AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks again for all the comments! I do get a certain joy out of seeing all your outrage at the cliffhangers! Hehehe. Here's your next chappie, and at least one or two more are on their way. Well, at some point. School is back in session, so... yeah. But better slow than never, yeah?

"Very funny, Castle," said Beckett, hoping her tone would be enough of a reprimand to get him to stop jerking her around. Like that would ever happen. "Castle?"

Still, he didn't answer.

"Come on, Castle, I'm not just gonna do all these puzzles by myself."

When he still didn't say anything, Beckett suddenly realized he wasn't playing. She jumped off the couch and knelt down next to him to see what happened. He had fallen forward and hit the side of his head on the coffee table, and a flower of blood was forming above his left ear. Beckett swore under her breath and ran to the kitchen to get ice, paper towels, and a glass of water. She set all this down on the coffee table and called an ambulance. She wasn't about to take her chances, and she was shaking enough that she didn't trust herself to drive. That in itself was alarming. Her job required that she be cool under pressure, and 999 times out of 1000 she was. So why not now?

She explained the emergency to the 911 operator and rattled off Castle's address, then slid her phone shut. He was just starting to stir.

"Kate?" he murmured, trying to sit up.

"Don't get up!" she said putting her hands on his shoulders to prevent him from moving, and then blotting the side of his head with the wad of paper towels. She wished she had grabbed more.

"What happened?" Castle asked.

"I'm not sure," said Beckett, trying to keep her voice steady. "You passed out. That much I'm sure of."

"Oh. Ungh, my head..."

"Yeah, you hit it on the table," said Beckett, unfolding and refolding the paper towels another way to try and find a dry part, then pressing the ice pack against his head over the towels. "I called you an ambulance. They'll be here in a minute."

"An ambulance?" said Castle, sounding alarmed as well as disoriented. He tried once more to sit up. This time Beckett helped him sit up slowly, and handed him the water.

"Drink," she said, hoping it would help.

Castle's hands were shaking, but he drank most of the water.

"How do you feel?" Beckett asked. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," said Castle, his brow furrowed. "What was I doing, anyway?"

"You were just going to use the restroom," said Beckett. "Didn't get that far. I hope you don't have a concussion." She tried to get a good look at his eyes. They seemed pretty well focused, which she assumed was a good sign. She kept the ice pressed to his head until she heard the sirens, and then the knock on the door.

The EMTs did their thing, and Beckett tried both to stay out of their way and to stay detached. She did a hell of a lot better at the first goal. Moments later, they were on their way back to the hospital, and Beckett was biting her lip until it bled as they hurdled through Manhattan. Castle threw up again in the ambulance, and Beckett prayed that didn't mean he had a concussion, or worse, that the surgery hadn't fixed the problem.

"Beckett? Are you crying?" Castle asked a few minutes later.

"What?" The question caught her by surprise, but as soon as registered, she realized she was. That was ridiculous. She wiped her eyes, frowning. "Err, yeah. I guess so."

"Why?"

Beckett cleared her throat. "I'm worried, Rick. That's all."

"About me?" Castle asked. "It just a bump on the head. I'll be good as new in no time."

"Hope so," said Beckett quietly. She couldn't quite bring herself to believe him. He looked so pale and clammy, and the twinkle in his eyes wasn't as bright as it usually was.

They went through all the motions at the hospital again, but this time Beckett was allowed to stay with him. Several hours and a CAT scan later, the doctors decided that Castle didn't have a concussion (although he was likely to have a nasty headache for the rest of the day) and he had probably passed out from low blood sugar and/or dehydration. They were sent home with instructions to take it easy and to be more consistent with eating small, frequent meals.

"I really am going to have to babysit you, aren't I?" said Beckett in the cab on the way home.

"Seems that way," said Castle sheepishly, reaching up for the umpteenth time to touch the bandages on his head. "From NYPD's finest detective to childcare provider in one fell swoop... how does that make you feel?"

"As long as I don't have to change your diapers, I think I'll live," said Beckett.

"Good," said Castle, still fiddling with the bandages. "Hey, do you think I'll get a scar from this?" he asked, sounding entirely too hopeful.

