They go back to her place.

He follows her into the bedroom and pauses in the doorway, watches as she begins to undress, her back turned to him, her movements slow and methodical. His body feels heavy, achy, and yet he's still jittery. He can't shake the feeling of being watched, the helpless feeling of being a pawn in his own life.

She finishes unbuttoning her shirt and drops it to the floor. His eyes fix on the bend of her elbow, the flex of muscle as she works on her pants, discards those as well. He moves then, lurching out of the doorway on unsteady legs to go to her, reaching for her. He suddenly can't bear to not be touching her.

She turns into him and opens her arms, lifting up on tiptoes as he draws her into his chest, the warm, sturdy cove of his body. She sinks into him, craving the weightlessness he can give her, because he's large and strong and can make her forget.

He loves her.

"Kate," he breathes, his chest lifting, lungs expanding with all the words he wants to say.

But she doesn't let him. She kisses him instead and he realizes this is really what he's been craving, this is what will soothe the hollow spot in his chest that cracked open somewhere between being escorted out of his home in handcuffs and reaching for her hand between the bars of a holding cell.

He could give her all the words in the world, but there's nothing like this, nothing close. Nothing like the drop of her weight in his arms when she gives into him, the press of her lips to the side of his neck, her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt.

"Castle," she murmurs and he's startled by how raw her voice is. Desperate. "Hold me?"

Her voice tilts up at the end, threadbare and vulnerable, a question where there doesn't ever need to be one.

"Of course," he says, squeezing her tighter. "Of course, Kate. Always."

She slips out of his arms and moves towards the bed, tugging back the covers. She looks at once achingly beautiful and heart wrenchingly fragile as she slips between the sheets in nothing but her bra and panties and lifts tired eyes to his face.

He holds her gaze as he unbuttons his shirt, steps out of his pants. She lifts a hand towards him, palm-up, and he takes it immediately, lets her tug him into bed beside her. She presses a hand to the center of his chest and pushes gently until he lies back. He waits on her, not sure what she wants, but willing to give her anything. Everything.

She smiles at him, a little sadly, before lifting herself over his body and lying down on top of him, her head tucked under his chin, cheek against his sternum. Their bodies are completely aligned—him bearing her full weight—chests pressed together, hips flush, legs tangled.

He wraps his arms around her, his palms settling against her lower back, feeling the weight of her against him. It calms him, eases the nervous energy from his muscles until he finds his eyelids drooping.

"It is worth it."

His eyes snap open again and he tilts his head down, but her face his hidden from his view. "What is?"

She lets out a long breath, feels the lift of his chest against hers as he breathes, the warmth of his hand as his trails his fingertips along the curve of her hip, the bend of her waist, the concave arc of skin beneath her ribcage.

"Us," she whispers, letting her eyes drift shut. "It's hard, but it's worth it."

He smiles softly, presses a light kiss to the top of her head, an unspoken thank you for finishing the sentence he never got to finish, the thought that got cut off by the grind of metal and the screech of tires.

"I wanted you to know," she murmurs, the words coming slow now because she's so tired and he's here, beneath her, all around her.

"Kate?"

"Hm."

"I believe in you, too."

She hums softly in recognition, drifting on the edge of sleep, unable to fight it off any longer, but it's okay, it's okay now.

He's safe. She can rest.