Beckett twisted the handle and the jet of steaming water that had been massaging her for the last twenty minutes fell to a limp trickle, then ceased altogether. Stepping carefully out, she pulled a large plush bath towel from the rack and slowly sponged the water off her body, relishing in the luxurious softness and depth of weave. Castle knew where to invest his money.

The shower rejuvenated her somewhat; at least enough to feel like she had the energy to finish getting ready for bed and retire with some dignity instead of collapsing into a rumpled heap upon her bed. His guest bed. Her bed. Whatever. Her dependence on his hospitality the past several days was blurring her ability to compartmentalize their relationship as strictly work-related.

She bent behind the door and picked up the clothes Castle had tossed inside shortly after she had entered the shower: one of his oversized t-shirts and pair of leggings that may have been Martha's. Almost the same outfit she had worn last night, except the shirt was a deep maroon instead of a navy blue. She smiled as she pulled it over her head. Same smell though. Same deep, rich smell, with a slight twinge of sharpness at the end from the residue of his detergent.

Co-workers or not, she allowed herself a few secret indulgences. Castle's scent was one of them. It used to be she only noticed it on the rare occasion that she hugged him, or when he leaned directly over her shoulder to steal a glance at her computer. Now she took note of it when he reached across her desk to set down her daily coffee, when they rode the elevator together, and when he sat beside her in the interrogation room. She indulged herself in its comfort because no one could ever know. It was the most subtle, yet most constant way she enjoyed Rick's presence.

After wringing the excess water out of her hair, she neatly placed the towel back on the rack and noticed her small toiletry bag on the counter. Castle evidently had scrounged it out of the overnight bag she had retrieved from the precinct the night before. Quickly brushing her teeth, she glanced in the mirror. It was still fogged. She decided she was too tired to care about looks and opened the door, appreciating the crisp rush of air that hit her after the steamy humidity of the bathroom.

Making her way back to the common area, she found Castle standing in the great room, dropping his phone from his ear and pressing a thumb to the screen.

"Who are you talking to at this hour?" she inquired.

"Oh, it was just Special Agent Shaw offering her thanks," he replied, before smirking and adding "and practically begging me to follow her around for research on an FBI crime novel."

Beckett couldn't tell if he was joking or serious. "What? Follow her?" She felt somewhat…betrayed. "Don't be so quick to let all the flashy equipment catch your eye. You hate doing paperwork at my desk?" She poked a finger in his direction to emphasize her point. "That's child's play compared to government bureaucracies like the FBI."

Registering the tone of his resulting chuckle, she leveled her eyes in exasperation. "You're joking. Who was it really, Castle. Cough it up."

"Just watching your back, Beckett. Or should I say your head." He tapped his temple and turned towards the kitchen, reaching for Silvadene burn ointment and a roll of gauze.

Beckett frowned as she tried to deduct a name from his clue. He didn't…did he?

"Lanie? You freaking woke up Lanie? Just to satisfy some overprotective urge?"

"I believe I had precedent to do so." He returned to the living room and sat down on the couch, setting the gauze and ointment on the coffee table. "And I am NOT being overprotective. You have a concussion. I have a right to know how serious it is and how to deal with it properly."

"I know how to treat a concussion and I'm not your patient, Castle." she griped. "I hope Lanie bit your head off for disrupting her beauty sleep."

"Oh, she did at first. But after I made the issue clear she thanked me for calling. And for watching out for you." He looked at her again. "You may not be my patient, but anyone under my roof is my responsibility and I take that seriously." He smiled and patted the couch cushions. "So get over here and let's finish patching you up so we can all sleep, yes?"

"I'm not your responsibility." she said flatly. And immediately regretted it.

He regarded her a moment. His lips quirked. "I see you found my shower refreshing." he said in amused observation as he glanced down and twisted the cap off the tube of ointment. But she could detect the almost imperceptible undertones of disappointment and resignation.

