A/N: Trigger warning for mentions of the potential makings of an eating disorder, though there's nothing graphic.
Also please note that the days mentioned below aren't consecutive, but over a period of time.
She hears it on a Wednesday.
They're joking around in the break room with a box of pizza and a group of officers, laughing about her unfortunate afternoon after Castle's antics had taken a wrong turn. He's been watching the winter Olympics each night, apparently, and has become captivated by the skaters.
"They're amazing, Beckett," he'd said this morning, eyes wide and mouth open in a splitting grin. "Those lifts are crazy."
She'd laughed along, having had some limited knowledge from the glimpses of the program she'd managed to catch. Everything was fine until he decided that he wanted to try one of the lifts, one of the easier ones, as he'd put it. She'd vetoed his proposition immediately, refused to partake, but after twenty minutes of pouting on his part she'd sighed, held up a finger, and made it clear to him that they'd be doing nothing crazy.
It was a simple lift, in theory. His hands were supposed to find purchase on her hips, hoist her up until she's on his shoulders, and then hold her there. No wild twists or turns, nothing too injury-inducing. He did what he was supposed to, as did she, but something got caught on the way up that caused him to lose his balance, and his grip on her, and send her crashing to the ground.
Luckily they didn't try this on the concrete and she's not hurt, not by anything but Castle's obvious guilt, but he manages to force a smile along with the other officers.
"Looks like Castle's not as strong as he likes to pretend," Karpowski jokes, elbow nudging at Castle's side.
He gapes. "Hey now, I am plenty strong, okay? I just... lost my balance."
"Maybe he's right," Jones, one of the newer officers, pipes up.
Karpowski laughs. "If he was right, he wouldn't have dropped Beckett."
"Hey, Beckett, maybe you should lay off the pizza, make it easier for the writer over here to pick you up."
It's a joke.
It's a joke, but she's mid-bite when she hears it and her hand stills, lowering the pizza away from her mouth. She rolls her eyes, purses her lips, and huffs as the other officers laugh.
Castle's mouth immediately opens, ready to say something, but the others change the subject and she excuses herself from the room. The pizza stays half-eaten on the table.
It starts on a Friday.
They're running after a suspect on foot once he takes off, weaving in and out of the New Yorkers on the sidewalk. She's so close to catching up with him, so close to just grabbing him and slamming his back against the brick wall of the nearest alley, when he takes one look over his shoulder and speeds up. Her legs carry her a bit longer before she's suddenly out of breath, slowing down unwillingly until she's stopped completely, breaths coming in choppy bursts, one hand on her thigh and the other propped on her waist.
"You okay?" Esposito puffs as he catches up.
She waves him off with a nod. "Go, go!"
He and Ryan push themselves into top speed to apprehend the guy, and they do. She should be happy that he's in custody, no longer walking the streets, but her mind is elsewhere.
She's never gotten this out of breath before.
Lay off the pizza, Beckett.
The words from that day in the break room reverberate throughout her mind, curl around her brain and embed themselves in her thoughts. She's out of shape. Castle struggled to lift her up, and now she can't even chase after a suspect.
She needs to fix this. She can't very well do her job if she's this unfit.
All the extra takeout she's been eating, those bear claws in the morning, it's all catching up to her. Too much calorie intake, not enough calorie burning.
The gym. She'll hit the gym.
And she does.
As soon as they're back at the precinct, the boys take their suspect into the box. They ask if she's coming in but she shakes her head, murmurs something about picking up with her training instead. She gets twin pairs of confused looks but the boys ultimately shrug, leaving her to head upstairs and change into her workout clothes.
She doesn't bother bringing her lunch with her, forgoes it in favor of stepping onto the scale in the bathroom. 131. Her bottom lip tugs between her teeth as she walks out.
Her heart pounds in her chest in time with her punches against the bag. It swings out with each blow, but she doesn't let up; instead, she punches harder, faster, until the bag swings back and collides with her chest. She switches then, lies down on the mat and does as many crunches and sit ups she can before her stomach muscles contract in pain, physically stopping her from continuing.
67 sit ups. It's less than she'd been doing months ago. It's not enough.
She has to get back up to at least 100 if she wants to get to her peak fitness level.
Instead of trying to beat the measly 67 right now, she opts for hitting the treadmill. Cardio will do her some good; get rid of the fat, replace it with the muscle she needs to do her job effectively. She sets the level to intermediate with a relatively steep climb and starts running.
