Close Encounters 2

"He needs a permanent place to recover."

Castle heard it from far off, the layers of cotton and gym socks that swaddled his head keeping him from understanding clearly. It was Beckett speaking, and she was in the room with him, but he couldn't get his eyes to open.

"No. That's not acceptable."

It wasn't acceptable at all. How had they sneaked more pain meds to him? He could barely keep himself cognizant. This was terrible.

"I'm taking him home with me. You better get it cleared because we're not staying here another day."

Another day? How long - damn it, if Eastman told that stupid med tech to give him painkillers-

"Then do that. Go do that. I will wheel him out myself if you don't help us."

Ah, good. She was good. She'd get him out of here.

No more pain meds. Too fuzzy, too hard to hold on to his days.

Beckett managed to con an SUV from the CIA motor pool in the underground garage, and even though they were the middle car wedged into a security convoy, even though Castle was medicated in the back, the seat laid down so he didn't have to sit up, her heart was easy in her chest as she drove.

The black Charger in front of her kept a sedate pace, and her foot surged against the gas pedal, wanting speed, but she followed. She followed because Castle was in the back, doped for the ride.

The March day had broken out with whiteheaded clouds, the blue face of the sky pocked with the swirl of changing weather. Warmth permeated the car as the sun burned through the windshield; Beckett cracked the window and breathed in the spring.

She slung her hand at the bottom of the steering wheel and shifted in her seat, the wind picking up her hair and scattering it across her face. She scraped a strand out of her mouth and pushed it behind her ear, hooking it over the end piece of her sunglasses.

Castle's head was up near the driver's side and she could just reach him if she tried. They'd piled blankets on one side to keep him from rolling back, and she had to turn her head and check, just to be sure. His face was pale in the brilliant blue sunlight but at rest; unlined, smooth, strong. She put her eyes back on the road and curled her fingers in the hood of her sweatshirt.

She'd hooked up her iphone to the stereo and a soft melody hummed through the interior, the words snatched away by the wind. She thought there was something about you were right all along, take me home.

The handheld radio crackled and she shot a glance to the rearview mirror, but it hadn't woken Castle. She picked it up and checked the settings, but it was still on the correct channel. She licked her bottom lip as the mile marker came up on the right, had a moment's apprehension when the lead car didn't slow, but the Charger pulled off at the exit, just as she'd instructed.

Castle made a noise, mumbled some words or a string of the song playing, and she reached back to stroke her hand through his hair. Her thumb skimmed the ridge of his eyebrow and the feel of his skin, warm and soft, filled her with the sense of him.

Separate, inviolate. Richard Castle.

And she was so in love with him.

"Dad. This is the man. It's all because of him."

Her voice dragged him upwards into the light, everything in his vision backlit by the sun, including the sharp profile of her smile.

"Hey there. You with us?"

Her cool fingers shaded his eyes, feathered at his cheekbone before the sun was eclipsed by the hard edges of a doorway. He was being carried in on the pallet she'd made for him in the back of the SUV. The security team was carrying him through the door of her father's cabin like an invalid.

"Oh. Sir," he startled, trying to get up and stand before the older man following Kate into the living room.

Kate snagged his fingers, shook her head as she laid his hand back down at his side. His team lowered him to a couch, made sure he wouldn't roll, and then quickly disappeared. His drugged self was left with Kate kneeling tender and gorgeous in front of him, and then her greyed father blending into the rough wood of the cabin.

He struggled to sit, even as Kate let out a noise of protest, but he waved her off and got his feet on the floor, pushed past the pulsing ache. Manageable, and he'd been cooped up in the CIA's infirmary for a week now.

"Mr. Beckett," he said, felt the gravel in his voice shifting.

He moved to stand, but Jim came forward and put a hand on his shoulder, eased him down.

"Don't get up on my account, Richard."

Castle nodded, kept carefully away from the back of the couch, surprised when Beckett came to sit beside him, her knee brushing his. Her father sat in the easy chair opposite them, a grim look on his face.

So Castle started. "I apologize, sir. She's right - this was my fault. I opened this thing up again-"

"Your fault?" Jim asked, his quiet nature quelling whatever was in his eyes.