Beckett stilled and fought the flush of shame that was rising to her face. She wanted to apologize. Wanted to, but couldn't. She'd been giving him so much ground tonight, even encouraging it...and he hadn't missed a step. He was far into her territory, and her intruder alert had just sounded. He was close to her feelings, and even she didn't touch those. It had taken her years as a street cop to isolate and lock her emotions into remote niches where they could no longer wreak havoc on the bleeding fragments of her soul. And if she allowed anyone, including herself, too much access to those locked compartments, the ensuing flood would rip through the delicate stitching that bound those fragments together.

She wanted to apologize.

She wanted a lot of things stolen by her past.

And then he set the cap down, looking up to where she still stood anchored to the floor. His eyes bore deep and steady into hers, rock solid, not a trace of betrayal or accusation tainting the steel blue. He understood. God, how did he know? She was like cellophane before him, a little girl in an oversized t-shirt.

And behind the overwhelming support, she could read the truth they both knew and she refused to acknowledge. I pulled you from the flames. I made my home your home. I outwitted your enemy. I shot death and gave you life. I've got your back, Katherine Beckett. Whether you like it or not.

"Here-" he offered the ointment, "it's all ready for you. I'll get the tape to finish the wrap." A way out, space. He had seen the fear.

No.

"Wait." He was already half way up. She took a few quick strides and settled on the cushion where his hand had tapped only moments before. "It's hard to deal with one-handed." she explained, torqueing one side of her mouth into a lopsided smile. He deserved this.

He grinned and shifted his weight back onto the couch. Apology accepted.

"Then I will bear the task of mummifying your wrist." He grabbed the ointment with a flourish. "To preserve your skin for all eternity!"

She couldn't help herself. She laughed. At his stupid joke. And it felt good, the tension gone. He had saved her again.

"So, what did Lanie say? Keep me awake?" Small talk.

"Ha! I don't think I would have much luck with that!" Castle laughed, picking up her wrist and turning it face-up before gently smoothing the cool pasty gel along the flaky red streak marring her skin. "No, she just said to check on you every two hours. Make sure you aren't comatose. And it's a good thing I called her, because I'm pretty sure you wouldn't ask me to check up on you in bed."

She raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly in deference to his point. "I suppose I don't have a choice, then."

"Nope."

"Guess I'll have to sleep with my clothes on." she sighed in mock resignation, and was rewarded with an exasperated glance from Castle.

"Oh, come on, who says?" came his petty whine.

"I think once is enough." she quipped with a ghosted smile.

"That doesn't count. There was no time to appreciate the moment."

"Oh, I think there was too much time."

Castle just grunted his denial.

He gently slathered on a little more ointment, one hand cradling her wrist as if it were a small child; the other stroking methodically, his fingertips barely touching her skin as he focused solely on doing his job perfectly and painlessly. In the comfortable silence that ensued, Kate indulged herself again, consciously inhaling the scent surrounding her, allowing the slight headiness of his cologne mixed with his tantalizing warmth to roll through her like a deep massage. Sitting beside him, on his couch and in his loft, she experienced the totality of his presence. The combination of his scent, touch, and the billowing comfort of the couch worked in tandem to relax her once again, draining her of the alertness the shower had sparked, unspooling her defenses, lulling her back to a place where brokenness wasn't a place to hide and she could pretend to be whole again.

She regarded his features and sighed internally. Wholeness was an illusion.

He discovered her stare when he broke his concentration to reach for a gauze pad. Faltered slightly. Knocked the roll of gauze onto the floor. Looked away. Grabbed a rectangular pad.

"Kate. You gotta stop looking at me like that." His fingers tightened on her wrist. "I know you're tired. I'm getting you there." Raw care and gentleness wove the fabric of his voice as he meticulously placed the gauze rectangle across her burn.

She started. Quickly averted her gaze, watched his hand fumble under the couch for the gauze roll. What thoughts had he read from her open visage? What had she been thinking? She blinked and stared blankly at the air above her wrist. And why did her name rolling effortlessly over his lips suddenly spark a warmth she didn't want to deal with?

"No-ah, I'm fine. Take your time."