She doesn't know how long she's been at it, only that her heart threatens to beat out of her chest and her legs have turned to jelly beneath her body. Upping the level, she pushes herself harder, ignoring the pain as she forces her legs to move faster.
Just as she's starting to feel dizzy, on the verge of passing out, a hand comes behind her and switches off the machine. Her body jerks backwards with the sudden stop, colliding into a solid mass behind her.
"Castle?" she breathes, tugging the headphones from her ears, brows scrunched together. "What the hell?"
"You were about to pass out, Beckett," he retorts.
She exhales. "I'm fine," she says, steadying her balance with the shake of her head, a hand on her forehead. "How'd you know I was here anyway?"
"The guys," he says. "When you weren't in the bullpen they told me you'd come in here." He pauses. "Two hours ago."
Has it really been two hours?
"Let's go, then," she decides, ignoring his look of confusion when she brushes past him and into the bathroom to change. Her legs burn as she walks, limbs and muscles aching, but that means that it's working. It's a welcomed burn.
They're back in the bullpen ten minutes later, and back out chasing down another suspect in thirty. These guys really need to stop running.
Her legs turn into fire as she pushes herself, but she swears she already feels lighter. Placebo effect or not, she doesn't care. She's energized after the workout, without the weight of her abandoned sandwich sitting in her stomach.
She mentions going back to the gym again when they get back.
"You were working yourself pretty hard up there, Beckett," he says, soft eyes focused on her. "You should slow down."
Nodding, she gives him a tight lipped smile.
She does all of her running late at night now, away from prying eyes.
She lies on a Tuesday.
The mornings are hard, her body exhausted and deflated beneath her blankets. Dragging herself into the kitchen, she forces down a glass of water along with her coffee—she foregoes the vanilla now.
She makes a piece of toast, cutting it into two halves, and eats one half now. The other she puts to the side, reasons that she'll eat it after her workout later.
She's been doing better. No takeout, no fatty foods. Her eating habits were always sub par, but she's getting them back on track. Toast and vegetables make up the bulk of her meals.
At the precinct, the boys cast her curious looks but don't say anything. It's strange, but she shrugs it off, focuses on the task at hand. A new case, another one that's coming up with nothing but dead ends and leads that fall through. Her head pounds, stomach clenching in hunger, and so she grabs a granola bar from her desk and takes a few bites. She doesn't finish it, but it's enough to satisfy the grumbling and let her get back to work.
"Hello, my dear detective," Castle beams as he sidles up to her desk, and she offers him a smile. "Any leads?"
She sighs. "No," she groans, letting her head fall into her open palms. "Nothing. Not a single solid lead."
"Maybe some fresh eyes will do you some good," he says. "Let's go for lunch, take an hour break."
Her breath catches. "No, I can't."
"Come on, Beckett, you've probably been here since before the sun was up. You've gotta be hungry, at least."
Yes.
"No." She shakes her head. "I had a big breakfast," she lies.
His eyes narrow. "A big breakfast?" She nods. "Since when do you ever have a big breakfast? Or any breakfast at all, for that matter."
"I said I'm not hungry, Castle," she snaps, turning towards him. "I'm not hungry."
He looks at her and she can feel the weight of his unwavering gaze, but she can't find it in herself to meet his eyes. When he gets up a minute later and disappears, she lets out a sigh. She hadn't meant to snap at him; she does feel bad about it, but she doesn't need the questions. She's fine.
A banana is plopped onto her desk ten minutes later.
"Eat up," he says softly, measuring her with a meaningful look. "You need the potassium."
Her lips twitch at the gesture. "Okay," she says. "I will."
"I'm going to do a few errands. Text me if there's a break in the case?" She nods. "And I expect that banana to be gone when I get back," he teases.
She makes a show of peeling the banana and taking a bite as he walks away, reveling in his laughter as he bounces onto the elevator. Once he's gone she throws the rest of the banana in the trash under some papers, leaving the peel on her desk for him to return to.
She tells herself it's only temporary.
She falls apart on a Thursday.
After a few weeks, she's down nine pounds. 122. The numbers blink at her, bright and vibrant, but she's not celebrating.
It's not enough.
She needs to be faster, lighter on her feet. She'd have thought that her increased calorie burning and decreased intake would have lead to more of a loss, but reasons that it's the muscle she's putting back on. Muscle weighs more than fat. It's not ideal, but she figures it's an even trade off; the muscle will help, even if it adds to the number on the scale.
