Disclaimer: Not my world, just my words.
She stands at the elevator, dithering. She's early, coming back to work this week. Nobody is expecting her until next week. Once she'd officially cleared the psych evaluation, though, she found she couldn't wait. There was too much weighing on her, and she's tired of putting off the inevitable.
She really has dug a hole for herself. With Lanie, with Castle, with everybody. Especially Castle. What the hell is she going to say to Castle?
All of the things she could say that might help, would mean revealing things she's not ready to reveal yet. All that's left is a bunch of trite justifications, pathetic and unworthy.
She presses the button.
It's a low-key hero's welcome. The entire floor applauding her, welcoming smiles on all their faces. Velasquez is right there by the elevator, giving her a restrained but friendly squeeze of her shoulder. She even gets a few brief hugs (everyone knows she's not much of a hugger, but some of them just can't resist), lots of smiles and whistles, and "welcome backs" by the dozen.
Finally things calm down and it's just her and Ryan and Esposito. Castle is nowhere to be seen. She tries not to let on that she notices; certainly not that she's concerned.
Ryan is the first to speak. "Hey Beckett, what are you doing here? Didn't think you were back until next week."
"Yeah, well, two months listening to crickets in my Dad's cabin was driving me nuts."
Esposito gives her a deadpan look. "It's OK, you don't have to make excuses. We know you missed us; that's why you couldn't stay away."
She rolls her eyes, shakes her head. "Shut up." After a short pause, she continues with, "So, anything?"
The two glance at each other, then Ryan drops the bad news. "Still nowhere."
"What about the grounds keeper?"
Ryan continues, "The guy's a ghost. We ran face hits on surveillance, license plates, nothing panned out."
Esposito pipes in with the little good news they had. "We did get DNA off the weapon, but there were no matches in the system. We flagged it, though."
Ryan voices the question both men are thinking. "Didn't Castle tell you about all this?"
"No."
Esposito is picking up on something, something he really hopes he's wrong about. He tries asking a leading question. "That's weird, why wouldn't he... why would he hide that from you?"
"He's not hiding anything, I just haven't seen him in a while."
"How long is a while?" The suspicion is rapidly becoming a certainty.
"Pretty much since the shooting." She drops the last of her papers on the desk, heads for the break room.
"Why, what happened?" Ryan asks, and Esposito wonders if he's put it together too.
"Nothing happened, I just needed some time."
Esposito knows he's starting to badger her, but doesn't care. So much of Castle's behavior last summer is starting to make so much more sense. "What, he left you alone for three months?"
"You guys, it wasn't his fault, I told him that I would call."
Esposito almost gapes at her, dumbfounded. Who the hell are you? How could you do that to the guy? "Well, why didn't you?"
It's everything he can do not to just... lay into her. God, Beckett, you didn't see him. How he... drove himself into the ground, for you. And you couldn't even be bothered to call him? "He was here with us, every day, working the case. For months! He still would be, if the new Captain hadn't kicked him to the curb..."
So now she's standing in line at a book signing, echoes of a gloomy March morning over a decade ago when she stood in line for 2 hours at another book store waiting to get his signature on her copy of When it Comes to Slaughter.
The only difference - a big difference - is that she's not trying to get a glimpse of him as she stands in line. In fact, she's having to pay close attention as the line moves, repositioning herself constantly so that he can't see her. Always keeping one or two others between her and Castle. The job gets tougher as the line shortens.
She spends the time trying to figure out what she's going to say to him. Everything she comes up with that isn't complete bullshit is something she would never want to say. "Sorry I ditched you for the summer, but I was a pathetic wreck?" Yeah, right. "I heard what you said but I'm too gutless to say it, myself?" True, but not likely to help.
He's going to bail the minute he sees her, she knows it. At least here, in front of his public, he won't be able to just cut and run.
If she could get him to hold still for, oh, half a day, maybe she could get it out and make him understand.
Maybe she can frame him for something? She could haul him in, have him as a captive audience in holding. Or maybe she could make her confession to him across the interrogation table.
Two people left in line ahead of her. She can hear his voice now, deep, quiet and warm as he greets each fan. It's also a bit gruff. He has probably been doing this almost every day for a few weeks, so she can understand his voice being a little raw at this point. The huskiness makes it even more appealing.
The sound tugs at her heart, makes her feel that warm buzz in her gut, just as it always has, even through the overlay of guilt. If only she can make him believe how much she has missed that voice, hearing it on the phone, in the car, next to her at the desk or the murder board.
Through some cosmic stroke of good fortune, he's zoning out a bit, staring at nothing, just as she steps up. As he snags another pen from the mug to his right, he says, "whom should I make it out to?"