Castle was beginning to lightly wrap the gauze in overlapping loops about her wrist. "Well," he corrected, "not quite fine. But you'll live."

"I always do. Remember, this was my job long before you came along."

"Is it like this every night after a case?"

"Like what?" she wasn't sure she liked where this was going.

"Well, you know, the weariness, bandages, pensiveness...decompression."

She shrugged. "I have a hard job. But no. It's not." She thought a moment, decided to elaborate. "Sometimes the cases, they hit too close to home, you know? Those are hard. But most of them, it's just about bringing justice and closure to a family, a loved one. And those are good, rewarding."

"And then there's this case." He stated it as an unarguable fact, finishing her wrap and tucking the end of the gauze beneath the layers before smoothing his thumb across the textured surface, caressing.

"Yeah." Her voice was soft, somber. "This case."

"It was totally different, wasn't it. More taxing. Personal." He was leading her, coaxing.

"Not just that." she supplied. "He taunted me; toyed with me; put the blood of innocent victims on my hands." Suppressed emotions were breaking loose. "At my door, Castle! He killed and put a mom, sister, daughter - at my door, all because I couldn't stop him, couldn't live up to the name." She stared at his thumb, still resting upon the gauze, the warmth seeping in.

"I know the feeling; I created his world. When we walked into his apartment..." he trailed off. "I'll never forget that. Or the look on your face." Still probing, leeching the poison.

She shook her head, bit at her lower lip. "When I saw the pictures, photos, scribbles, madness, words...MY face, everywhere - I was afraid. I've never felt so...so hunted. He had intentionally singled me out, stalked me, tracked me down, and up to that point, outsmarted us. But it wasn't just fear. Seeing myself mixed in with all those murders, all that wrongness; it struck me deeper. Because I couldn't stop him. I'd failed the victims I'd sworn to protect. He challenged, I failed. The freaking FBI kicked me off my own case. Do you even know how incompetent I felt from that slap? This is what I do, I catch killers, and my job, my identity, went poof."

She was verbally puking on Castle, being too honest. Well, he pushed. And she was beyond caring. The words were flowing in no sort of chronological order, the emotions directing her in random pathways.

"But you know, I don't even care about that. What keeps me awake is that more innocent people died because I couldn't catch him."

"We, Beckett."

She ignored him. "Loved ones. Senseless killing. When Ben Conrad died, and we all thought it was over - he was in that room, laughing behind that damn wall. Taunting. Just knowing he was there...the whole time...if I had figured it out earlier, made sure all the facts lined up, given myself space to think through my memory...or if I'd, I don't know, worked a different angle, if I'd-"

"We! Kate, we!" he tugged her wrist slightly. "It wasn't just you. The FBI, with all their cross-referencing and smart boards and national databases couldn't figure it out; Shaw with her profiling couldn't figure it out; the whole 12th was mobilized and couldn't figure it out. You know this. It wasn't just you. It was all of us. And we worked all the right angles, we went where the evidence led, we followed the facts - and we figured it out. It was good police work."

He had hedged her, kept her from the edge, prevented the spiraling self-deprecation that had become reflex after her mother's murder. He'd drawn out the emotion, kept her from locking it away, unprocessed, unrecognized; brought it into the light so she could see it wasn't so, so she could experience the frustration and then acknowledge the facts: that she had done her best, that the failure she felt wasn't real.

"I know. It's just...frustrating." But she felt cleansed. She looked at his hands again, still cradling her bandaged wrist, the both of them wrapped around it like a soft cocoon, warm and tender. A physical representation of what their relationship really was. A slow, somewhat woeful smile breached her features. "No, not we. You. You figured it out. Twice."

"Eh." he grunted, "But not soon enough."

She looked away from his hands and found his face, questioning his meaning. He was staring hard; hard at his hands holding her, at his thumbs stroking, intentionally not raising his gaze.

"When your apartment blew, when I felt the heat, the percussion even from across the street; Kate-" the tightness in his voice was near breaking "-I thought it was over. All of it." he started to say more, stopped, paused, seemed to change his mind, and shrugged his shoulders instead. "Good thing you have a taste for cast iron tubs, eh?" he said finally, bringing his eyes up and arching his eyebrows.

