Fill in for "Target." My take on what Gates was thinking during her significant look at Castle and Beckett.
She really should say something.
Gates has never been one to bite her tongue; when she'd first come to the Twelfth, she'd assumed that she'd be scolding Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle from day one. Like many people, she'd thought they'd been lovers from the start of their partnership. What she'd taken at first for extraordinary powers of discretion had turned out to be the fact that whatever else their relationship was, they weren't romantically involved.
That had all changed last year, when the detective had come back from her suspension. The moment the two of them entered the precinct, Gates knew that the two of them were lovers. They were trying to keep it hidden—trying so hard, it was endearing in a way—but were betrayed by their posture, their body language, the besotted looks they gave each other. They might as well have been walking around wearing signs that said WE ARE IN THE HONEYMOON PHASE.
"I give it three months before you catch them doing the deed in a broom closet," said Zack when she told him over dinner.
"Oh, I doubt they'd get that out of control," she'd said.
"Come on, Vickie. This is the clown who stole a police horse and impersonated Lady Godiva. Actually, now that I think about it, I give it two months. Place your bet!"
She'd collected on the bet, of course. Because as ridiculous as Mr. Castle might be and as reckless as Detective Beckett was on occasion, they took their work seriously, And they took their partnership just as seriously, striving to keep it under wraps. What gave them away was the intimacy of every look and gesture. Take those handshakes, for instance. Yes, just a handshake. But handshakes between mere colleagues didn't last for nearly thirty seconds (she'd timed them at one point). Just a handshake, but so much more.
Like now. They are waiting, all of them, for news of Mr. Castle's daughter. Gates can barely bring herself to imagine what the man is going through. For all of his faults, he is by all accounts a loving and devoted father. He is also no fool; he'll see right through all the placatory promises that things will work out, that they'll get his child back safe and unharmed. He's been on too many cases and seen all too often that sometimes things don't work out, that the child comes back damaged or dead or not at all. No words, no matter how reassuring, will help.
Detective Beckett seems to understand that as well. She sits before him, holding his hand, close enough to whisper though she says not a word. There's nothing untoward in what she does. But it's just like their handshakes—intimate. It's not the gesture that a professional partner would offer, but the comfort that only a loved one can give. And that comfort is what's keeping Mr. Castle from falling apart.
So, yes, she should say something to them. But she won't. Not now. It can wait for another time…if there is another time.
Hope you enjoyed it!