"Castle, no," Kate murmured, and her fingers came to play at his knee. "I wasn't assigning blame. I wanted my father to know that it's only because of you that we have any answers at all."

But he watched Jim. Castle wasn't a father himself, but he knew in his heart that a promise like Beckett had made - a promise not to self-destruct - required accountability. Not just from Beckett herself, but from him as well.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said quietly. Jim Beckett held his gaze long enough for it to matter and then he nodded.

"No," Kate insisted. "No. Castle, you are not at fault. What you did was exactly what I wanted."

"What we want and what is right are not the same." He saw Jim accept that and with a lift of his finger, dismiss it as well.

"Son, I appreciate what you've done," her father said, nodding slowly, his eyes moving back to Kate. "And I appreciate you putting that look on her face."

Castle shifted his gaze to her and was stunned by the sun-drenched beauty of her, the tumbling riot of hair she'd let air dry in the car, the comfortable line of her sweatshirt cradling her neck, and those eyes.

She was smiling at him with only her eyes, deep and wonderful and at peace.

At peace for now.

Kate grinned but shook her head at him, her feet dangling in the lake as she sat by Castle's side on the dock. "No. You're not going in. You'd get those stitches infected."

"But this is boring," he muttered, wrinkling his reddened nose at her.

She'd caught herself just in time, kept her mouth shut about the sunblock before he could give her that thunderous look stop babying me, Beckett; I'm a CIA operative, but now maybe she shouldn't have.

"Beck-ett," he sing-songed, rolling his shoulders as he carefully lifted first one foot and then the other in an approximation of his physical therapy exercises. "I. Am. Bored."

"I know something that will entertain you," she murmured.

"You gonna strip for me?" His eyebrows lifted suggestively, but he kept up the leg extensions. He wasn't a slacker when it came to the PT; in fact, she had to often keep him from pushing himself too hard, too far. When the stitches began to bleed, she nixed his rigid training schedule.

Instead of answering his leer, she slowly stood up, trailing her fingers up his arm to his shoulder, skirting his neck, his ear, lightly touching the top of his head. He followed her up with his gaze, the tease falling away as the arousal burned clear.

Her father had gone river fly-fishing at five this morning and wouldn't be back until sundown; they had the lake to themselves, and the dock was sun-warmed.

And his eyes were hot.

She slipped the buttons free of her shirt, slowly, making her way down, exposing the cream of her skin to his view. His hand came out and circled around her ankle, like he expected her to float away into the blue sky, but she didn't stop.

Shrugging painstakingly out of one sleeve of her white beach shirt, she let that side fall open, exposing the waning moon of her shoulder. She turned her head towards it, brushed her lips over her own skin and let her eyes sift shut.

Her fingers pianoed over the exposed length of her thigh, caught up in the soft material of her shirt, and she felt Castle's hand skim up her calf.

Kate lifted her fingers to her collar, eased the shirt aside to expose the long measure of her neck and the line of her clavicles, thrilled to the slide of his hand to her knee in harmony.

The shirt dropped in a sudden breath of air, exposing the rippling flesh of her stomach to the spring sunlight and the shadows of budded trees. Her eyes opened when his mouth came to her knee, moist and warm, his breath touching off points of fire. He nipped at her, brushed his thumb over the side of her thigh, fingers stroking the soft crease of skin.

Kate slid her hand into his hair, pushing it off his face so she could see his eyes, the sweep of his lashes. She eased her fingers into the waistband of her skirt, drew her hand back from his face so she could shimmy out of it.

Now his palms were hot at her skin, his head coming forward to press into her thighs, the sharp scrape of his unshaven cheeks making her body come awake. She cradled the nape of his neck with one hand, combed the back of her fingers through his hair as his mouth opened against the seam of her legs.

She shivered and stepped away, releasing him, his hands falling to his sides as he leaned heavily against the piling. His eyes roamed her body like he'd never seen her before.

Kate turned around, her feet at the edge of the wooden dock, her eyes on the blue and brown horizon.

And then she made a shallow dive into the lake.

When she surfaced, she gasped a breath of laughing air and gave him the most amazing smile he'd ever seen. He was stuck on the dock nearly inchoate by her strip tease - could he even call it that? it had been both as joltingly erotic and beautifully innocent as any work of art.