She laughed fully; relishing in the freedom of putting the past days behind her, relieved he hadn't revealed his heart. She wasn't ready for that. Not for a long while. She needed this to stay her safe place, no expectations. And he knew that. He always did.

She twisted her hand around so she could grab his left wrist as she stood. "Stand up." she commanded, even as she rose herself. She should have done this days ago, when he gave her his jacket and guided her through the flames. She should have done this yesterday, when he brought her to his loft and gave her a home. She should have done this tonight, after the warehouse, when he'd pulled the trigger and secured her life.

He stood to his feet and allowed her to withdraw her wrist, understanding this was the end of their conversation. But instead of turning towards the guest room, she stepped closer and snaked her arms in under his, sliding her hands up across his obliques and pressing her palms against his back, drawing herself against his chest in a full-frontal hug. She would do it now. And do it with everything she had, rolling all three debts into one payment.

"Thank you." she whispered, pressing her face for the briefest instant into the perfect niche where his jaw joined his neck, her breath dancing across the lines of his collarbones, the sweet headiness of him pouring over her, into her, banishing the aches and pains before she twisted her head away to rest her chin upon his shoulder in a less intimate gesture. "For everything." she added, holding herself into him, smiling as she realized he wasn't breathing within her embrace, his brain still absorbing the shock of the moment.

And then his arms were around her like steel vises, his whole body melding around her form as he gathered her upwards into himself, his lungs expanding into her chest and his face pressing into the still wet tresses of her hair. She fought the whimper that rose to her lips; lost, and muttered an urgent "gentle, gentle!" into his ear. Should've thought about that.

He immediately responded and dropped her like she was fire, muttering "sorry sorry sorry!", leaving one arm resting lightly across her shoulders while circling a hovering palm near her bruised ribs, peering at her left side in horror as if he thought she would fall to pieces.

"No, it's ok." she breathed slowly, carefully. "They're not broken." she added dryly.

"I'm sorry, you just - surprised me." he apologized, his face a comical war between elation and self-reproach.

"I just wanted to thank you properly. For taking me in. For being my backup. I don't understand how you come up with this stuff, but your crazy theory saved a lot of people tonight. Including myself."

"Well, if that was how you say thank you, I can only imagine how you say-"

"Goodnight, Castle." she grinned while swatting his shoulder as she turned away. "See you in two hours."

"I can hardly wait!" he clapped in anticipation at her receding back.

"If I wake up with my hand in warm water...the other will be pointing a gun to your head." she paused and half-turned in the doorway. "And if I'm aiming for your head, that's where the bullet goes."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" he said, throwing up his hands in indignation as the door clicked shut.

.

The alarm blared. Red lines blurred, coalesced, and Castle registered the fact he was staring at the numbers 3:33. He had something against setting alarms for exact times, but he could appreciate poetic symmetry. Typically, he would have slammed the snooze and procrastinated through several more cycles, but after a few blinks he flicked the alarm off and scrambled out of bed, snatching up a discarded t-shirt and jerking it over his head as he shuffled out of the room.

By the time he reached the guest room, he had rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes and reached full mental awareness. Castle stepped lightly to the closed door, pausing a moment to build a theatric pause for himself before gripping the handle. He knew this moment was a rare and precious gift, and he intended to savor it as a sip of rare wine, letting each facet roll over him as it passed by.

He slowly pressed the door inwards until it stood open enough for him to slip in easily, but not enough to cast the beam of light across her bed. Once again he paused, this time to allow his eyes to fully readjust to the relative darkness of the room, realizing he had been holding his breath since he turned the knob. Quietly, painstakingly, he exhaled through his mouth so as not to wake her. Not yet. Savor it.

He closed down the angle of the door until the room was filled with only a subtle glow before crossing noiselessly over to the foot of the bed, eyes never leaving the form he could see lumped on one side. A passing thought darted through his mind, wondering if she really did sleep naked on any sort of regular basis. Dismissing it quickly, he craned his neck slightly to get a visual on which way she was facing.