"You might," said Beckett, shaking her head.

Once they returned to Castle's apartment, they took the elevator, and picked up where they had left off with the puzzles in the newspaper. The spent most of the rest of the day on the couch, alternating between the Sudoku and cat naps, since Castle's head was still bothering him, and he was still fatigued from the surgery. Beckett used the time that Castle was sleeping to work, even though she had technically left the case. She needed something to do, and work felt productive, although she occasionally got stuck when there was some feature of his smart board that she couldn't figure out how to use. Once, when Castle was taking a particularly long nap and she had done as much work as she could with the information she had, she sat down and stared out the window, trying to decide what to do with herself. It wasn't often that Kate Beckett got bored. She flipped through her notebook, but there was no new information to add, no new persons of interest to interview. She twirled the pen in her hand, wishing she had something to write...

Writing. The answer was right in front of her. She had nothing to do, a pen and paper, and she was sitting in the very house where some of her favorite books had been written. Beckett smiled, shaking her head at herself. She felt a little silly. She'd never written anything more than the occasional diary entry in middle school, but in the present situation, she couldn't think of anything else to do. Why not? she asked herself. Coming up with no good reason, she tentatively set her pen to paper.

. . .

"How long have I been out for?" Castle asked when he sat up several hours later, rubbing his eyes.

"Quite a while," said Beckett, scribbling the last sentence of the paragraph she had been working on. "How are you feeling?"

Castle shrugged. "Still tired, somehow."

"To be expected," said Beckett. "Two medical emergencies in twenty-four hours, you going for a record?"

"Funny," said Castle sarcastically. "I am hoping for a sweet scar out of this though," he added, once again fingering the bandages on his head.

"I don't think I'd want to be reminded," said Beckett.

"Really?" said Castle, his eyes moving downward to Beckett's chest.

"Excuse me?" Beckett put her hands over her chest, feeling slightly violated, but then her hands landed on her mother's wedding ring, and she understood what he had meant. "Oh."

Castle nodded. "You get some more information on the case?" He motioned to the notebook.

"Oh. No, actually," said Beckett.

"No? What were you doing?"

Beckett found herself blushing. "Err... writing," she admitted.

"Writing? Like, writing writing?"

"Yep."

"Can I read it?" The bright light was back in his eyes, and the inner little boy that Beckett knew so well was back.

"No!" said Beckett, holding tightly to the notebook.

"Why not?"

"Because you're a best-selling author and I've never written a story in my life!"

"So?"

"So you're gonna rip it to pieces! And besides, it's personal."

"Why else do you think I want to read it?" Castle asked.

Beckett rolled her eyes and changed the subject. "Are you hungry? It's been quite a while since you ate."

"Ehh."

Beckett force-fed him some Gatorade and applesauce, and sat on the chair opposite him, contemplating what to write next. It was addicting.

"You're really not gonna let me read what you wrote?" Castle asked when he had finished eating. "You've read dozens of my stories!"

"Yeah, but not first drafts!" said Beckett. "Forget it, Castle."

"Fine," he said. "Meanie."

"Two-year-old."

"Butthead."

Beckett cracked up, completely losing the staring contest they inadvertently started. "Butthead? Really, Castle?"

"Maturity is relative," he said evasively.

"Right..." said Beckett. "I'm going to go change into pajamas. It's getting late."

"Do you need a clean set?" Castle asked.

"No, Lanie brought me some of my own."

"Please tell me it's scandalous."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's yoga pants and a sweatshirt."

"Damn."

Beckett left to change, and came back a few minutes feeling warm and cozy. She felt almost tempted to just snuggle up with Castle and watch another movie, but she was taken for heaven's sake. Ugh. A wave of insecurity about Josh hit her, followed quickly by a resurging of anger over the dinner disaster. She grinded her teeth together for a moment and shook her head, determined to put it out of her mind for the time being. There was nothing wrong with at least enjoying the company of her friend. Partner. Whatever they were.

"You got enough energy for a movie, Castle?" she asked walking back out to the living room.

To her surprise, Castle almost jumped as if startled, and frantically tried to stuff something out of sight.

He had been reading her notebook.