She stroked closer, her head dipping below the line of the water, her eyes open, and then coming up again, directly in front of his knees.

He reached out, ignoring the wince in his back, and ran his fingers over her sleek, seal hair.

"Hey, beautiful."

"Hey yourself," she said, her tone rippling and light. "You want to work?"

He lifted an eyebrow in question and she came closer, treading water so that the dark purple straps of her bra lowered and raised like she was sounding the lake.

"Like this," she smiled, and wrapped her arms around his calves, laying her cheek to his shin. Her eyes were green like the water. "Now lift."

He wouldn't be able to do many, but he gave it a shot, extending both legs only to feel her swim up with him, buoying herself just enough to give him only a slight added resistance. He grinned back and lowered his legs, loved the feel of her breasts pressed against him, the heat of her mouth open at his shin.

"What a strong super spy you are," she demured, scraping her teeth up his skin and making his breath catch. She laughed and lifted her head, her eyes fathomless.

"And you, Kate Beckett, are the best medicine."

"What a sap," she chuckled, but the tenderness on her face said something else entirely.

She made the men scrambled eggs and toast for dinner, didn't try for anything fancy or energetic. Her father, most likely, would come back to the kitchen for a midnight snack anyway, his habits just like Kate's, but Castle needed to get horizontal as soon as she could possibly convince him to lie down.

Jim carried their plates to the kitchen table, the light oak gleaming in the overhead lamp, and Kate followed with the orange juice. When they were settled, she saw Castle reach for it in the middle of the table, only to curl his fingers back into his palm and desist. Kate was just about to jump up and pour his juice herself when her father kicked her shin and took the pitcher, began pouring everyone's glass.

She smiled at him in gratitude and they began to eat, silence reigning comfortably, its dominion like a blanket.

She felt bad for pushing Castle on the dock, riding his legs like she was five years old again, but he'd looked so proud of himself, and his skin was warmer than the lake, and she loved his strength in a way that had to be mentally twisted.

He looked better after only a few days here. The sunlight had brought out some gold to his hair that made his eyes as blue as the sky, his crow's feet crinkling with white lines as his skin got some color. She kept her lashes lowered so she could observe him, the easy tilt of his head and the unpained line of his brow.

Her father slipped his hand over hers on the table, an anchor. She lifted her eyes to him and he gave her that crookedly approving smile.

"You're kinda wicked, you know that?"

Beckett laughed as she straddled him and settled back on his knees, her fingers stroking up and down his thighs as he gritted his teeth against her. "I am? Why's that?"

"Teasing me like this. So not fair."

She shrugged but decided he'd had enough, slid off his lap to settle beside him on the bed. He was lying down exhausted after the physical therapy session, she knew that, but she'd been trying to distract him from the pain.

"You know, I wouldn't have to tease you so ruthlessly if you just took your pain meds, Castle."

"How does that relate?"

"You were feeling no pain when I-"

He growled and hooked his arm around her neck, dragged her down against his chest. She came, laughing, glad she'd picked his uninjured side. She pulled her knee up over his thighs, settled down with him.

"Just so you know, if I have to use my feminine wiles to ease your pain, Castle, I will."

He was still grunting a laugh, his hand rhythmically squeezing her bicep. She knew it hurt him to laugh, hurt him to move side to side after one of his sessions, but he never mentioned it, never let it slip. He was so damn stoic - so much of himself was locked behind the wall of his professionalism, his training.

Before all this, she'd started to break through to him; she'd been inside. She wished she could get back there again.

"Maybe," he started, then stopped to breathe. She lifted her head to look at him, saw the tension rippling on his face.

"Maybe you need a pill?" she snorted.

"Yeah."

"Uh-huh." But she reached past him for the bottle on the bedside table, popped it open to shake one out in her hand. He'd pressed his head back against the headboard, his throat working as he got himself together. "Here, Rick."

His head jerked up and he stared at her. "Rick?"

She shrugged. "Felt right. I won't if you - I mean, your father calls you Richard. Ew."

He huffed a laugh and took the pill from her, tossed it back without water. She watched him for a moment, then took his hand, twined her fingers through his.