Perfect. She was on her right side, facing the edge.

He gave the bed a wide berth as he tiptoed around the corner, not wanting his presence to rouse her, his breathing still shallow, quiet, then caught short as she shifted her legs slightly under the duvet. He froze for an instant, but she remained still, the rhythm of her soft heavy breaths remaining unchanged. It dawned on him that what he was doing was both very creepy and somewhat stalker-esque, but the thought only brought an amused smile to his face. He liked high stakes. They enhanced the joy of the win.

Finally, he reached a spot where he could clearly see the angles of her face, where he could almost make out the dark lashes feathering her cheeks.

Score.

She must have been warm, because the duvet was tossed back in a way that the folded edge laid high across her thighs, while the sheet continued upwards over her waist until it fell away near her midriff. Castle felt a stitch in his chest as his eyes fell on his shirt, rumpled and slightly twisted about her, the oversized sleeves nearly reaching her elbow on one side while scrunching into a wad at the shoulder on the other. His shirt. On her. Way too sexy.

The stitch grew to a vise gripping his lungs as he stared shamelessly at the strong, slender curve of her cheek bone accentuating the soft plane of her cheek; the fine line of her jaw running straight and sharp back to the delicate skin beneath her ear where it melted into the subtle curve of her neck; the ridge of her nose as it traveled downwards between her shuttered lashes until it rounded and dropped gracefully to the teardrop nestled into her upper lip. So beautiful. So beautiful it hurt.

He closed his eyes, but it only enhanced the image of her gently parted lips; full, relaxed, tender...

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. It was making him want to do things he had no business even thinking about doing to a NYPD detective. Who was practically his boss. And who was just beginning to trust him. He sighed. Not this time, Castle. But maybe this world.

He could stand here all night.

After several long moments, his latent conscience began pricking at the corners of his mind, nagging, reminding him she was injured and he was here for more than stolen moments. He smiled to himself again. Only the best stolen moment ever, he thought, suppressing the spontaneous urge to fist pump the air as he cautiously stepped forward.

Reaching her side, he suffered a moment of indecision as he juggled through the myriad of ways he could wake her. Shake her shoulder. Stroke her arm - or back. Or backside...wait, no. Jeez Castle. Sit on the bed? Crouch in front? Get under the covers, snuggle up, kiss her neck...his eyes twitched left and spotted the gun lying beside her badge on the nightstand. Ok, so, keep it simple. Relatively.

All good things must come to an end. But not without out one last swirl before the moment was swallowed.

"Hey beautiful." he whispered, savoring the shape of the words as they tumbled off his tongue. "You're killin' me." Even knowing her sleeping ears would not reveal his secret, his heart triple-stepped and flopped over at his verbal confession. Lifting his fingers, he stroked back the feather light wisps of hair that had dried and come to rest across her brow, finishing the sweep by tucking them expertly behind her ear before dropping his hand to her shoulder. She was really out.

"Hey Kate. Wake up." He squeezed her shoulder and ran his thumb in little circles. Dropping to a crouch, he gave her a gentle shake. "Come on Kate, you're about to start worrying me."

She stopped breathing, her breath caught in her chest. Castle furrowed his brow, not sure if he should be panicking or not, when she suddenly twitched violently and her eyes snapped open, as if he had snuck up and startled her terribly. When they focused on his face, he wasn't prepared for the disoriented terror he saw there. In next instant, she was sucking air into her lungs, inhaling his name simultaneously with a hoarse "Castle?" as her bandaged wrist shot out and grabbed his forearm.

"Yeah hey, chill, it's just me Kate!" he gripped her shoulder firmer in an attempt to ground her somewhat. She twisted her head upwards to face the ceiling, her breathing somewhat ragged as her eyes scanned frantically around the room before coming back to rest on his face, searching. As the last vestiges of sleep finally lifted away, her face smoothed and she slightly loosened the death grip she had on his arm. Rolling onto her back, she closed her eyes.

