Aftermath
The entire floor smells like Chinese food when she steps off the elevator. The conference room is filled with cops, all holding paper plates and plastic silverware as they pile food onto their plates. She stops at her desk, dropping her things into one of the drawers. Her hand hesitates over the pocket of her purse where Castle had stuck the bottle of pills from the night before. She should take one proactively, stopping the pain before it ripples down her arm and chest. Gripping the bottle between her knees, she twists the cap off and shakes one of the little pills onto her desk.
"You gonna eat?"
He's in the doorway, holding out a plate of her chicken and rice, a pile of vegetables mixed with ginger beef that he knows she loves but refuses to pay the extra money for also on the plate. She smiles, handing him her empty mug in a trade.
"Wanna get me some water, please?" As if to prompt him, she points to the pain medicine next to her keyboard. He nods, approving of her willingness to treat herself, and takes his cup as well.
She picks at the food. Her stomach is still twisting but she forces herself to stab a piece of chicken, dragging it through the extra sauce pooled on the plate. He places the mug of water on her desk, sitting in front of the keyboard with his own plate.
"Lanie have anything for you?" he asks, stealing a piece of her beef.
"Nothing new."
Popping the pain med into her mouth with the orange chicken to disguise the taste, Beckett watches Castle from the corner of her eye. He's busy eating, one of the files they haven't gotten to yet open on his thigh as he reads the information. A glance down tells her it's for the Vega case a few weeks back. They really need to get these reports typed up faster; no wonder the district attorneys are all over them to get the D5s into the official files for trial.
When she looks up, he's staring at her. "Ogling my muscular legs, Detective?" he teases, scooping up some rice on his fork.
"You wish."
Some of the beef and most of the chicken are left on her plate when she gets up to toss it into the trash in the break room, adding it to the pile from the other officers. She passes Ryan and Esposito as they head out; Ryan has a Post-It in his hand with an address scribbled across it. And for a moment, it hits her. She's stuck here while the rest of her team is free to leave, to make a difference. Paperwork and boredom and Castle for who knows how long.
"Just have a few more cases to type up." His voice makes her jump, fingers wrapping around the edge of the counter. He's leaning in the doorway with his empty plate and the plastic fork. "You have a plan once we finish those?"
"No," she returns. "Probably filing. You should go home, though."
"I'm staying here. I need to make it up to you."
"Make what up to me?" She already knows.
He dumps the plate and fork into the trash. "Getting you shot. I should have done something…"
Beckett shoves him against the counter with her left shoulder, crowding close. "It wasn't your fault." He starts to open his mouth to protest but she continues without giving him a chance to jump in. "The psycho with the gun who stood over me and pulled the trigger is the one who is guilty here. Were you that guy, Castle?"
"No, but if I had…"
"No. I don't want you to have done anything," she says forcefully, stepping back, and dragging a hand over her hair, loosening the French braid. "Yeah, it sucks getting shot, but it sucks even more knowing that you took someone's life. Even if that life belonged to a man aping your books. Do you understand?" She fixes him with a look, pleading for him to get it.
He tips his head back, eyes sliding shut for a moment. "I feel useless. I felt useless. Do you know what it's like? Standing and watching a person level a gun at someone you care about?"
"Yeah, I do. And that sucks too. But it's my job to take the bullet, not yours." She spins away, heading back to the bullpen and leaving him stunned in the break room.
His chair is still positioned in front of her desk, her rolling chair off to the side, but she doesn't have the patience to switch them. The ugly brown chair has a screw in the back that pokes her spine so she sits forward, opening a blank report on the monitor to start filling in the form with the information from the Vega case. After a minute of single-hand typing, she looks up. Castle is still in the break room, pacing. She feels a twinge of guilt for pushing the issue.
Beckett is about to get up, go and apologize for being harsh when he moves out of the room, jaw set as he stands next to her chair.
"Who was shot?" he asks, steel hiding under the quietness of his voice. "The person you saw get shot. Who were they?"
"My training officer, Mike Royce. Some drug dealer had him at gunpoint. I wasn't fast enough around the corner and Royce took two to his side. Hospitalized for a few days, out of commission for a month. He was miserable and I spent the entire time kicking myself in the ass. If only I had been quicker. If only I hadn't taken the second door instead of the first. If only we had called for backup earlier and had a team there. Castle," she says softly, drawing his eyes to hers. "The if onlys will drive you insane. Trust me. You keep thinking about what you could have done and you let the bad guys win even after they've lost. Do not let Scott Dunn win." Her unspoken 'please' hangs between them.
He gestures for her move over to her seat. Once she's sitting in the black chair, he nods toward the file still open on the surface of the desk. "Next time," he says, clicking the next box on the form that needs to be entered, "I get a gun."
She manages a small smile, angling the manila file toward her. "Yeah, that's not happening."