"You mind if I call you Rick?"

"No, it's good. Never - never had a nickname like that before."

She sighed and curled in closer to him, eased her mouth to his jaw. She could already feel his body releasing, softening. "Never had a nickname?"

"Well, not one I could repeat in polite company."

She laughed and scraped her teeth at his scruff. "Might need to hear that one."

"When your father's not anywhere close by."

Kate settled in a little closer, warmed by his heat, liking the way his arm drew around her shoulders so heavily, the slow slide of his eyelids as he fought somnolence.

Best time to start. "Castle, if I find your mother-"

"No." The word barked out of him like a command, his body coming to attention.

She sighed, pressing into his side, trying to gentle him. "If I found her. Would you want to meet her?"

"No. You don't even know that it's her."

"I do, Castle," she murmured, then lifted her head from his chest to give him the truth. "I found your birth certificate in public records."

He glowered back.

"You must've seen your birth certificate, Castle." She stroked the hair from his forehead, knew she was walking on thin ice, but she couldn't keep things from him. Not him, not now. "I know you have. Her name is on it. You told me yourself that you changed your name to Castle because you didn't want hers. So I know you know it."

"I never said I didn't know her name." He was grinding his teeth as he spoke, his eyes averted.

"But you wouldn't tell it to me. I had to find it on my own."

"Only thing I haven't told you," he muttered.

She froze, but ignored that comment to direct him back to the conversation. "But Martha Rodgers is your mother. And I've talked to some of her family - your family, Castle - and-"

"Not my family. You're my family."

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She couldn't very well deny it.

It was true.

She slid her hand up to his cheek, curled her fingers at his jaw, stroked his earlobe. "Okay, Castle. Okay."

"I liked it when you called me Rick."

She studied his drugged eyes, memorizing that look on his face, and lifted up to kiss his warm mouth.

"Rick."

His answering hum, tired but happy - she'd made him happy again - had her smiling so wide it might break her.

"You're my family too."

He'd just eased onto the couch when Jim Beckett finally spoke.

"So, Mr. Castle, Katie told me you're a-"

She did?

"-police officer?"

Oh. She. . .well, that explained his being stabbed by Coonan. And investigating her mother's case. He shifted his eyes back to Kate for an instant, then regarded her father.

The CIA security team had left them here in moderate privacy. They had posted men at the roads and a couple of roving pairs in the woods, but for the most part, he and the Becketts were blessedly untouched by it. Eastman called to check in of course, because Eastman was his partner - if the CIA had partners.

"Actually, sir," he began. "I work for the Central Intelligence Agency as a covert operative."

Jim Beckett's mouth dropped. Kate sank into a chair, staring at him.

"Kate signed a document that prevents her from sharing that information, and I appreciate her loyalty, but you should probably know what your daughter's in for."

"Well, damn."

Castle's lips quirked. "You could say that. The work often seems capricious, but I want to assure you that I'm not. Not entirely - well, as much as I can avoid it."

"Well, Katie, he uses some five dollar words, sweetheart." Jim's wink and his drawl were exaggerated, but his face softened as he looked between the two of them. "No wonder you're in love with him."

Her father could see it?

"I want to marry her," he blurted out, felt his cheeks burn as both Becketts snapped back to him.

"Castle," she gasped.

"Just putting it out there," he sighed. "Come on, Kate. It can't be that much of a surprise."

She stared at him and he saw the flicker of uncomfortable movement from her father. Castle turned his head to the man and shrugged with one shoulder.

"If she'll have me, of course."

"Castle. Please."

"It wasn't a question, Beckett." He felt his smile, lopsided and half-hearted, fall from his face. "Not yet anyway."

"I wouldn't answer you now even if it was," she said heatedly, lifting to her feet to stride towards him. "That's a terrible way to ask."

He huffed a laugh, shook his head slightly even though the movement made him hurt. "Just wanted your father to know. In case there are objections."

"It's not for me to say," Jim spoke up. "Think Katie's got her mind made up."

"You do?"

Kate rolled her eyes and sank down on the couch next to him, a little too forcefully, and it twinged in his side.

"Castle," she sighed. "Really. Only you." She said it with exasperation, and he knew he was supposed to hear it like Only you would be so ridiculous but he heard what she felt anyway: Only you.