That, at least, gives her something concrete to respond to, instead of blurting out one of her half-assed prepared lines.
"Kate." He doesn't recognize her voice immediately, and he is still wearing a polite smile as he looks up. "You can make it out to Kate." Then her heart sinks as she sees the gentle smile disappear. His expression goes blank; no happiness, no pleasure, not even anger. It's the expression he wears when he's playing poker and dead-set on winning.
Oh, God, this was a mistake, she shouldn't have come here. She should have done something else, anything, called or emailed first, something to lay the groundwork for her apology. Did she just take a bad situation and turn it into a disaster? Is there any hope at all of salvaging this?
He hears her name, her voice, but can't actually believe it is her until he looks up. There it is, the face that haunts him, and despite everything, he feels that pull, the bittersweet feeling that he could just... drown in her, spend his every waking moment gazing on that face, and die happy.
He's about to speak, then catches himself and glances past her, sees the dozens of people still waiting to meet him, and his guts clench, painfully, as he realizes why she has done what she has done. Really, Kate? Really?
As if everything else has not been bad enough, now she pulls this stunt. No phone call, no visit to his loft. No, she has to do it in public, at a book signing, no less, so he won't make a scene. Do you really think so little of me, Kate? Or are you just such a coward?
He studies her silently, as he tries to think of something to write. Something that doesn't reflect what he's feeling at the moment, something that he won't regret.
To Kate: Welcome back to the land of the living. Rick Castle
He hands the book back to her, never breaking eye contact. He watches as she takes in a breath, lips parting, preparing to say something more, and cuts her off with a look. He holds her gaze, shakes his head emphatically. Not here, Kate. Not now. Time for you to wait.
Then he's looking past her to the next woman in line.
Kate can take a hint. She takes her book and heads for the door, more thoroughly chastised than if he'd actually chewed her out and had security give her the bum's rush.
It takes far more willpower than he expected not to watch her go.
He turns to the next person, a silver-haired, matronly woman with kind eyes. "Thank you for coming out. Whom should I make this out to?"
Thank God this is his last book signing for the week; he'll have almost a week's break before the next one. He'll be drinking green tea with honey and lemon for the next 3 days, just to repair the damage to his vocal cords.
Had he really thought she'd leave? No, he's not that foolish. But he's still a little surprised that she waited him out, hanging around the front of the book store until the signing was over. He gives her one exasperated glance, then walks past without a word. He hears her boots scrape against the pavement as she pushes away from the wall, turning to follow him.
"Castle, wait."
He won't give her the satisfaction of seeing him turn around. "I did; for three months. You never called."
"Look, I know you're angry."
Angry? ANGRY? He can't contain himself now, pivoting on his heel to face her. For just an instant, he's sure that this is it; he's going to lose it, just unload on her, and say things he won't be able to take back, she won't be able to forgive. He clenches his hands into fists and exerts every last bit of self-control to hold in that outburst. The struggle seems to last forever, but probably is no more than a second or two.
"Oh, you're damn right, I'm angry!" He's a little ashamed to take pleasure in the look on her face, but finds he's not above it at all. How could she... "I watched you die in that ambulance, did you know that? Do you know what that's like? Watching the life drain out of someone you-" he catches himself, the habit of concealment so strong, "someone you care about?"
"I told you I needed some time."
"You said a few days."
"I needed more."
"Well, you should have said that." He turns away again, done with the conversation, maybe done with her. Thinking of nothing but putting as much distance between them as possible.
"Castle, look, I couldn't call you, OK?" There's a hint of panic in her voice. It's that, not her words, that convinces him to wait. "Not without dragging myself into... everything that I was just trying to get some space from."
He won't speak, but at least he stops, and turns back to look at her.
"I needed some time to just work through everything."
Yes, work through everything... without me. Nothing he can do will keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Josh help you with that?"
She can't meet his eyes, glancing away as her mouth works, trying to get the words out. "We broke up." And with that, whatever she's using for courage deserts her. She turns and walks across the street, barely checking for traffic as she goes.
He watches her go, feeling... he doesn't know what he's feeling. They broke up. Josh is gone. What is he supposed to do with that? What is she trying to tell him, with that admission? Nothing can ever be simple between them, no communication is direct. It's all code and subtext and leading questions and evasive answers. He's so damned weary of it. He wants to catch her, drag her down and force her to come clean, somehow.
So, buddy, what's it going to be? Are you going to chase her again? Something in him, some deep male part of him rebels at the thought. He's chased her enough; why must it always be him putting himself out there? He's got his pride, dammit.
It's that thought that makes him freeze.
Man, four months ago you sat on a cracked plastic chair in a hospital corridor, cursing yourself a hundred times over for all the times you let your pride get in the way with her. Were you telling yourself the truth, or just being some sort of fucking drama queen?
