IF YOU'LL LET ME

Stay with me and I'll cover your soul with my body
Give me your heart, and I'll give you my love
It's a work of art, when you shine like the sun
So give your heart to me

Come With Me - Echosmith

She can't sleep.

His words echo in her head, promises of protecting her, warnings of a madman gunning for her because of him, and they're keeping her awake. She's tired, the need for sleep growing desperate, but his damn protectiveness, the flare of his nostrils when he insisted on staying, it stays with her.

And she dismissed him. Teased him about protecting her with his vast arsenal of rapier wit. The man wants to keep her safe, and she made fun of him.

She watches the clock change, and as it gets later and later, as her chances of a decent night's sleep dwindle, she finally gives up and turns on her light at two. If she's not going to sleep, she may as well be productive.

Her heart sinks when she glances at her nightstand and finds it empty. She'd brought the file home to work on, but she left it in the living room when she went to bed.

Crap.

She cracks open her bedroom door, listening for sounds, tries to tell if he's still awake or not. She doesn't hear anything, but she sees a faint light, and she tiptoes down the hall, freezes in her tracks when she spots him.

He must have drifted off, because instead of lying down like she'd expected, he's sitting up, his head leaned back, neck twisted in a way that can't be comfortable. When she sneaks closer she can see the file on his lap, open, his hand on it, and her heart swells.

He'd fallen asleep while reviewing the file. It's sweet, but inconvenient if she wants to just grab it and retreat back to her room.

She manages to approach him without him stirring, but as soon as she starts to slide it from under his hand he jerks, grabs the folder.

"Wha-" He blinks, looks around for a few moments before landing his gaze on her. "Beckett? What are you doing?"

She gives him a sheepish smile. "I couldn't sleep, thought I'd look over the case."

He scrapes a hand over his face and clears his throat. "Yeah, me too. I didn't have any epiphanies though," he admits, dropping the file onto the coffee table. He looks up at her. "Sorry, I'm not a very good protector."

Kate hesitates, then joins him on the couch. "What do you mean?"

"I fell asleep."

"It's two o'clock in the morning and we've been working a tough case all day, Castle. It's okay." She shifts so she's facing him, props her head on her hand, studies him for a few moments. He looks tired, the beginnings of stubble peppering his jaw, his normally perfectly tousled hair lying flat on his forehead. He doesn't look like her protector, doesn't resemble the strong man she knows he is. The rock he's become, the stalwart presence in her life.

Oh.

Yeah, he has become her rock. He's helped her face the man who killed her mom, solve dozens of cases. His written words helped her grieve for her mom, but also helped her move forward and focus on the here and now. He's an annoyance sometimes, for a long time felt like a bad penny that kept turning up. But over time she's seen past that infuriating stubbornness to appreciate his intelligence, his strength, his humor.

He makes her smile in a way that no man has before. He makes her laugh with his terrible jokes, and she enjoys spending time with him, the late nights at the precinct eating bad take out, even the coffee he makes for her. He's more than a shadow, a faux-partner even. He's become her friend.

As he leans forward and scrapes his hands over his face again, she wonders, not for the first time, what he'd be like as more than a friend. She finally gives into temptation and rests her hand on his back, feels him freeze under her touch.

"Thank you" she says, rubbing lightly.

He looks up at her, surprise written all over his face. "For what?"

"For being here."

"Right," he scoffs. "For showing up uninvited and unannounced, scaring you half to death, or forcing myself to stay over?"

"All of it." When he just scoffs again and rolls his eyes, she shifts closer, tilts his face to look at her. "I'm serious. If it wasn't for you, I'd be out here, eyes on my door, with my gun cocked and ready to shoot anything that made a noise."

"Beckett-"

"I feel safe with you, Rick," she says with conviction, and she realizes that this is the first time she's allowing herself to acknowledge it. "I've been taking care of myself for my whole adult life, and it's nice to have some backup."

He gives her a small smile. "Well, I'll be your backup whether you want it or not."

She returns his smile, her hand sliding to cup his jaw, and when his gaze flicks to her mouth her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

"Kate," he husks, his eyes darkening, hand raising to cover hers.

It feels like she should say something, like in the movies, something witty or romantic, but nothing comes to mind. So she just kisses him.

