Kate Beckett paced back and forth across the small waiting area outside the luxury ski resort's medical facility. She plopped down into one of the cushioned waiting chairs, fidgeted, got up, paced some more. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, stared at it, put it back in her pocket.

She caught sight of herself in the small mirror by the exit, and groaned a little. Oh god, she still had sex hair. She tried to tame it with her fingers, to no avail.

At last the door leading to the examination room opened, and the resort doctor looked out. "Detective?" she said softly.

"How is he?" Beckett asked anxiously, hurrying over.

"I'm afraid the kneecap is broken," the doctor told her gently. "I've put a temporary brace on it, but he'll need to be evaluated for a cast or custom brace."

"Oh god," Beckett groaned. "It's his birthday in two weeks and we're supposed to go to Bora Bora."

"Ooh," the doctor said sympathetically. "I hope your flights are refundable. Mr. Castle will need to keep the brace on and keep the leg straight for four to six weeks." She patted Beckett on the shoulder. "Now, I can have the resort staff take you to the local hospital, or, if you prefer, we can get him into your own car and you can take him back home. The brace I've put on should be fine until you can get him to a hospital in New York."

Beckett dithered briefly, twisting her fingers together. A broken knee? Oh, this was going to be ugly. "Is he, will the car ride be too much?"

"Nah." The doctor smiled. "I gave him some pretty powerful painkillers, so he's out of it. He claimed to be in a lot of pain."

"Yeah, he can be a big baby," Beckett sighed.

"He also offered me a large sum of money to put this down as a skiing injury in my report," the doctor added, smiling slightly. Beckett raised her eyebrows.

"Really? That, uh, doesn't surprise me." She blushed suddenly, realizing that this meant the doctor knew what had really happened.

"Believe me, Detective," the doctor said with a wider grin, "you'd be amazed how many injuries I've treated here that were, shall we say, bedroom-related."

"I'll bet," Beckett murmured. The place did bill itself as a romantic retreat, after all.

"Listen," the doctor said, "why don't you go pack up and bring your car around, and I'll have some of the staff help get Mr. Castle into the car. He's not going to wake up any time soon, anyway."

"Okay. Thank you."

So Beckett went back to the beautiful suite where they had only managed to spend one of the planned three nights. As she entered, she caught sight of the clothing and outerwear scattered haphazardly across the floor, and she winced guiltily. This was all her fault. She had spent all morning out on the slopes teasing Castle - winding him up with unsubtle jokes about poles and sliding and going down - giving him light tastes of kisses on the ski lift each time they went back up - and by the time they got back to the room they were red-faced from more than just the cold, panting and sweaty from more than just the skiing.

Castle had watched her peel off her snowpants, jacket, and sweater, and then, unable to wait any longer, he had pounced, pinning her against the wall, still in her underwear. It was hot, hard, and fast, and probably would have been the precursor to at least two more rounds, except that his knees had given out and he'd fallen to the floor and yelled with pain.

Sighing, pushing the memory away, she bent to collect the items from the floor. She opened the closet and took out their two duffel bags and began throwing clothing in at random. It was completely at odds with her usual methodical packing style, but she was flustered and anxious, worried about Castle and what the next few weeks were going to look like.

She briefly considered calling Martha and Alexis, but decided to wait. There was no point in worrying them now, when there was nothing they could do. She would call them when she got Castle to the hospital back in the city.

A diffident knock on the door heralded the arrival of the resort's assistant director, who, Beckett quickly realized, had been delegated to do damage control. The doctor must have kept her word and called it a skiing injury.

Beckett reassured the man that she and Castle had no intention of suing, and, in relief, he offered to have his staff finish the packing and ship the rest of their gear back home to them. Gratefully, Beckett accepted, and took just one of the duffels with her, containing a few clothes and their assorted valuables.

By the time she got the bag to the car and drove around to the front of the medical building, the doctor and two burly resort security guards had wrestled a barely conscious Castle out the infirmary door. Beckett eyed the huge brace encasing his leg, and was suddenly glad that he had decided to rent an SUV for the weekend, rather than drive up in his Ferrari.

The doctor and her two ad-hoc assistants efficiently loaded Castle into the car, moving the passenger seat back as far back as it would go and then maneuvering him into the seat and fastening his seatbelt while Beckett watched in amazement.

