Title: Collaboration

Author's Notes:Thank you to A for the beta, M for the brainstorming and feedback, and K for the moral support 3

dedication.

It was the aftermath of another one of those life-and-death situations; those hellish nightmares that were wearing at him and causing him to start feeling his age more often than he liked to admit. He knew her injury was worse than she was letting on because she'd let him drive the unmarked back to her place.

She'd let him drive.

He shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat, figuring he should focus on the road before he got them both sent back to the hospital. His mind couldn't find any words he was allowed to voice, so he remained uncharacteristically silent until he pulled up to the familiar building.

It was past ten p.m. and the city was still alive, but the inside of the car had none of the energy that the outside did. He leaned his forehead into the steering wheel, resting his eyes for a few seconds.

"Let's get you upstairs," he said, shutting the engine off and jumped out of the car before she could protest. He opened the door for her, something he seldom dared to do. He locked the unmarked car and threw the keys in her bag, already planning to catch a home once he was sure she was settled in.

"You don't need to walk me to my door, Castle. It's-" Beckett began before he interrupted.

"It's non-negotiable," he declared, but his voice lacked its usual playfulness, and Beckett must've picked up on it because she scrunched up her nose and led the way into the building.

She even let him help her with the doors once they were inside, bemoaning at the fact her right arm was still numb from the local anesthetic.

Castle walked around in silence, pouring her a glass of water and locating with ease the bulk-sized bottle of painkillers in her medicine cabinet. She was lying across three cushions of the couch when he returned, and she accepted the items from him without protest. He made his way to her kitchen, fumbling a bit through the fridge and cabinets searching for more first aid supplies.

He returned again, this time with the ice pack – a real one, not a bag of frozen peas like he usually had at his place - wrapped in a dish towel. After receiving a nod from her, he laid it across her injured arm, above the stitches and the protective mesh bandage. He sat on the edge of coffee table and held the ice pack in place, expecting the glare of independence and annoyance from her, but it never came.

Her eyes were closed, and he glanced up at her face, but he didn't want to be caught staring so he let his gaze wander back down to the injury, careful not to apply too much pressure to the ice pack. They sat in silence for several moments, both lost in their own thoughts.

"It wasn't your fault," her voice softly stated.

Time slowed to a standstill as he looked up again and stared deeply into her eyes. He cleared his throat when the gaze became too intense. "Yes, it was."

"No, it wasn't. Your 'theory' led us there, but I was the one who chased the suspect down - even though I knew he had a knife. You heard the doctor, it's just a small laceration, my arm will be fine and until then I'm fine."

He didn't reply; he'd heard her say that word so many times, it had lost its meaning. He still trusted her with every cell in his body, but he also knew how to listen to the unspoken clues that things weren't within a mile of fine.

"Maybe you should get a real partner."

He felt her body stiffen though they weren't even touching. "I have a real partner, Castle," she replied, pulling her lower lip into her mouth to punctuate her statement as it hung in the air between them.

"I'm serious, Kate," he added under his breath. "You deserve… you deserve better than a partner who doesn't have a gun, or formal training or—"

She interrupted him as he was about to launch into a laundry list of reasons why he should've given this up after the first week or two. "Listen to me, Castle. I'm only going to say it once. I'm okay, and I really mean it, at least right now. I survived; that's what I've been doing for longer than I can remember, just surviving. Surviving my mother's murder, surviving the Academy, surviving the emptiness I felt when I began working cases that were so grotesque I couldn't sleep for days. I survived a bullet, and more than a few brushes with death.

"But for the longest time, I was so busy surviving, I'd forgotten what it was like to live," she continued, as she sat up and turned on the couch, letting the ice pack drop between the cushions, and placing her knees between his. "And somewhere along the way, you reminded me that sometimes, living is just as important as surviving. You make me feel alive, Castle, and I'm not willing to give that up, not after what we've been through."

He didn't know how to react to her words; his wit failed him, and his heart spoke words she wasn't yet prepared to hear. It wasn't their time yet, and he knew that, but he allowed himself this in a moment of weakness: he pulled her into his chest, carefully avoiding her injured arm.

Her warm breath against the collar of his shirt comforted him beyond measure, and with his own face buried in her hair, he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. His lips brushed against her temple as he began pulling back, but she surprised him by pulling him closer, wrapping her good arm around his waist and holding on to him. Her knees found their way between his, and he inched forward slightly until his legs pressed against the edge of the couch.

His lips remained pressed to her skin, the loose wisps of her hair tickling his nose, but he didn't dare move.

You make me feel alive.