"There's no fire." she softly stated in a perfectly calm voice, surprising him again.

"No." he replied, understanding dawning.

"No bomb." Same quiet tone.

"No. You're safe, here, my place." he asserted with more force.

She swallowed, opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, worked moisture back into her mouth. She drew several long breaths, causing him to realize his arm was still extended high across her chest, her left hand almost cradling it beneath her chin.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he was almost crushed by the realization of the demons that plagued her.

"No."

Castle sat for a moment, crouching beside her, tethered to her by his arm and unsure of what to say or do. He decided to fall back to his default with her.

"You know, if you were Alexis, I would crawl up into bed and snuggle away the boogie men."

She fought it, but a small smile leaked over her features. If his arm hadn't been tucked where it was, he would have missed the quick inaudible chuckle that caught in her chest. She offered no other reply, causing his mind to race in the silence. Was she...? No. Really? Was she trying to tell him she wouldn't mind a snuggle? She wasn't allowed to leave these decisions to him. She was supposed to give him clear boundaries.

This wasn't Alexis.

Sighing, his mind flitted back to his conversation with Lanie. He would use other, less intimate ways of taking Beckett's mind off her disturbed sleep.

"What's your name?" he asked simply.

He saw her brows knit together in confusion and her eyes blink several times towards the ceiling before she rolled her head sideways in glaring annoyance at him.

"What?" she squinted at him, scrunching her nose.

"Tell me your name." he shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious question to ask.

"No. You know my name." Snuggle moment gone. Stubborn Kate was back.

"I know that I know. I need to know that you know." he smiled patronizingly. "Lanie said I had to ask you a few questions to make sure you were still...all there, you know? Like your name, birthday, details about the tonight's events, et cetera."

Kate rolled her head back to the ceiling with a exaggerated groan, tossing his arm back in his face. In a nice sort of way. "This is torture." she grumbled.

"I know, right? I get to ask you questions, and you have to give me answers, or else I take you to the hospital. In the Castle-mobile. Oo!" he brightened, "Maybe I could even run some red lights - due to your medical emergency, of course - Ha ha!" he shook a fist. "Free license for speeding and reckless driving - with a cop in my front seat!"

"Ha!" she almost barked. "You would never even get me out the door!"

"Oh?" he challenged.

"Don't even pretend you could."

"I could slip something in your water..."

"Really Castle? Drugging me to take me to the hospital?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

He waived a hand in flippant dismissal. "Just tell me your name. Unless," he narrowed his eyes, "you've been stalling because you can't remember..."

"Oh shove it, Castle. Katherine Beckett." She smiled flatly at him. "NYPD Detective at the 12th precinct. Satisfied?"

"And what is your birthday?"

"Do you even know my birthday?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

Freaking cops and their intuitions. It was in November, right? Mental note: write it down next time. "Sta-alling..." he drawled.

"It's not a valid question if you can't verify the answer, Castle."

"Objection your honor; witness refuses to cooperate."

She flipped her hands up in exasperation. "I'm not going to tell you my birthday if you don't already freaking know it!"

"I never said I didn't."

"Then what is it?"

"That defeats the point of the question, Beckett!"

"Objection: lack of personal knowledge. And that's actually a real objection, Castle."

"Hey, who's getting technical?"

"Sustained!" she thumped a fist on the bed. "Now ask your next question so I can get back to sleep."

Castle humphed and muttered for show. She was kinda hot like this.

"Where are you?"

"Dumb question. At your loft."

"How'd you get here?"

She rolled over so she was facing him again, propping her head up on one hand. "Really? In a cab. With you. Can I graduate from kindergarten and answer something substantial? Like who did I take down, what was our assignment, who were we working with...how did I get concussed...okay?"

Castle pursed his lips in disapproval. "What happened tonight?"

She looked at him expectantly. "At what point?"

"Um, at the warehouse."

"What point specifically at the warehouse?"

She was being impossible. "Uh, after we left the van. Before we rescued- oh no! No no no. You are not getting anything else. Answer the freaking questions, Beckett!"