His fingers tighten around hers before moving to her waist, his mouth parting beneath hers, tongue teasing her lips. She shifts closer to him, slides her hand to the back of his head, threads her fingers through his hair. He tastes of the toothpaste she'd left out for him, and when his tongue slicks against hers she moans and slides her leg over his.

He holds her against him as she straddles his thigh and rolls her hips, swallows her moan, grips her hips before standing. "Bedroom?" he gasps, before pausing. "Unless you don't want-"

She rolls her hips again, chuckling at the groan that reverberates through him, and nips at his earlobe. "Behind me," she instructs with a jerk of her head. She's on fire, her body tingling with more desire than it has in a long time, maybe ever. His steps are sure, his grip on her tight, and the fleeting thought that this might not be the right time disappears as soon as he sets her down and strips her clothes off.

And when he settles on top of her and makes her cry out over and over again, she's convinced that it was the best decision she's made in ages.

She's alone when she wakes after a few short hours, hours mostly spent in each other's arms, a night filled with more sex than sleep. The sun is beginning to brighten her room, and she swipes her hand over the indentation his body had left.

The sheets are cold.

He's gone.

It's then that she smells the coffee and hears the sizzle of…something, she can't tell what.

She slips on leggings and an oversized t-shirt, noting the lack of his clothes on the floor, and pulls her hair into a messy bun as she follows her nose to the kitchen.

He's humming a tune she can't make out, coffee cup in one hand and spatula in the other, and he's making…

"Pancakes?" she blurts, turning the corner.

He looks up at her while taking a sip of coffee, smiles around the rim of the mug. "Good morning to you too." His voice is low, still laced with sleep, and he flips a pancake before moving to the coffee pot and pouring a second mug. "I was going to make bacon and eggs," he says as he hands her the coffee, "but your eggs are expired, and your bacon has something furry on it."

She closes her eyes when she sips the coffee, takes a moment to inhale the rich aroma as the flavor bursts on her tongue. "Yeah, well, I mostly eat out," she admits, joining him in the kitchen.

He glances at her and smirks. "Me too."

She rolls her eyes, but feels her cheeks flush as her mind is flooded with memories from last night. Yes, he does, and damn is he good at it. "Anyway," she says as she finishes her coffee and reaches for more, "I appreciate the breakfast, but we don't have time. We have a body to find."

It smells delicious though, and she eyes the pancakes as he transfers them to two plates. Well, maybe she can have one…

He snaps his fingers and turns towards the living room. "Forgot to get the paper."

"We don't have time for the paper either, Cas-"

She's interrupted by his yelp, and rushes to the door, where he's staring at the dead body at his feet.

He lifts his gaze to her, and the look in his eyes is panicked, a fear she's never seen. And that scares her more than the dead body at the door, the sign that the killer knows where she lives.

"Looks like the body found you."

Officers are there within minutes, not enough time for her to even finish her coffee, let alone clean up. She doesn't think twice about it until Ryan teases her about Castle making pancakes, but then suddenly she's self-conscious, ready for her apartment to clear out so she can get dressed.

She expects Castle to leave when they take the body, for him to go home so he can clean up and change, but he lingers under the pretense of wanting to help her straighten up from breakfast. And he does, cleans the griddle and mixing bowl, makes a fresh pot of coffee.

At his insistence that they have time, she jumps in the shower, half expecting him to make a joke about joining her, but he doesn't. Instead, she emerges from the bathroom after dressing to a fresh mug of coffee on her nightstand, next to her perfectly made bed.

He made her bed.

It's little, something that would have only taken him a few minutes. But it's sweet; she imagines him setting the coffee down, then looking at her bed, the sheets disheveled. He probably figured that a made bed could help her life be a little less chaotic, and she appreciates the symbolism, the parallel to what he's done to her life.

Because he came barging in, ruffling her feathers, leaving her metaphorically wrinkled. But over the course of the last twelve months he's also helped her smile, helped her heal. She feels so much more complete now, and her heart swells with the thought that the day he came into her life was the day her life changed for the better.

She grabs the mug and goes in search for him, finds him stepping into his shoes, coat folded over his arm. "You're leaving?"

He jumps, stumbles into the door before looking at her, his cheeks reddening. "Yeah, I need to get some different clothes."

"Right. Okay." She clenches her fist at her side as he opens the door, to stop herself from reaching for him, dragging him back into her apartment. The realization hits like a ton of bricks, and it almost has her stumbling back.

She doesn't want him to leave.

