Break You Out

Disclaimer: Yeah, Hurricane Sandy is purely an East Coast joy.

Post Ep for 5x05.

"What are you doing?" she asks as he shuts all of his blinds against the black of night.

He disappears into the bathroom and she cranes her neck, trying to figure out what he's up to. She hears the distinctive sound of another blind flying down and worries her lip between her teeth.

"Castle," she calls gently as he hovers in the doorway to the bathroom, swaying uneasily on his feet. "Come 'ere."

He shuffles over and collapses onto his bed, that veneer of strength finally fading. He snuggles up to her and she traces the edge of the bandage at his temple, watching his face in the soft light from his bedside lamp.

They ate with Martha and Alexis, then listened for hours as Alexis recounted stories from college, trying to put them all into a normal mood. But she couldn't. Throughout, Kate watched as Castle slowly deflated, as guilt and worry and hurt seeped in beneath the excitement of seeing his family again.

Now, in the night, his fingers come to flicker against her own bandage, the pads of his fingers rough against her skin. But he's here, in his bed, with her, not dead, not incarcerated—alive.

She has to close her eyes against it, against the visions of this moment gone so horribly wrong—against going to identify him at the tombs.

"Hey," he says softly.

She opens her eyes to find his close to hers, deep and blue and tired. She gives him the ghost of a smile and leans in to catch his mouth in a soft kiss, so unlike the first they shared in the precinct garage, around that corner with no cameras. This is slow and steady, not fast and furious, and nearly against a wall.

When she pulls away, his eyes are shut and his breath is heavy against her lips. She curves her hand around his jaw, sliding up to cup his ear, the tips of her fingers running through his hair.

"It's over," she whispers.

His eyes flicker open and she sees it again. That doubt that plagued him at the bridge this morning—it's there behind his eyes.

"He's gone," she intones firmly. "You shot him. I shot him. He fell all the way down. He's gone."

"He's not," Castle mumbles, and his eyes fix on her nose, avoiding hers. "He's out there."

"Castle," she sighs as she sees his gears start going again, that storyteller cranking into high action. "Look—"

"No," he lets out, and it's louder than either of them expects. "No," he tries again, softer. "He got away, and in a month, two months, there's gonna be killings in Detroit, or Chicago, or San Francisco, and what are we gonna do?"

She searches his eyes. He really believes it, with all that he has. And because of that, she feels the doubt seep into her too. Damn. But no, no, right now, he's gone, and until then, they have to live like it's over.

"Okay," she says, and his face brightens a bit, just enough, like—like her faith in him means everything. Oh, Castle. "Okay, so maybe he lived. But now? Right now? I want you to relax. If, when, killings crop up, we'll collaborate, we'll give them everything we know, but it won't be us. For us, this is done. He's gone."

"But—"

"Rick." That gets him. "Let's focus on the fact that you're not in prison right now, okay? That you get to sleep in your bed tonight."

He goes still for a moment, and then she gets that tired, sleepy smile she loves so much—the one that crinkles his eyes and dimples his cheeks.

"Okay," he says, and then he tugs on her, hauling her up onto his chest as he rolls.

She smiles into his shoulder as he squeezes her against him, his hands splayed wide on her back.

"I'm glad you're here," he tells her temple.

She turns her head and presses her lips into the soft cotton of his tee shirt, just above his heart. She closes her eyes and breathes him in, lets her lungs fill up with him—with a moment that seemed so unreachable less than a day ago.

"Glad you're here too," she whispers, curling her hand into the fabric on his shoulder. "God, Castle."

He tightens his arms across her back and nods against her head.

"If I'd known I was going to have to—if I'd known, I'd have done something else the other night."

He laughs, full and rich, and she smiles to herself there on his chest. "Hell no," he growls into her forehead. "Best damn night ever."

"Really, ever?" she wonders, pulling back to look up at him. "You're choosing the night I cuffed you to the headboard as the best night ever?"

He grins at her, some of the joy finally back on his face. "Was thinking more of the whole being cuffed to you thing, actually."

She laughs, feeling the heat in her cheeks. Dirty, dirty things occurred with those cuffs. And yeah, he's right. It kinda was the best damn night ever.

"I'd suggest a repeat," he says easily, then laughs as she vehemently shakes her head. "But might still be a little raw, huh?"

"Having just lived the reality, I'm not that eager to do it again," she admits as she traces a finger along his jaw.

"Yeah," he agrees as he raises a hand to card through her hair. "Yeah, I'm with you there."

She leans her head into his hand and turns her cheek to press her lips to the center of his palm. "Are you sure you ate enough?"

It's not like they starved him while he was in holding, but it's not like he got good fare either. She would have brought him food, but it just—too much protocol, too much compromise, too much of everything got in the way.

"I'm fine," he says on a chuckle. "Really."

"Okay." She watches him for a long moment, smiling as he runs his fingers over her ear beneath her hair, as his other hand slides up and down the arm she's using to prop herself over him.

When she stops really seeing him, starts seeing everything from the past few days, starts to relive things she wishes she could forget, his lips connect with hers. She squeaks and he laughs against her mouth, tugging her back down onto him so he can tumble them over.

He rises above her, his body a steady weight on top of hers. She arches up to find his mouth again, desperate for that connection—for the proof that they're still here together—that he's still all hers.

He sinks onto her and breaks away from her mouth, trailing along her jaw and up to her ear. She groans as he takes the lobe between his teeth and one of his hands begins to coast up and down her side.