She'll just avoid as many calories as she can to compensate.
Castle's been leaving bananas on her desk every day for a week now. She doesn't eat them, but she continues to wait until he's out of sight before she throws it out and leaves the peel on her desk. The smile he gives her when he returns and finds it finished sends her stomach into knots.
But it'll be worth it.
"As promised," he says, stopping next to her with the usual banana and a new addition. A cupcake. "Figured you might be getting tired of the bananas."
She lets out a forced chuckle. "Thanks, Castle."
"More coffee?" he asks, gesturing to the empty mug sitting in front of her. Nodding, she murmurs a thank you. "Coming right up."
Leaning over, she watches as he disappears into the break room. The cupcake is a problem, and she doesn't yet know how to make it disappear without tossing it obviously into the trash or eating it, which she can't do. So instead she focuses on what she can do, and grabs the banana, peeling it as quickly as she can. The peel lands on her desk and she picks up a piece of paper in the trash, depositing the body of banana into its grave before covering it up.
"What are you doing?"
She startles, jumping back. "I'm—nothing."
"You're throwing away the banana," he says. Her heart is in her throat, eyes darting across his face as he watches her. "Why?"
Her mouth opens but nothing comes out.
"Is this what you've been doing all week?" Again, she says nothing. "Did you eat any of the bananas?"
"I... it's nothing, Castle."
He sits down slowly, depositing her coffee in front of her. "It's not nothing. You've been acting funny for weeks, you're working yourself to death in the gym. What's going on?"
"Nothing," she snaps, eyes narrowed. "Drop it."
She pushes the chair back and stands, stalking away from him. There's really nowhere to go, to run to, so she stops in front of the murder board and forces herself to focus on the details written, hoping he'll take the hint and let it go.
Because she's fine. So she threw out the bananas, so what? It's fine.
It doesn't stop though, the pounding of her heart, the anxious nerves embedding themselves throughout her body.
"Beckett," he whispers, coming up beside her. "Talk to me."
She can't do this.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"I think there is," he tries again, but his tone is anything but accusatory. It's soft, way too soft and she can't handle it. "Please."
And so she does the only thing she can think to do. Leave, turn away from him and head for the stairwell. He calls out for her and she thinks he's just going to stay put, stand by the murder board and wait for her to return, but he doesn't. To her surprise, he bounds his arms around her waist to stop her, barely lifting her up in an attempt to just turn her in the other direction.
But he pauses as soon as he does, and she can feel his body go rigid. He lets go, hands flying from her body as if he'd been burned, and she can hear the blood pounding in her ears.
"Kate," he breathes slowly, almost as if he's talking to a skittish animal. No. He can't do this. "Look at me." She does, reluctantly. "What did you do?"
His voice is so quiet.
She shakes her head. "I didn't do anything."
"You're significantly lighter than you were only a few weeks ago," he whispers, concerned eyes on her.
"Nine," she murmurs against her will, her eyes widening when she realizes what she's let slip out. "It's nothing."
"Beckett, please tell me this isn't—you're not—"
He's too close. Too close to her, to what she's trying to accomplish, just too close. She needs to get away.
Her body turns and she sprints to the stairwell, her original place of refuge, and keeps going until she's hidden in a corner. No one comes down here, not unless they need to go to the basement, but that's a rare occurrence.
Her breathing speeds up, tears prickling at the backs of her eyes as she curls in on herself on the bottom step, her face buried in her hands.
It's too much.
A hand falls to her knee and she jerks up, watery eyes meeting Castle's wide baby blues.
"What are you doing here, Castle?"
"Checking on my partner," he says, kneeling down.
She sighs. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're pretending like you are, but you're not." She averts her eyes. "Why are you doing this?"
"I'm not doing anything."
Taking a deep breath, he tips her chin so she's looking at him. "Have you eaten?"
"Yes."
"Today?"
She grumbles.
"It was a rough morning," she says quietly.
He hesitates. "This week?"
Her eyes shoot up, bore into him. "Castle..." she pleads, her voice breaking. "Don't."
"Please, talk to me, Beckett. I'm your partner. I'm your friend." He pauses, his voice dropping. "If you're—if you're hurting yourself... let me help."
A choked sob breaks free, has her covering her mouth with the palm of her hand and shaking her head. Everything's coming to a head, coming out, and she doesn't know how to deal with it.