"He should be good to go," the doctor said, handing over a small bottle of pills, "but if he wakes up and is still in pain, he can have another Percocet. Not more than one until he's been seen by a doctor in the city."

"Thank you," Beckett said, and they were off.

An hour and a half into the drive, Castle stirred, groaning, rolling his head back and forth, blinking and squinting against the late-afternoon sun. "Beckett? Beckett?"

"I'm right here, babe," she said softly, reaching over to pat his uninjured leg.

"What - Where are we?" he asked groggily.

"We're in the car," she pointed out. "Headed back to the city, back to New York." She paused. "You broke your kneecap, Castle."

"I what?"

"You-" But when she glanced over, he was out cold again.

They repeated the same conversation twice more over the next couple of hours, but the fourth time, he seemed more coherent and alert.

"I broke my...?" He struggled to sit up fully, looking down at the brace. "I don't remember..." He sat still for a moment, just blinking as his brain slowly kicked into gear. "Oh my god. Ow. That really hurt, Beckett. Shit."

"Sorry," she offered, not sure whether to laugh or cringe. "Are you in a lot of pain now?"

"No," he said, sounding surprised. "She must have given me the really good stuff." He gave a little gasp as more memories came back. "Kate, the doctor - did she-"

"She put it down as a skiing injury," she reassured him, unable to hold back her grin. "Apparently you offered her quite the bribe, but I think she would have done it anyway."

"Good. Good." He slumped in his seat, shaking his head. "I, I broke my knee during wall sex? But wall sex is one of my favorite kinds," he said mournfully.

"All sex is your favorite," she couldn't help laughing, "and technically you broke it after, not during."

"This isn't funny, Beckett. Promise you won't tell anyone either." He reached over clumsily - those must have been some damn good drugs - and grabbed for her hand. "Promise."

"Relax, babe." She shifted his hand back onto his leg, and patted it. "I don't particularly need anyone knowing that much about our sex life either."

"Good." He tried to twist in his seat, and groaned again. "Ow. Damn it."

"Just sit still, Castle. We're almost back to the city, and we're going straight to the ER to get a proper brace put on."

The next few days were remarkably calm, as Castle spent most of the time sleeping or dozing on his couch in a drug-induced stupor. On Monday and Tuesday, Beckett went back to work, leaving Castle in the care of his mother and daughter, the three of them having worked out a schedule to ensure that he wouldn't be left alone.

But by Tuesday night, he was feeling better enough to be restless and cranky. "Take me to the precinct tomorrow," he implored, sitting on the edge of his bed, with his injured leg in its brace sticking awkwardly out. "I can help with the case."

"You're not recovered enough yet," Beckett told him gently. "You need to practice with the crutches, and start tapering off the drugs."

"I don't need to taper. I'll just stop taking them."

"I don't think that's a good idea," she sighed, stroking his shoulder. "You're still getting that pained look every four hours like clockwork. Just give it a few more days." He pouted thunderously, but she ignored it and changed the subject. "Now, we do have to talk about your birthday, old man." She gave him a teasing pat on the cheek. "It's less than two weeks out now, and we can't do the island getaway, so we need a new plan."

"Don't want a new plan," he sulked.

"I know, but come on, it's your birthday. At least we can have a nice night out at your favorite restaurant, right?" She sat carefully down next to him. "Maybe a movie, or a show. As long as it's not past your bedtime, gramps." She nudged him lightly with her elbow.

But his eyes only clouded further, and he looked at her with a strange expression.

"What?" she asked, frowning a little. He didn't answer. He just lifted his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her over for a kiss. It was hard and hot, maybe a little desperate. She kissed him back, but tried to gentle it, dial down the intensity. She felt guilty enough about the whole situation as it was, without getting him all worked up when they couldn't do anything.

But he wasn't letting her slow it down. "Come here," he rasped, and curved his arm around her waist to pull her closer, twisting his upper body toward her. He kissed her again and then trailed his mouth along her jaw. His hand slipped under her shirt and upward, teasing her breasts through her bra.

"Castle," she murmured, trying to gently push him away, "stop it. You can't."

"I can," he mumbled, nipping at her earlobe. "Look, I'm following all the doctor's rules. I'm not bending the leg or putting any weight on it." He pushed his hand inside her bra, finding her nipple and rubbing his thumb over it. She shivered and tried again to pull away. Her body couldn't help responding to him, even when she knew she needed to keep him from doing anything stupid.