Last night she wanted to argue with him, to make him go home, but she was too tired. But this morning? The last thing she wants is to be left alone. Their night spent together in her bed aside, she feels safe with him. Secure. He won't let anything happen to her and she knows it, deep down, even if the thought of something caring for her that way scares the living shit out of her.

"Castle," she blurts when he starts to leave, and she gives in, grabs his sleeve. When he just looks at her, his eyes wide, gaze so hopeful, she loses her courage and lets go. "Thanks," she says lamely, her hand falling back at her side. "For staying. For, you know, making my bed."

His eyebrow quirks but he doesn't comment, just offers her a small smile and a "you're welcome." And when he brushes a kiss to the swell of her cheek, she leans into his touch, tries not to chase him when he pulls back. "I'll meet you at the precinct?" he says, more of a question than a statement.

She returns his kiss with one of her own, but to his mouth, a short peck of their lips, nothing more. "Yeah. See you there."

She wakes in an ambulance, an unfamiliar coat around her, but as she comes to she realizes that she knows the coat, knows who it smells like.

Him.

It starts to come back as she sits up with a groan, memories of his phone call and an explosion, of jumping into the tub, then nothing. But he's at her side now, one hand gripping hers and the other cradling the back of her head.

"Thank God you're okay," he whispers, pressing his forehead to her temple.

Her head is pounding, and she presses her fingers to her temple, leans into him for support. "I'm wearing your coat," she says, and it sounds lame even to her own ears. But it doesn't faze him; he just drapes his arm around her shoulders and squeezes her into him.

"What do you remember?"

"Not much." She moves to get out of the ambulance, but when she's hit with a wave of lightheadedness she grabs his hand for support. "I'm okay," she assures him when he tries to get her to lie down again, and after letting herself adjust to sitting up she steps out of the ambulance.

"You're staying with me," he insists when he follows, cupping her cheeks when she shakes her head. "No argument. You're staying with me."

"Castle-" she hisses, stepping away from his touch and looking around to make sure nobody's within eyesight. She pulls his coat tighter when she sees Ryan approach, a pile of clothes in his hands. "Later."

"He cares about you, Kate," Shaw says later, after the case is done and the feds are packing to leave. "You may not see it…" She trails off when Kate stays silent, and smirks. "You do see it. You care about him too."

Kate draws her bottom lip between her teeth and sits at her desk. "It's complicated," she says, hoping Shaw will give it up, but the agent just sits in the chair normally occupied by Castle, and stares with a smirk.

"Complicated, huh?"

"Yes."

Shaw just lifts her brows, but when Castle approaches them she doesn't respond, just stands. "It's been a pleasure, Detective Beckett."

Kate stands and takes Shaw's outstretched hand. "Likewise." When the feds leave she sits again, and doesn't hide her surprise when Castle takes his seat at her side. She glances at her paperwork, then at him. "Don't tell me you're staying to help with this," she teases.

He scoffs. "Yeah, right. No, I have something for you." After a long silence that has her narrowing her eyes with impatience, he sets a small gift bag in front of her, stares with an expectant look in his eyes.

She gasps when she reaches into the bag and draws out her father's watch, which she'd assumed was lost in the rubble of her destroyed apartment. "Castle, this is-" Her voice catches in her throat, and when she looks back up at him his gaze is so tender, that she almost kisses him right then and there. "Thank you."

He gives her a soft smile. "You're welcome."

She closes her file and shoves the mostly blank paperwork in her drawer. It can wait.

"You carried me out," she says several hours later, as she's wrapped in his arms, her head on his chest. She hears his heartbeat quicken under her ear, and she tightens her grip around his waist.

He squeezes her shoulders. "You were unconscious and your apartment was on fire. What was I supposed to do?" His voice is low, muffled against her forehead, and she cranes her neck to catch his lips with hers.

She goes willingly when he nudges her up, and she hovers over him, moans at the rock of his hips into her. "Thank you," she gasps when his hands bracket her hips and reposition her above him. "For getting me out."

He leans back, his eyes dark as she sinks down onto him. "Any time," he rasps, one hand drifting along her spine to cup the back of her head, fisting his fingers in her hair and guiding her mouth down to his.

Prompt taken from the Texts From Last Night (TFLN) Twitter: (520): My booty call made my bed while I was in the shower. I may have to marry him.

Major props go to Callie, as always, for helping brainstorm a random TFLN tweet into something that could work as a fic.