makeup from around her aching eye.

The concealer comes away with ease, exposing the blossoms of violet coloring her skin, reminding her of the low pulse that continues to hum beneath her flesh. She'll take those Advil with dinner, right after a shower with her husband.

The giddiness that swarmed her insides upon arriving at the cabin thrives as she strips the remaining fabric from her skin, leaving the clothing in a pile atop of Castle's on the ground, and crossing the cool wooden floor of the bathroom on the tips of her toes.

"Finally." He rumbles with pleasure once her fingers coil around the plastic curtain, offering her his hand when she steps inside. The swelling warmth of the water and forming steam envelopes her, the heat from Castle's dripping hand draws her in closer through the relaxing spray, but he inches backwards before she can wrap her arms around the slick wall of his torso like she wants to.

The renewed horror she discovers at her upwards glance to his face has her heart sinking, her shoulders threatening to deflate with exasperation. The makeup had done a decent job of covering the bruise, but now her skin is bare, unhidden, and he can see it all once again.

"Stop," she instructs on a sigh, grateful for the lack of space in the bathtub similar to the one she once had in her older apartment, iron cast and inviting, and small. Kate's arms slither around his waist, the sinewy lines of her body coming to meet his in a gentle collision. "Stop, Castle."

He purses his lips, but nods, a glimmer of resolution glistening in the cobalt of his eyes, and reaches for the shampoo bottle hanging from the shower caddy. Hope is steadily restored as his fingers work through her hair, lathering the drenched strands in the cherry scented shampoo she makes sure to keep in supply here. He's diligent in his work, massaging his fingertips into her scalp, ridding her of the remaining traces of a headache, but once the water has washed away the suds from her hair, the bubbles swirling around their feet, she digs the heel of her palm into his trapezius muscle, kneads at the tension there.

"We should turn this into a bath," she suggests, finding the plug for the drain with her toes, nudging it into place and feeling the water slowly begin to pool along the floor of the tub. "Do we have time for that?"

Castle's arm extends past her, cutting the shower off so the water flows through the faucet again, and Kate nudges him down until his back meets to the curved wall of the tub. She settles between his knees in the rising bath of water, her back lowering to rest within the cove of his chest. His arms come around her shoulders, the weight of his embrace right and all encompassing, and Kate captures his right hand, brings the knuckles that struck her eye to her lips.

The water climbs higher, lapping at their calves, and with the curtain still pulled around them, it's as if they've created their own little bubble of solitude within the bathtub. Castle sighs, a sound of contentment skittering against her temple, and solace spills through her chest at the feather soft touch of his mouth to the corner of her brow, where the skin remains feverish and discolored, but healing.

"We have time."

There's no dinner table in the cabin. Her family almost always spent their summers here growing up, and so they would eat at the table outside, the kiss of the sun bringing out a matching scatter of freckles across the shoulders of both Katie and her mother. She wouldn't change it, but it means that now she has to dish their food into bowls and brings them over to her husband on the couch instead of sitting opposite him.

She wanted to smile at him from around her fork and trace patterns with her toes against his shins until it made him splutter, but there's something to be said for the warmth of his bicep next to hers as well. Castle lit the fire after their bath, while she was putting the finishing touches on their dinner, so even though she's only wearing the tiny camouflage shorts that she left here last time, Kate's body hums with pleasant warmth.

The cabin, like Manhattan, is never really silent. Instead of cars and people and sirens, there's the quiet bob of her father's fishing boat against the dock it's moored to and the low rustle of wildlife in the underbrush. It's a very different soundscape, but equally familiar, and Kate finishes up her bowl and closes her eyes to listen. This had been what she needed back then, that summer almost four years ago, but it isn't like that for her anymore. And really, that's the whole reason she brought them out here.

"This place always used to signify healing to me."

"I know." Castle sets his bowl next to hers on the coffee table in front of the couch, freeing his hands so he can wrap an arm around her shoulders. "You came out here when you were shot."

Turning her face into his neck, Kate opens her mouth over his pulse. He tastes clean, a faint trace of the soap from their shared bath, and she fists a hand in the material of his t shirt. "Yes, but even before that. I always used to get so stressed during finals in high school, but the moment they were over we would come up here for a weekend and I could relax again."

"This place feels safe to you."

"It does." Her affirmation has him squeezing her bicep, drawing her in a little bit closer. And of course she goes, because Detective Beckett isn't a snuggler, but she has come to learn that Mrs Castle definitely is. "It was the second thing I thought of when I woke up after surgery. That I hoped I would be able to come here and recover."

"I'm glad you had somewhere to be safe."

He isn't glad, she knows that, and that's why it's crucial she gets this right. "Castle. Even then, it was the second thing. The first was you. That you loved me."

"Present tense." He murmurs, nudging his nose into her temple and dusting a kiss over her cheekbone. Kate turns her head and captures his mouth, nibbles at his bottom lip in search of the sigh he always gives her. The one that sounds like a bone-deep contentment, that signals he's a few seconds from melting into her.

"I don't need to come here to heal anymore. I just need you. I open my eyes and look at you, right?" He smiles at that, tucks a stray strand of damp hair back behind her ear. "And that's why what happened could never make me think less of you. That's why I will defend you to anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way. You are what I need to heal, Rick, and I'll tell the whole world if I have to."

"Kate-" He chokes, and then he's kissing her, kissing her, and she gives it right back to him, rising up into his body. When they break apart, Castle's mouth skims over her purpled eye and up, along the line of her eyebrow. It does hurt, but he needs it and so she sifts her fingers through his hair and says nothing. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Shh, I know. It's okay." She soothes, lips brushing the shell of his ear. The bruise will fade, will be gone completely in a week or so, but Castle's wounds run a lot deeper than that, have been with him for so much longer. "I'm sorry I couldn't let you be there that summer."

He sits up to look at her, a frown breaking his forehead into shards. "Hey, no. It's alright, Beckett. I understand. And anyway, you're letting me be here now. That more than makes up for it."

"You're my husband." She laughs, sees the shiver of delight run down his spine in echo of her own. How strange it is, even now, to call him that. "I always want you here."

"As long as I don't punch you in the face again, right?"

The shock of it hits her like a fist to the guts and she gasps, but before he gets a chance to backtrack she's choking on her laughter, falling forward until her forehead crashes into his shoulder. He's joking about it, laughing along with her, and the very last of her grief washes away.

They're gonna be just fine.

A/N

bravevulnerability: Working with Beanie was a truly wonderful experience. Not only was it a blast to share ideas and creativity with her, but it was a great opportunity to learn from a talented writer with a beautiful form of skill. There is no one else I would have rather dove into my first collaboration with. So thank you, Beanie, for your patience, the inspiration you provided, and for your dedication. It was a privilege and I hope we can do it again someday.

seilleanmor: I have admired Raina's talent from afar for a long time and so I was so excited when I approached her about collaborating with me and she agreed! She is an incredible writer, and such an absolute sweetheart that it was quite often difficult for me to produce anything at all because I was too busy reeling over how wonderful she is. It has been a blast, so thank you darling for coming on this journey with me!