“Hello? Anyone home?”

“They shouldn’t be. Alexis is at school and my mother’s rehearsing.”

“I'm not staying.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Kate Beckett, her shoulder under Castle’s right arm, helped him limp into the apartment. “Where?”

“Over there.” He indicated the sofa.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I just want to sit down.”

“Not a good idea.”

“I can try.”

Hobbling across the loft, he started to lower himself down, wincing and gasping as he did so.

“That painkiller they gave you should still be working,” Kate pointed out.

“It is,” he agreed. “Mostly. I just … ow … it’s sore.”

“Serves you right.”

His left buttock touched the leather, and he took a sharp breath. “Um … maybe not …” He shifted a little so he was perched on his right cheek only. “That’s …”

“Just lie face down.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’d feel … vulnerable.”

“Castle, there’s only me here. What do you think I’m likely to do to you?”

“I hate to think.” He paused. “Unless you think I’d like it.” He looked up hopefully.

“In your dreams.”

“Oh, definitely there. And in the shower. And on the roof. And –”

“Castle.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Is that a nice way to talk to a wounded man? Wounded, I might add, in the line of duty?”

“It was your own fault.”

“How was it? Did I deliberately put myself in the way of that shotgun?”

“As good as. Why you chose that moment to try and get a look at Grunberg, I’ll never know.” She sat down in the armchair.

“I didn’t know he was going to grab me.”

“And after I told you, too.”

He pouted. “Are you mad at me?”

“Yes.”

The pout turned into the puppy-dog look, one he was well-practised in. It had come in handy a number of times when he’d been caught red-handed doing something he really shouldn’t have been doing, but didn’t want to stop. This time, though, it seemed to slide off Kate’s armour. He decided to try another tack. “Anyway, it wasn't Grunberg who shot me. It was Esposito.”

“Something we’ve all felt like doing once