Can't Sleep Together

Tumblr prompt:

Twistymaven reblogged a quote earlier: "You can't sleep? Me either. Let's can't sleep together." No angst, no secrets. : )-KC

No longer does she hesitate.

Once the clock blinks, and two hours have past, she doesn't hesitate.

She's so tired of sleeplessness. So weary of it.

It's moved past the constructive, wired stage - the stage where she could stay up and get things done and feel accomplished and responsible and orderly - and moved on to the run-over-by-a-truck stage. The almost-irresponsible-to-be-at-work-like-this stage.

She drags herself out of the too-warm bed, wipes the damp perspiration off the back of her neck, stumbles as the sheets tangle around her legs. She strips off her pajamas and tugs on clean clothes, slack with insomnia, knocks her elbow into the doorframe, stubs her toe as she leaves the room.

Trenchcoat. Shoes. Gun. Badge. Keys.

No driving. Just a walk. Gun for protection, badge because it's habit. Not that she really should be aiming a gun at anyone or anything.

She's paced the length of her apartment more times than she can count, knows every creak of the floorboards, can anticipate the pattern of city-night-light across the walls as the hours agonize away.

She's done with it.

Kate locks the door after her, shoves her keys into the pocket of her jacket, ties the belt a little tighter. The stairs are a chore to navigate in her state, but she trips down the last few steps and shoves open the building's security door. The mist immediately gathers in her eyelashes and drips down her face like tears.

His bar is farther than she thought, walking, and it's closed when she finally reaches it. Lights off, dark. Of course it is. She sighs on the sidewalk and tilts her head back, eyes open, lets the whisper of the almost nonexistent rain kiss her cheeks.

A rattle of the door being pushed out into the night, the grinding of wood against wood as it closes again, and she realizes she's caught the night manager closing up. She shifts on her feet to move away, but the form, when she tosses a look over her shoulder, is familiar.

"Beckett?" He straightens up, regarding her, still in the protective overhang of the bar's front door, but he gestures her forward. "What are you doing here? It's three in the morning."

"Ditto?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow but failing entirely to maintain any hint of her usual sardonic demeanor. What is he doing here at three in the morning, just now going home?

She steps down the stairs towards him and for some reason, maybe it's because he's holding his hand out to her (why is he doing that?), she takes his hand and squeezes it. Like they intended to meet up all along.

"Ditto?" he repeats.

"Couldn't sleep. It does me no good to wander around the apartment. I was afraid I'd break something, stumbling around. But, God, I'm so tired."

He gives that little half smile, one eye crinkling, and moves to the door, opens it to usher her inside. He locks it with the bolt in the floor, the one at the top, flips the lock above the knob as well, then turns and herds her towards the bar.

"Sit."

"No drink-" she starts, shaking her head. Only make it worse, in the long run.

He makes a noise. "Course not. Just milk or something? We have that."

"Yeah?" she asks, settling wearily onto a bar stool, propping her elbows up on the bar. "Milk. Sure."

"Go sit in one of the booths. Before you fall over," he directs, nudging her up with a hand at her waist. She slides off the stool and heads for the green padded booth at the front wall, close to where his picture hangs. When she slides in, her body loosens and threatens to slide apart, all ill-fitting joints and missing screws.

He comes back with hot chocolate and she jerks up, realizes she might have zoned out for a moment, half-asleep, half-daydream. He's smirking at her, but it's gentle. When Castle sets the two mugs down, one on her side, one on his, she reaches out and hooks a finger around the handle, drags it jerkily towards her, chocolate sloshing.

She looks up at him, her head in her other hand. "Sit with me. I need you to prop me up."

He laughs but slides into the booth next to her; she should scoot over but she doesn't have the energy. When his body is warm and close, she trembles there for a moment, thinking maybe she shouldn't, this isn't who they are, but she gives in.

Her cheek hits his shoulder and she sighs, eyes heavy and itchy with sleeplessness. Castle's hand comes up, elbow bent, fingertips touching her jaw, stroking.

"You couldn't sleep either?" she says finally. "Least we can't sleep together."

He laughs out loud at that, hard, making her head shake until it knocks together a few things in her brain, makes her realize what she said. Can't sleep together.

She lifts up to look at him, too tired to even care, and he just grins down at her, the laughter making him look as young as his photo hanging the next booth over.

"No, I sleep. I was just writing late."

She remembers now, remembers seeing the laptop case slung over his shoulder as he was attempting to lock up; she can see it now on the bar. "Oh. Here?"

"Good atmosphere. I was writing in the office downstairs."

She drops her head back to his shoulder, reaches out to curl two fingers around the mug. "Mm, writing on me?"

He chuckles again, and she tries to replay it in her head, but there's no sound, only picture. The picture of the black behind her eyes and the man so close at her side that it comes in full color. She can even imagine how he's looking at her, the same look he gives her when he thinks she's not watching.

"Writing Nikki Heat, yes."

