Title: Sinning by Silence
Fandom: Castle
Pairing: Castle/Beckett
Word Count: 3289
Rating: Teen/PG
Summary: She doesn't know what she broke, but she knows she has to fix it – fast.
Spoilers: 4x19 "47 Seconds"
Author's Notes: for Katy, who wailed for fix-it fic.
That's what your friend Jesse would call 'sinning by silence.' It's not smart, it's not brave. It's just cowardly.
"You know… now that the case is done, what did you want to talk about?"
(her expression is so hopeful… like everything is going to change for the better)
"Nothing. Nothing important, anyway. I'm gonna head home. Night."
(something wrong with his expression… it's like an oil slick, ready to slide off at any second)
"G'night."
(he doesn't see her perplexity… wouldn't respond to it if he did)
But there is something there. She sees it on his face just before the elevator door closes, when his eyes lock with hers briefly, and she knows. Something is wrong. Something is terribly, awfully, dreadfully wrong and somehow she knows it's her fault. And for the first time in a long time, her Castle instincts kick in, and she knows, she knows that if she doesn't do something, right now, she might never have this chance again.
She leaves everything behind and dashes for the stairs.
"Castle, wait!"
He can't help it. He will never not stop for her. Maybe his mother was right when she said that he can't be around her and not love her.
With a heart as heavy as a brick, he steps back out of the cab and lets someone else have it. He turns to face her. She's slightly flushed and breathing hard as she approaches him, and he realized that she must have run down all four flights of stairs, trying to catch up to him before he got away. He waits for her to speak.
"What's… I mean…" she pauses, flustered, and shakes her head once, hard. She can't find the words for this new, stone face that he suddenly has. "Can we talk? Please?"
There is a very long silence as he studies her before he finally speaks. "What about?"
"That look on your face," she admits, the first truly honest thing she's said to him in months. "I just… please?"
His jaw tightens. He's not sure he can handle a confrontation today. But he can't deny her anything, especially when she's standing there in front of him, looking up at him with those huge, liquid eyes like her heart will break if he tells her no. Finally, he takes a deep breath. Maybe it would be better if they had a clean break. Maybe it's time. "All right."
She lets out a long, slow breath of relief. "Thank you," she whispers. "Can you… will you wait, just a second, while I grab my bag?"
He nods. "I'll wait here," he says.
She nods as well, but she's reluctant to walk away. It's as if she's afraid he might vanish if she turns her back on him. She bites her lip. "Promise?" she says softly.
He nods again. Doesn't smile. "Promise."
"Okay. I'll just be a minute." She turns away, heads back inside, but she keeps looking back at him over her shoulder. She looks like she might cry. She feels like she might cry, but she's not sure why she feels like that.
He's still there when she comes back out, standing exactly where she left him. "Thank you," she murmurs when she approaches him. "Thank you for waiting."
He nods, doesn't speak. He isn't sure what to say. Instead, he flags down a cab and holds the door open for her, sliding in beside her as she gives the cabbie her address. They sit next to one another silently on the ride over, him with his hands in his lap, her with hers twisting the top of her bag. The air between them crackles with tension, but it isn't the usual kind. This kind of tension could kill them.
He follows her into her building and they endure another silent ride up in the elevator. She unlocks the door, ushers him inside, and slips her heels off at the door, shucking her coat and dropping it and her bag on the dining room table before she turns to face him.
He is still standing by the door, as though he expects that he won't be there long.
She swallows hard. "Come in, Castle," she says softly. "Please."
He hesitates, then finally enters the room fully. She tries to smile. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No."
The weak, wavering attempt falls off her face, leaving that earlier expression again. The one where she's about to cry but she doesn't know why. She only knows that this is wrong and she doesn't know how to fix it because she doesn't know why it's broken.
She takes a deep breath, considering how best to approach things, and finally decides to hell with all the planning and strategizing. "Please tell me what's wrong," she finally says. "I can tell something's wrong – something's been wrong, for awhile – but I don't know what it is. I don't know what I did that…" She trails off, swallowing hard, trying not to let the tears fall.
The silence stretches between them for a long moment before he speaks. "You don't know what you did that what?" he asks.
She swallows hard. "That made you look at me like that," she finally whispers. "You're looking at me right now like you hate me, and I don't know why."
He continues to look at her like that. Finally he says, "Because right now, I do hate you."
It hits her like a blow to the gut, like a bullet to the chest. For a moment, she's breathless. "Why?" she finally manages. "What did I do?"
"You lied to me."
Those four words fall out of his mouth and explode on the floor of her living room, and suddenly she realizes that he knows. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." He doesn't say anything else, and after a moment, he turns, heading for the door.
"Please don't go."
He stops with his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn't turn around to face her. "Why should I stay?" he asks. "What's the point? You don't feel the same way, so what else is there to say?"