With what she's done, with Castle knowing. It wasn't... it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
"I'm—I'm sorry," she hiccups, and one of his hands comes up to her face, fingers brushing against her cheek.
"Don't apologize."
"I'm so sorry," she repeats anyway. "I don't know how it happened—I don't—I just wanted to get back into shape and..."
"You're in shape, Beckett," he whispers. "You were never out of shape." She's silent. "How long?"
"Three weeks," she manages quietly between tears.
He's quiet for a few seconds before something hits him, his eyes widening. "Is this because I dropped you?" he asks, and when she doesn't reply right away he goes on. "Beckett, no—that was my fault, my hands slipped, you didn't—God, Kate. I'm so sorry, I should've said something the second that rookie made the joke about you laying off the pizza. I'll kill—"
"No," she chokes out. "It's not—that wasn't your fault. I ate too much and it caught up with me and I couldn't keep up with the guys on a foot chase and I just meant to cut out the takeout and fatty foods but it got so out of hand and I was lying and skipping meals and I felt lighter and exhausted at the same time but it seemed worth it but now—"
"Hey, hey, breathe. Take a breath, okay?" He moves to sit on the step next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She buries her head into his chest, her own heaving as she lets out everything she's been keeping in for weeks. "It'll be okay. You'll be okay."
"I—I can't believe I let this happen," she sniffles, shaking her head against his shirt.
"Shhh," he soothes, rubbing circles on her back. "I got you."
Her breathing slowly evens out, but her hands still curl into the front of his shirt, fingers clasped in the fabric.
"I've got you."
She continues putting the pieces back together on a Monday.
"How do you feel?"
"The same as I did the last five times you've asked."
He gives a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, I'm just—"
She shakes her head. "No, I know," she sighs. "But I'm... okay. I feel good."
And she does.
It's been a month since she broke down in a stairwell, cried into Castle's chest about everything she's been doing to her own body. He's been by her side since then, stayed with her and held her hand when she called a therapist, and he's been accompanying her to each appointment. Not because he doesn't think she's going, but just as a pillar of strength, a friendly face for her to come back into the waiting room and find.
She's glad she got help when she did, glad Castle caught her tossing that banana and wouldn't let up, even if she hated him in that moment. Knowing what happens when these behaviors go on too long... she's grateful to him.
There are still some residual doubts, the urges to skip out on a meal or hit the gym to work off that extra piece of garlic bread, but she's getting better. She's working out a healthy amount, eating three decently sized meals when she can, and cutting back on the unhealthy stuff.
It's a work in progress, but she's getting there. And he's here.
Looking to her left, she finds Castle smiling at her, a soft expression gracing his features.
"I know I can be difficult most of the time... but it really means a lot that you're here."
His face breaks out into a grin. "Nowhere else I'd rather be," he says, his voice so genuine it melts her heart. "Thank you for letting me be here."
She lets out a breath, leaning her head against the wall behind her, her hands clasped in her lap. When she's called back she stands, starts moving towards the assistant before stopping, turning to look down at Castle.
"Have a good session," he says, nodding to the phone in his hand. "I'll be here when you get out."
A smile takes over her face at that. He says it every time, as if she thinks he's going to leave. No, he's been here for each one, waiting with a smile as soon as she emerges. She knows he's not going anywhere.
Inhaling, she chews on her bottom lip. "Would you... come in, this time?"
His eyes widen. "You want me to—really?"
"Really," she nods. "I thought maybe... it'd be nice—but if you don't want to—"
He shakes his head, already on his feet, a comforting hand on the small of her back as he steps beside her.
"I'd love to," he says sincerely, a soft smile on his face.
Nodding, she takes a deep breath, walking in time as the two of them make their way to the door. She turns to him when they're about to go in, her eyes soft as she meets his gaze.
"Thank you, Castle," she says quietly. "For everything."
His eyes sparkle, crinkling around the corners as he smiles.
"Partners," is all he says, but it's all she needs to hear.
Partners.
Three word prompt: Beckett eating disorder
This is a sensitive topic, but one I feel that's very important and I hope I've done justice. The things that Beckett does here are all things I've done, and while I don't have an eating disorder, I do have a rocky relationship with food at times and this was surprisingly helpful to write. I do hope that if anyone reading is struggling with an eating disorder, you're getting the help that you need. You're incredibly strong, and I believe in you.