That was answer enough.

When her father finally went to bed, Kate slipped off the couch and padded quietly down the hall towards the guest room. She touched her fingers lightly to the knob and hesitated, let the feeling of anticipation and expectancy fill her chest and overrun her throat until she couldn't anymore.

She pushed the door open and found him already asleep.

Oh.

She sighed and lingered on the threshold, the room still painted with the lamp's orange glow, as if he'd fallen asleep waiting for her. Probably had.

Kate didn't want to wake him.

She slipped inside the room, softly shutting the door and leaning back against it. Castle was in plaid pajama pants borrowed from her father and a long-sleeved black tshirt. A week at the cabin hadn't yet kicked his black-clothes habit, and it was a little heart-rending, the way he held on to what small routines he had.

She came forward slowly, her eyes on the outline of his body under the covers, the flare of his shoulders to the narrowing of his hips, the long and hard demarcation of his thighs. She didn't mean to do it, but she found herself crawling into the bed with him, tucking her body into the hollow space at his back.

When her forehead met his spine, he jerked awake.

"Kate?" Her name was quiet on his tongue, but she heard the alertness and sighed, uncurled her fingers to stroke his back. "What are you - come around so I can see you."

The gruffness in his voice thinly masked a need she would never deny, so she shifted up and slid her thigh over his knees, came around to his front so he could look in her eyes.

"Hey," he said, his arm hooking around her waist and a smile on his lips. "That was sexy."

She laughed a little at that, rewarding his effort, and slipped into the cove his arm made.

"You can get closer," he murmured. "I didn't take a painkiller but I'm fine like this."

She shrugged her shoulders and scooted in only a little more, brought her hand up between them to stroke her fingers across the soft material of his shirt.

"You didn't take a pill?" she asked. "But you did before dinner, right?"

"No," he said, didn't seem to understand why she was asking. "I hate the pills. I told you I wouldn't-"

"So what you said. Can't blame it on being drugged then." She lifted her eyes to him with a hesitant smile, not sure if she wanted the excuse or not.

He sighed and his hand trapped hers, but he said nothing, staring down into her with something like disappointment.

She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to admit to the want when it seemed so out of her reach.

He finally spoke, his thumb burrowing into the meat of her hand. "Do you want to blame it on being drugged, Kate? If you need that, then-"

"No."

The tiredness lifted from his eyes like a veil.

"No, I don't need that. Or want it," she said quietly. "You have to know by now that I love you."

"I know," he smiled, slow and strong and spilling out light. His fingers seemed to tighten around her hand, encased and encompassed, warm and anchored.

"I just - don't know how to do this. And anyone marrying me seems farfetched. But if it were to happen-"

"It will happen."

She huffed and slid her eyes away, but she felt the silliness bubbling up. "I just mean. It would be with you."

"Will be. With me. You and me, Kate Beckett."

She closed her eyes on that promise, felt the brush of his lips at her forehead. "You do know we're a long way from that. You know we're - this is just the start, Castle. I'm trying to keep this realistic."

"We're not exactly conventional," he murmured. "Look at us. So why should we restrict ourselves to conventions? I love you and I want to marry you and see our kids be born and I won't not say that, not with the life I lead."

"Isn't that the very reason we shouldn't be. . .putting pressure on this?" she asked, her heart pounding, her palms prickling with heat.

"No pressure, Kate. We take it day by day, as it comes. We'll have to - I'm a spy," he laughed, his eyebrow raising. "And you're lucky you even know that information, sweetheart. Makes this easier."

"If we'd met - just on the street. You wouldn't have told me?"

"No. Couldn't have told you."

"No," she denied. "You'd have told me. You tell me things-"

"Like my passwords and access codes?" he murmured.

She sucked in a breath. "You're angry with me."

He sighed, but his hand curled tighter around hers. "I'm working on it."

She swallowed and shifted closer, pressed their joined hands to the plane of his chest, fitting herself against him. "I should've waited for you. Trusted you to-"

"You should have."

"I wasn't going to kill him," she said finally. Because apparently that needed clearing up. "You should've let me go with you. We should've done it together."

"We should have."