And then he does turn to face her, and there's fury all over his face. She's never seen him this angry before – ever. "You know what I don't understand, Kate? I don't understand why you would string me along like that. You've made it abundantly clear in the past that you can do your job perfectly well without me, that you don't like me basing Nikki Heat on you, and that as far as your professional life goes, I'm just a problem. So why would you do this? When we talked in September, when you finally came to me, you let me believe there was a chance, that someday when you'd put your mother's case to bed, there would be a chance for us. You never came right out and said it, but we both know you were talking about a relationship between you and me. And that whole time, you knew how I felt and you lied to me, you let me believe that you didn't remember. And I have tried since then to respect your needs and give you the time you needed. And the whole time – the whole time – you've known. You remembered every single second of it."
"I'm sorry," she says, well aware as she says it how pitifully inadequate the words are.
But he continues as though he hasn't heard her. "You want to know what the worst part is?" he asks, and he half-laughs and it's an ugly sound. "The worst part is how hard I've been working to keep you alive without you even knowing it. It's how hard I've been working, juggling you and your mom's case and the phone calls from Smith and knowing, knowing that you needed that closure and not being able to help you get it because I'd rather have you alive and so would everyone else, and the whole time, none of it matters, because apparently I'm just a joke to you."
She feels her jaw drop. What the hell? "What the hell?" she repeats.
He blinks, realizing suddenly that in his rage he has revealed too much, and he presses his lips together. "Forget it," he says, briefly. "It doesn't matter."
"Bullshit, it doesn't matter," she replies, and she straightens, squares her shoulders. "It sounds to me like I'm not the only person who's been concealing a few vital pieces of information. Maybe you'd better start talking, too."
There's a long moment as they stare each other down, the silence between them thick and cold with unshared truths on both sides, and this time it is Rick who caves first. He reaches behind him and flicks the deadbolt lock on the door, and then he steps away from it. He shrugs out of his coat, walking across the room to toss it onto the dining room table next to hers, and then he turns to face her. "How about that drink?" he says.
A few minutes later they are seated comfortably on her couch, facing each other. They are each holding a glass of wine, and the silence between them is thawing a little bit. She goes first, because she has a feeling that hers will be the shorter speech. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she says softly, and there is a lot more meaning to this apology than there was to the earlier one. "I… when you came to the hospital… you know, Josh was there, and I was kind of recovering from a gunshot wound, and I was hurting and scared and confused, and I didn't know what to do. So I lied. I said I didn't remember, because I couldn't deal with what I did remember – and I don't mean you. I mean being shot and almost dying." She takes a deep breath. "Dr. Burke calls it PTSD, obviously. He's the therapist I've been seeing."
"I didn't know you were seeing a therapist."
"I know." She nods. "I didn't tell anyone. It's… I was afraid people would see it as a sign of weakness. And I know that's stupid, but…" She waves a hand. "Anyway. But the problem was that once I'd told the lie – and then after I was gone for so long, it had so much time to fester – and I didn't know how to tell the truth. My mother always used to recite that old saw about the tangled web, and I never realized how accurate it is until I realized that I just didn't know how to tell you that I did remember. And I was afraid."
She shakes her head at the look on his face. "I know. I know how pathetic that sounds. But I was. Rick…" She swallows hard. "Do you remember our second case together, when the nanny was stuffed in the dryer?"
"Of course," he says softly. "I remember all of our cases."
She smiles slightly. "Of course you do." She reaches out tentatively, lays a hand on his forearm and gives him a gentle squeeze that warms him more than a full-body hug could have. "Remember me telling you then that I wasn't an if-at-first-you-don't-succeed kind of girl?"
"You're more of a one-and-done kind of girl," he replies.
She nods. "And Rick…" She swallows hard again, prepares for the biggest admission of her life. "I think… I think it could be you. And that thought absolutely terrifies me… because I think I could be yours, too. And I wasn't sure – I'm still not sure – that I'm capable. I'm not fixed yet, not a hundred percent, and if I ruined this thing between us… I'd never forgive myself. If we do this and it works, it could be absolutely amazing. But if we do this and we screw it up…"
"Scorched earth," he supplies.
She nods. "Yeah. So, you know, I don't want to screw it up."
He reaches out, gently touches her cheek. "You won't," he says softly.
"But I might," she replies. "And if we'd started back at the end of the summer, before I started really talking to Burke and really working on things, I definitely would have. So I hid. But Rick… please don't ever think that I hid because I don't feel the same way about you. I do. I have for a long time. I hid because I was afraid of ruining us."
"You don't have to be afraid any more," he whispers, his thumb grazing along her cheekbone.
She smiles softly. "I know."
Then her hand comes up to rest on top of his. She entwines their fingers, bringing their joined hands down to rest on her knee. "Okay?"
He nods. "Okay."
She swallows hard, takes a deep breath. "Your turn."