But just as she's about to return the favor, he pulls back and glances toward the shade-covered window. She reaches up and strokes his cheek, waiting until his eyes return to hers.

"Castle?"

"Sorry," he mumbles before he dives back in, making her forget the entire stop.

But when they've gotten themselves shirtless and his fingers are working on her boxer shorts, he does it again. She watches as he stalls out and looks at the other window this time.

"Castle," she prompts. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm—" he breaks off and slowly brings his eyes back to her. "I'm just…checking."

"Checking for what?" She feels his body shudder as his face hardens with it.

"Tyson," he grits out.

"Tyson?"

"He—he watched us," he says, venom in his voice. "He watched us here, in bed together. He watched while we—he defiled that and I want—I just want to make sure that—"

She silences him with another kiss, pushing up until they're sitting in his bed together. "We're alone," she promises, framing his face with her palms, her thumbs on his cheeks, stroking along the bags underneath his eyes. "Just you and me."

"I know," he mumbles, bending forward to press his forehead to hers. "I know."

She lets him breathe for a minute, lets him get his bearings again. But then, she cracks. "I'm glad you don't want anyone watching."

"Yeah?" he wonders, opening his eyes to smile at her. Mission accomplished.

"Yeah," she agrees.

"You wanna be all mine?"

She laughs and leans in to press her lips to his. "I am all yours, Castle," she says as she pulls back. "I don't consider breaking just anyone out of prison."

His eyes go wide and she wonders at the grin that blooms across his face. "You were gonna break me out?"

"I would have tried," she tells him. "Letting some prison guard take you out? What a lame way to go," she jokes, hoping that the humor will settle the gallop in her heart at the thought of it.

"You—wow," he says, and then he laughs, bright and loud.

"Wow what?" she asks, blushing as the question pops out. Man, nearly losing her boyfriend to a serial killer just demolishes her filters.

"Just you," he offers easily, his eyes glittering with it, whatever it is. "Just beautiful you."

She smiles and opens her mouth to him as he comes in for another kiss, his arms wrapping around her, pressing them together. After that, she makes him forget all about Jerry Tyson, and her contemplated prison break.

An hour and a half later, as they lie there in his bed, breathing heavily and grinning at each other, she looks into his eyes and sees nothing but happiness. It's just them here now.

"For the record," he says, bringing her back to their moment. "I would break you out too."

"I know," she says easily, reaching out to curl her fingers through his on the pillow between them. "But let's try not to give you the chance, 'kay?"

"Aw, but I'd be so good at it. Like today! I'd get you an escort and bring you to, hm, that rooftop where we first met."

"Really? That's your romantic rendezvous?" she teases, unable to keep the smile off of her face for the huge one on his—for the light and breezy way he talks about it now.

It's in the past. It's done. And now they're here, contemplating where to meet after her hypothetical prison break.

"Sure," he says brightly. "First time you told me your name with your sexy cop voice? Totally."

"Not the Met for our first date, not the swings, not—your first book launch? You're sticking with that?"

"Okay, the Met doesn't have the little hidey holes that the Library does, the swings are in plain sight, and everywhere else would feel weird. I'd bring you back to my front door but, come on, they'd look there."

"Uh-huh."

His eyes spark and he gives her an excited look. "Okay, you want a more romantic spot?"

She shrugs, noncommittal. She kinda does, sick as that is. He took the best one.

"Then we're just gonna have to do more romantic things," he decides. "Let me take you out tomorrow."

She smiles and shakes her head, laughing as he instantly deflates. "Not tomorrow. How about this weekend?"

"Why not tomorrow?" he pouts, his hair flopping adorably over his face, making even that cut cute.

"Because tomorrow, we're ordering Chinese, watching a movie, and taking a bath at my place," she tells him.

"Oh," he lets out, trying to tamp down his grin. Yeah, he can play all he wants, but he loves their cuddle nights—not that she'll ever, in her life, tell him that's what she's termed them in her head.

"So, this weekend," she says, smiling at him.

"If only I could hide you in your bathtub," he says wistfully.

She laughs and scoots forward to kiss him, smiling against his lips. "'Cause the cops couldn't possibly find me in a cast iron tub," she mumbles as they pull apart.

"I mean, I could bring the tub to some location in the woods, and hide you in it there."

"You are not gutting my apartment to bring my tub to your safe house," she says firmly. "And it's not like it's the one from the explosion anyway."

He leers at her. "Not the explosion I'm thinking about," he says impishly.

"Castle!" she laughs, slapping at his bare shoulder. "That's horrible."

"Oh, so not what you said at the time," he continues, creeping toward her until he wraps his arm around her, aligning them together. "I think it was more along the lines of, 'Oh, God, Castle right—'"

He laughs as she whacks him with his pillow, squirming in his grasp. "Shut up," she demands as she starts to laugh too. "And don't you—"

Her pillow lands in her face, and then it's all out war, and they're running around his room, naked, brandishing pillows like the guns they wielded the night before. But here, as he pins her to the bed and plants a sloppy kiss to her mouth, there are no guns. There is no blood. There is no serial killer out to get him.

It's just them.

And she'll make sure it stays just them. No one's going to take him from her.

"You were really gonna break me out of prison?" he asks as they calm down, backward on the bed.

She smiles and brushes the hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, I was."

He beams and presses his mouth to hers before pulling back. "I'm so making you pancakes in the morning."