"It's good?" She turns her face slightly, neck craned forward as she brings the mug to her mouth. Careful, Beckett, careful.

"It's something," he says softly, and his hand comes up and catches the mug, holds it still. "Careful, Beckett."

The echo of her own warning wakes her a little, makes her sit up to sip at the hot chocolate. She swallows a hum and pleasure along with the heat, presses the mug back towards the table, against his hand.

He sets it down for her, with her, and then his fingers come back to her face, gentle, soft, little wisps of feeling.

"How much?" she asks, closing her eyes again. Did that one make sense? Not sure.

"About ten pages. It's good work."

She hums at that; it escapes without her permission. It makes his fingers stroke again, up and down her jaw, barely there, his thumb along her neck like an anchor.

"Getting tired?" he says, and his voice is low and smooth like a lullaby.

"Always tired lately," she admits.

"Drowsy then?"

"Could be." But not yet. Close, but not yet. "Brain won't shut off."

"Drink your hot chocolate before you fall asleep."

"Won't fall sleep." But she opens her eyes and glances at the mug, so far away from her. She has to lift her arm to get at it and that is just not happening.

"Aren't you - don't you have sleeping pills, Kate?"

She nods against his shoulder, skin tugging at her cheek, then realizes she has to explain. "Need eight uninterrupted hours to take an Ambien. Can't."

"You can't take a pill because you're not able to get eight hours," he repeats.

"That's it."

"Did you sleep on Saturday?"

"Yeah. A pill."

"Half or whole?"

"Half," she says, wonders how he knows. A whole would knock her out all day.

"If you took one tonight-?"

"I'd - not good. I'd be slow all day. Can't draw my weapon. Fumble things. Not make connections."

"Yeah, not good. Poor sentence structure too, sounds like," he says softly, fingers stroking again. "Kate."

"Hmm," she drawls, wonders if this conversation requires her concentration or if she can keep coasting.

"Couch downstairs."

She turns her head into his shoulder, hiding her eyes from what little light filters in through the windows. That's better. Darker. Easier.

"Come on, Kate. I bet you'll fall asleep on the couch down there."

All it would take is a little push. She's hovering right on the surface, like floating, and all she needs is that gentle shove and she'd go under the wave, drift to the bottom. So lovely and dark, so warm. The relief of weeks.

But he's moving away from her, her body falling into the empty space he's left, all rubber and unskilled gracelessness. He's catching her, dragging her up, and she's out of the booth before she realizes it.

She blinks at him, confused. "Castle?"

"Downstairs. You're gonna trip on the stairs and fall on me, aren't you?"

"No. I don't think so. Maybe."

He shakes his head at her but goes first anyway, pushing her towards the stairs leading down to the bar's office. She finds herself being pulled or maybe just leaning in, and then her cheek's against the back of his shoulder, her knee - when it bends to take the next step - brushing his thigh.

He gets her to the bottom and then points her in the direction of the couch. She slides into it, melting, finds herself sprawled on soft, cool leather. Castle lifts her head and sits, her cheek on his thigh, his hand heavy on her head.

She curls in only slightly, a blink of awareness flaring to life somewhere. She turns onto her side, looks up at him, but he's spreading a throw blanket over her, tugging it over her feet, adjusting it, not looking at her.

She can do that.

Kate closes her eyes and angles her head back into his thigh, eye socket cradled by the round curve of his leg. His hand comes to her shoulder, holding her still, and then his other hand is in her hair again.

"I could sleep," she murmurs, letting the words escape on a sigh. Finally. Brain's shutting down, one system at a time.

His thumb moves behind her ear; his fingers stroke the side of her face, over and over, saying nothing.

She really could sleep; she could go, slip down.

But something nudges at her; she struggles against it, thinks there's a reason, something left to worry over, a lingering anxiety-

"What about you?" she says finally, unable to even open an eye.

"I'm okay."

No. Not right.

"If I fall asleep now, don't want you waking me when you need to leave," she mutters, trying to put some irritation in it, failing.

"I won't leave."

"You won't sleep like that." Kate winces her eyes open, realizes he's turned off most of the lights, just the blurred outline of his face over her. "Lie down, Castle."

"No. Can't sleep together, remember?" Humor laces his voice, some truth behind it she's too tired to figure out.

"Yeah, but, sleep here. With me anyway. Want you to."

She pats his thigh and then suddenly he's moving, his body sliding under hers, closer in some places, farther in others. She tries holding herself up and away so that he can get comfortable, but she has no energy, no power to her body, and then he's tugging her down.

She wriggles her shoulders to shrug him off and turns on her side, facing away. He's rearranging the blanket over them, and she takes his arm, tugs it over her body, blanket coming with him, warm and wrapped up.

"Better?" he huffs into her ear, something like a laugh.

She nods, already feeling it slipping out of her fingers, darkness swallowing her down whole.

His arm suddenly comes hard against her chest, pulling her in, and then his breath at her cheek, his chin in the space between her neck and jaw. "Sleep, Kate."

And she does.