Beckett laughed and slipped her head off her hand to hide her face briefly in the pillow, muffling the sound. Raising it back up, her lingering chuckles spilled through the goofy, 'gotcha' smile she beamed in his face. "Castle, you are so, so easy. Oh you poor, innocent man..." she trailed, shaking her head and energetically ruffling his hair as if he were a small child.

He just sat there, helplessly grinning as he knelt beside her, still trying to recover from the flock of butterflies that had erupted at her touch, innocent as it was. Yeah, he could stay here all night.

She pulled her hand away and rolled onto her back again, yawning. "Look, we went in to save agent Shaw, I gave you my hold-out, Dunn jumped me and stole my gun, you shot my gun while aiming for his head, I cuffed him...we booked him, did some paperwork, and you dragged me here. End of story." she raised her eyebrows in expectation of his approval.

"Check, check, check." he said, making little checkmarks in the air with his finger. "Although you left out the part where I gave you expensive wine and an exclusive foot massage. And where you really liked it." He cocked his head sideways with a sarcastic smirk.

"I did not 'really like it', Castle. It's called being tired. Like I am now." she said defensively.

Castle propped his arms on the bed and leaned over them, drawing his chest over the edge. "Admit it, Detective. You liked it." he tried to ignore the inviting warmth of the bed with her tantalizing scent hovering thickly amongst the sheets.

"Mmm. Not as much as I like this bed." she reached down and yanked the sheet up to her shoulders as she rolled away, presenting her back to him.

"Oh, you like my bed, Beckett?" he couldn't resist.

"Get out of here." But it was muffled into the pillow, almost as if...

"Are you smiling?" he was leaning farther forward, pushing himself upwards slightly as he tried to catch a glance at her face. She burrowed further away. "Kate..." he teased.

Suddenly there was a flurry of motion and the sheet wrapped itself inexplicably around his face, covering his entire head with a suffocating grip as an arm snaked around his neck and mashed him against a solid surface. Well, mostly solid. As solid as Kate Beckett's side could be. She had him in an impossible headlock.

"Now I'm smiling." she said. "Really big."

Castle could only make muffled protests that weren't really protests at all.

"Are you going to let me sleep?"

He nodded in the crook of her arm.

"And leave and go to sleep in your own bed?"

He nodded again.

"Good, because I have to get up for work in two hours, and you're messing with my sleep schedule."

"You don't have a sleep schedule." he muttered.

She twisted his neck a little. "I heard that."

"Ow! Apples! Apples! Okay okay! I'll leave you alone!"

She released him and used the same arm to shove him backwards, still keeping her back turned to him.

"See you in two hours." he said as he hauled himself to his feet, tingles in his knees from crouching for so long.

"I'm waking myself up. I have an alarm."

"You're no fun. I'll still see you in two hours."

Her hand made a show of twitching behind her towards her gun on the nightstand.

"Over breakfast, of course." Castle clarified, moving towards the door.

He had reached the door and was about to pull it open when her heard her say something from the bed.

"What?" he turned, but couldn't make out her face in the gloom.

"Yes." she repeated.

He paused a moment, trying to discern what she was saying yes to.

"I liked it."

A warmth spread throughout him and he felt himself unable to prevent the slow smile from spilling across his face. The way she had said it didn't warrant a petty victory dance. Her confession encompassed a lot more than just a foot rub. He opened his mouth to say something, then decided to leave it as it was.

"See you in two." he said, slipping out and gently pulling the door behind him.

.

A/N: I am so sorry this took me so freaking long to post. I've been in three different countries over the last couple weeks, with very little internet access. Thanks for all your awesome reviews, and a special thanks to those who alerted me to my silly mistakes! (Anyone know of a good beta, haha?) Overall, this final chapter gave me a lot of trouble – mostly because I kept wanting to treat them like season four Kate and Rick, but season two Rick and Kate kept telling me I couldn't have them kiss, cuddle, climb in bed, etc. I got really frustrated at them, but we found a good truce and I ended up being pretty happy with the finished work. What do you think? Let me know!