They lay together in silence, her eyes closed and her nose at his collarbone, letting that sift out between them. After a long time, his hand came to her neck and his mouth down to her ear.

"You didn't ask, but I forgive you, Kate."

She hadn't asked because she didn't deserve it. But she'd needed it all the same.

Kate nudged his jaw aside and pressed her mouth to his, the slide of tongues like absolution, the heat of his body informing hers, guiding hers.

His hand slipped up the back of her shirt, pressed his palm to her bare skin to draw her closer. She came but kept her arms between them, cradling his face with her fingers, being careful of him.

She was going to be careful with him.

the end of Close Encounters 2: The Man With The Golden. . .

Stayed Tuned for Close Encounters 3: Die Another Day

"Beckett, I think you should stop."

She stalked away from him, shoving both hands through her hair before pivoting on her heel to face him. She had to swallow down the instinctive urge to lash out, to hurt him for that, and instead she modulated her tone, kept herself in check.

"We are so close, Castle." She dropped her hands and lifted her eyes to his.

Her CIA spy looked for all the world like standing in her apartment was his own little kingdom. He had a hip cocked against her kitchen counter, an insufferable twist on his lips, and when she actually looked around-

Shit, he'd practically moved in.

No wonder he thought he could order her around, flash his smile and have her on her knees for him. She was so tired of running into the wall of his damn CIA secrecy. He had a lead but he couldn't tell her; he knew a guy, but he couldn't have her come with him. He gave her bits and pieces and expected her to be grateful.

"I have a lead. I have a good lead on this case, Castle. I'm not stopping now."

"Beckett, we can't run at this head on. This guy has the NSA in his back pocket; it calls for a subtlety you and the boys lack."

His smirk had her hands clenching. "You've been listening to your asshole of a father again, haven't you?"

He jerked back at that, ice sheeting his eyes and removing him from her.

But Black was a bastard, and Castle needed to stop calling the man whenever their investigation moved forward. She hated having Black's fingerprints all over this, with his sneering disdain for the NYPD and his not-at-all subtle comments about her capabilities.

"Let's leave my father out of this," he said finally, his eyes like polar ice caps. "I'm not changing my mind, Beckett. We're not starting a war until I'm certain we can finish."

"If it's a war, then it's a war. We're not sitting on this while-"

"Your life is in danger, Beckett. My life is in danger. These are serious threats."

"Because were are so close. We have him running scared, and now is the time to-"

"Now is the time to lie low," he hissed, reaching out and snagging her by the wrist. "Lie low and live to fight another day."

She shrugged him off and paced away. "You don't understand. I need-"

"The fuck I don't," he snorted. She spun back to him, eyes narrowed, but he looked just as pissed as she felt.

"Then help me. Help me, or I will do this alone, Castle."

"No, you won't. The Agency has jurisdiction-"

She snorted, crossed her arms over her chest. "When the hell have you ever cared about the Agency's jurisdiction? This is my mother's case, not your damn playground."

He jerked to attention. "Playground-"

"Showing up at the 12th, commandeering my team, seducing me so you can have your way, doling out pieces of information when you think I can handle it. I'm sick of you bullying me, Castle."

"Bullying you? What the hell-"

"I'm so tired of you holding it over my head. I know I fucked up. I was the one you bled all over, remember? But you don't get to-"

"I do get to," he snarled, stalking forward. "I get to say, Detective Beckett, because it is my case. And you need to stop."

"It's my mother. And I won't stop," she said, her voice raw in her throat. "You know I won't."

"As the lead on this case, I'm telling you-"

"Fuck off," she snarled.

The cold in his eyes swirled up as he came closer. When he touched her, it wasn't the crushing, icy grip she was expecting, but the press of his warm palm to her neck, thumb stroking her jaw. He was turning the heat up, but it didn't melt the deadly, closed-off certainty in his eyes.

He leaned in, his breath skirting her cheek, nose nuzzling hers. "As the man sleeping in your bed, Kate Beckett, I am asking you to stop."

She closed her eyes, tried to force breath past that.

Still. He was still seducing her for his own ends, bringing out the charm to beguile her away from what she knew to be true.

"I won't stop." She sucked in a breath and opened her eyes. "And you need to leave."