Det. Ryan called. He wanted to know if dad made it home alright. He told me dad ran from Det. Beckett's house.
He said she---
Her apartment was blown up.
Gram is trying his cell right now. I-I….Beckett was….dad really loved her. Really loved her. She was his muse, his inspiration…yet more than that. She was the woman that dad truly loved. I can't believe she's gone. I liked her more than any of dad's other…romantic intrests, love interests…if you can call them that. I love mom and everything…she's just never there. I like having dad around but let's face it…he's a guy. And Grams….her wisdom is equally matched with her age. Det. Beckett was there, I kinda looked up to her (and secretly hoped she and dad would get together). It's be Gram, Dad, Kate and Alexis. Alexis. Alexis!
"Alexis, dear," Gram said, "let's go get your father. They found him down at some pub."
I smiled sadly, grabbing my coat, not bothering to turn the lights off, and following Gram out the door.
"BUT I DIDN'T DRINK THAT MUCH!" Dad yelled.
"Shhh! Dad, you're going to wake everybody up in the building." I whispered.
"Honestly Richard. You're acting mad. We know you only had a few drinks."
"Dad, you couldn't drive. You can't drink and drive. You're too impaired."
Grams and I tried to calm him down. He had pratically wrestled us to drive.
We had entered the pub. Cock and Bull. What a name. The dim lights had proved difficult to find dad. He was over in the corner with an empty beer bottle and two half-full ones, one in each hand, guzzling away.
A fern-like plant draped over his head as he was flopped over the seat, backwards, facing the wall. His eyes were red-rimmed and his nose like Rudolph's. Dark bags formed around those tear-filled orbs. I had never seen a grown men weep as my father had at that very moment, at the loss of his Kate.
"I heard her voice. It blew up. I….I want her back, Lexi. I just want her back."
Grams and I shared a look of pity before turning back to the grown man drowning in his sorrowful grief. Hauling him up, an arm around our shoulders each, we dragged him out of Cock and Bull and into the car.
"No. I'll drive. I can do it." He insisted.
Thus the fighting insued.
"C'mon dad, let's just get you sobered up. We can call the precinct in the morning."
"Why? I'll never go back. That's her place. I can't—I won't—"
"For heaven's sake, Richard, smarten your ass up. Katherine's killer is still out there. Do you want to leave him with that satisfation?" Grams piped in.
"Beckett would want you to solve it, dad."
I stuck the key in the lock and turned, frowning when darkness greeted me. I gulped, looking at grams, whose look I scarcely saw---
Is he here? To get dad? And us?
The fiction that pays for all in our lives sudenly seemed too real…I couldn't bear it. It was the first time I was genuinely scared for my life. And the weirdest part? I was scared for dad. Scared he'd do something stupid.
My mind shifted gears.
We can't protect our selves. Dad---he…..said, "Turn on the lights gorammit. I can't see!!"
He fumbled over, dressed in misery still, and did it himself, turning only to stop staring.
There on the couch was one Detective Katherine Beckett, a glass of our best Bar Veloce in hand, the bottle resting on the floor. She sat, dressed in dad's bathrobe, an unfamiliar towel resting around her neck.
Dad shook. He looked about ready to fall over…or kiss her passionately. What ever works.
They looked eyes in a look I can only describe as secret-telling, sharing all the moments between them, all the teasing, all the smiles, all the flirting, all the annoyance and companionship in a single glance.
She took another sip from her glass, smirking mischievously, "This is really good wine, Castle."