"Rick," she sighed, tipping her head back to grant him better access to her throat. He took it, dragging the flat of his tongue across her skin, sending waves of heat through her. She couldn't quite hold back a moan, feeling the damp ache grow between her thighs.

"Let me do this," he said, almost pleading. He kissed her mouth again and pulled back a little to meet her eyes. "If there's nothing else I can do, there's still this."

"...What?" she asked, her voice less steady than she would have liked.

He dropped another quick, tantalizing kiss on her lips, still teasing her nipple with his fingers. "If I lie flat on the bed," he husked against her cheek, "you could sit on my face."

"Oh," she gasped, desire flooding her. It was probably a terrible idea, but she couldn't quite see why - he had fogged her brain too thoroughly with lust. His touch was intoxicating, and she hadn't had it for three whole days.

Castle pulled his hand out of her shirt, leaned back. "Take your pants off." There was a note of command in his voice, a dominant tone that he rarely used, that he knew she would respond to. He slid his body carefully backward onto the bed until he was sitting in the middle of it, his injured leg lying across the mattress.

Slowly, she stood up and unfastened her pants. Her legs were already trembling with need. "I don't know if this-" she began, but he stopped her with a raised hand.

"Please, Kate. Just do it."

She exhaled shakily and nodded, thinking fuzzily that it would be just like him to have spent all day contemplating what they could do in bed without risking further injury.

She stripped off her shoes, pants, and underwear, and then, because it felt odd to be half-clothed, took off her shirt and bra also.

Castle had lowered himself back and was now lying flat on the bed, his head on the pillow, his neck turned to the side to watch her. His eyes were dark and she knew how much he had enjoyed watching her strip, even though she hadn't made any effort to turn it into a performance like she sometimes did.

"Come here." He held out his hand and she came forward to take it.

Tugging on her hand, he coaxed her to climb onto the bed, and then he wrapped one big hand around her thigh and pulled it across his body so that she was straddling his ribs. Both of his hands came up to cup her buttocks and she sucked in a harsh breath, already incredibly turned on.

He pulled her forward, lowering her onto his open mouth, and she had just enough time to grab for the headboard before his hot wet tongue was parting her lower lips and slithering through her wetness. She moaned and pressed her hips down against him, her knuckles whitening where she gripped the headboard.

He worked her over with his talented mouth, licking and sucking avidly while she clung to the headboard and struggled to keep from just grinding onto his face. One of his hands slid up her stomach, across her ribs, and enveloped a breast, kneading firmly. Her gasps and cries of pleasure filled the room.

She was trying so hard to stay aware of his leg, to avoid too much movement that might jar it, but when he pressed two fingers up inside her and suckled strongly, she was gone. She gasped his name brokenly as the climax swept over her. He stayed with her, stroking and licking softly while she shuddered through the aftermath.

Finally she swung her leg back across him and collapsed onto the bed, panting, curling in carefully against his fully-clothed body, tilting her head up for a sweet kiss. He smiled at her, but there was still an edge to it that she didn't really understand.

"Good?" he asked softly. She smiled back, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek.

"Amazing." She kissed him again, and noticed the bulge in his pants. Guilt flashed through her again, and renewed arousal. She slid down the bed to work at the button and zipper, licking her lips in anticipation.

But, much to her surprise, he stopped her. "No, don't," he said, sounding almost angry, pulling her away with a hard hand on her shoulder.

She sat up and looked at him, bewildered. "What's wrong?"

"I just, I don't want you to," he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

"But Castle, you're so-"

"Just don't, okay?" he snapped, and turned his face away, and refused to respond any more, no matter how much she asked or pleaded. She crawled around to the other side of the bed to see his face, but he turned it away again, his fists clenched, his whole body rigid and tense with an anger she couldn't comprehend.

Finally she gave up and took her clothes into the bathroom, her hands shaking. She held back tears as she cleaned herself up and got dressed. What had happened? She couldn't understand it. It had been a long time since she'd seen him so closed off, so inexplicably angry and unresponsive to her.

When she came back out, intending to press him again to tell her what was wrong, she found him fast asleep and still scowling.

Biting her lip, blinking moisture from her eyes, she carefully pulled the comforter over him. Then she took a book from his shelves and went out to the living room to pretend to read until Martha came home. Beckett deflected the older woman's questions and went home, frowning and anxious.