He nods. It's time for full disclosure. "After we talked to the fire inspector, just after you came back, I got a phone call. I don't know who he is, only that he's a friend of Montgomery's. He said Montgomery sent him some files that, if they got out, would hurt some powerful people. These files were used as leverage to keep you and Montgomery's family safe. He didn't get them until after you were shot, but now that they knew he had them, you were safe again, under one condition."
"That I had to stop investigating."
He nods. "If you touched the case again and they found out, all deals were off and you would die."
"That's why you asked me to back off."
He nods again.
"And…" she pauses, considers his words. "And you've been investigating on your own."
"Not actively," he admits. "But I have a file on my SmartBoard. And when things come up, I add to that file."
"Things such as…?"
He sighs. "During the Weldon case, he called me again. He's the one who told me there was a conspiracy, and he's the one who gave me the idea to have Sarah listen to the tapes for the right voice."
"So whoever is behind this was also behind Weldon's framing?"
He nods.
"Which means that whoever they are, they're probably in politics."
He nods again. "And higher up than the mayor."
"Which means… Congress. And probably not state Congress, either. We're looking at someone in Washington."
"Kate." He puts his glass down, reaches out to touch two fingers gently to the underside of her chin. "Stop."
"But, I –"
"No. You see? The second you get more information, you immediately start working the case again. And understand – I don't blame you. I would do the same thing. But you can't. Don't you see? They will kill you."
"But Castle, my mom –"
"Would want you alive." He tightens his grip on her other hand. "Kate, listen to me. I am speaking to you now as a parent. If I were in your mom's shoes and Alexis was in yours, I would want her alive far, far more than I would ever want my killer caught. In fact, I would happily watch my killer go free to live a long, happy and fruitful life if it meant she would do the same thing. Do you understand? Your mother would want you to live."
She swallows hard, looks down at their joined hands. "I don't know if I can do that, Castle," she admits. "I don't know if I can just let this go."
They were still for a very long time, and then slowly he withdrew both of his hands from her. "You have to make a choice, Kate," he said softly. "You have to decide if you would rather have justice or if you would rather be happy. But I'm afraid that you can't have both. Because I'm a crime writer, and I know how this story goes."
She swallows hard, looks up at him. "All right," she says softly. "Tell me how it goes."
"If you choose justice," he says softly, "and you pursue this, the most likely scenario is that within just a couple of weeks, your dad and I will be giving the eulogy at your funeral. Then your dad will fall off the wagon and spend the next few years drinking himself to death. Ryan and Esposito will try to solve your case, but because I won't tell them what I know, they won't ever be able to, and it will hang over both of them for the rest of their lives. When they get their twenties, they'll retire and become bitter, angry ex-cops. I will be done writing, because I will never be able to touch Nikki Heat again, and every time I look at a blank page, all I will ever see is your face."
She felt her eyes fill with tears, knowing that he was right. But he wasn't finished.
"In the very unlikely scenario that we are able to investigate and discover this man's identity without him finding out, then the next most likely scenario is that his incredible team of high-priced lawyers will get him off scot-free, at which point you and I will both die in a very elaborately staged 'accident' that may or may not take out several other people as well."
"Castle –"
He shook his head. "In the extremely unlikely scenario that we are able to investigate and discover this man's identity without him finding out, and his incredible team of high-priced lawyers aren't able to get him off scot-free, then the next most likely scenario is that he'll plea bargain, never do a day of jail time, and lose his political career and his reputation – at which point we will both, again, die in a very elaborately staged 'accident' that, again, may or may not take out several other people as well."
"Castle, I –"
He touched one finger to her lips to silence her. "And in the absolutely unbelievable scenario that we investigate, and he can't get off, and he actually goes to jail, then we will still die, because all indications are that he is not the sort of person to lose gracefully, and the first thing he will do from behind bars is give the order to have us and everyone we love killed. You. Me. Your dad. Alexis. My mother. Ryan, Jenny, Esposito, Lanie. Anyone who is connected to this investigation. And, unless I'm completely misreading his personality, you and I will probably be last, because he will want us to suffer before we die."
There were thick tears rolling down her face now, because she could see it as well as he could – the piles of bodies that would build up around them before the end finally came for them as well. "There's no way out of this, is there?" she said softly. "There's no way to win this."
He shook his head. "There's not."
"I have to let this go. I have to let this go, or everyone dies."
"Everyone… or possibly just you."
She took a long, shuddering breath, and then she stood up. She walked across the living room and opened the shutters that held her mother's murder board, and she looked at the papers there for a very long time. Then she reached out a trembling hand, and pulled one down. She stood there for a long moment with that paper in her hands, staring at it, and then she turned to face him. When she spoke, her voice trembled. "Come and help me?" she said softly. "I'm not sure I can do this by myself."
He stood slowly, moving to her side, and he took the paper from her hands. "Always," he whispered. And together, they began to dismantle the board.
~end~