He grits his teeth. OK, one last time. He takes off after her, hoping she's stopped somewhere in the park across the street.
Kate doesn't make it even halfway through the park before her legs start to fail her. Her vision is blurring, and she's berating herself over and over: you are not going to lose it here, in public, you are not going to break down and cry in front of all these people. She'll sit down, calm herself for a moment, but there isn't a bench in sight.
She spots the swings to her left, detours toward them and drops into one with a grim sigh.
The book is heavy in her grip, far heavier than it has any right to be. She looks at what Castle has scrawled on the cover and almost loses it again. If only he knew.
She opens it again, is quietly re-reading his dedication, the kind, respectful, loving words for her beloved friend and mentor. She's so engrossed in it that she almost doesn't notice that someone has taken up residence in the swing to her left. Almost.
She glances out of the corner of her eye. Thank God. It's Castle, of course it's Castle. The man who waits for her. Always.
Not for the first time, she wonders what she did in some previous life to have this, to have him. Because surely nothing she's done in this life makes the grade.
She starts with something light, not wanting to push into the heart of it right away. "I like the dedication..."
His answer is terse, almost abrupt. "It seemed right."
Before she can lose her nerve, she tries something a little... leading... an opening for him to voice some of his feelings. "Must have been hard, writing that ending."
"Yeah, yeah.. given the circumstances, yeah." He waits, but she seems to have run out of things to say. Will he pick up the ball? "So, why'd you guys break up?"
She considers her answer carefully. This is the moment of truth. Time to let him in, even if just a little. The idea of opening up completely still fills her with an almost unreasoning terror, but she's more terrified still of losing him.
She wants to tell him about all the times over the summer when she reached for the phone, even going so far as doing that "dial every number except the last" thing like some lovesick high school girl. But every time she tried, the black dread gripped her, the specter of every failed relationship, every time she blew some poor bastard out of the water, some guy who never did anything wrong except get involved with Katherine Beckett.
She's the world heavyweight champion of relationship killers. This summer, Josh; before him, Tom; before that, Will, and how many more before him? Over and over, like a curse, she can always find some way to screw things up. And now Castle, a relationship stillborn, has she killed it before it even had a chance?
"I really, really liked him." She pauses, looks directly at him. His face is still turned away, but she knows he'll turn to look at her eventually, and when he does, she wants him to see her looking at him. Giving him her full attention. The words are for him, and nobody else. "But that wasn't enough."
Not any more. Not now, now that there's you. Never again.
"After my mother was killed, something inside of me changed. It's like I... built up this wall, inside. I don't know, I guess I just didn't want to hurt like that again."
Please, God, Castle, if you ever read between the lines, do it now. Because this is all I've got the courage to say right now.
"I know I'm not going to be able to be the kind of person that I want to be, I know I'm not gonna..." and thank God, he's looking at her, now when it counts, and her eyes never leave his as she continues, "I'm not going to be able... to have the kind of relationship I want, until that wall comes down." You, Castle. It's you. Please, please, please understand. Give me a chance.
"And it's not gonna happen until I put this thing to rest."
She watches him, studies him like a suspect across the interrogation table, using all her skill and sense of expression and body language, and her heart sings when she sees his reaction. Message received, loud and clear.
"Well then, I suppose we're just gonna have to find these guys and take 'em down." He pauses before continuing. "Doesn't mean I'm not still mad."
"The boys told me about what you did, following the money trail. Trying to track down who the cops paid off."
So, Ryan and Esposito saw her earlier. Unfortunately, he hasn't had a chance to update them on what he's found. He'd passed the job off to Pierce the day before he left for the book tour.
Pierce grabbed the ball and ran with it, who knows what resources he used, but he tracked down old regulatory filings for the bank and through that, the names of the officers at the time the bank was closed. After that, it was child's play to find their current whereabouts. Castle had contacted one of them just the previous day, gotten the scoop. Then, the bad news had surfaced only that morning...
"I just wish it led somewhere. I mean, I located the files. When the bank closed, they took all the dead account paperwork and stored it in a warehouse, in Union City. But.. a couple years after the move, a fire broke out, the files were destroyed. It's just another dead end."
Something about this ticks at Kate's subconscious, that suspicious thing lurking in the hind-brain that picks up on the patterns... and the discrepancies. "How did it happen?"
"It was an accident, it was old wiring."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, there was an investigation."
"Well, did you see the report from the fire investigator?"
"No, but..." He pauses, realizing what she's getting at, and looks at her, more than a little incredulous. "Really, a warehouse fire? Seems an awful lot of trouble just for a couple of files."
"That's no more trouble than they've already gone through; I mean, we have to read that report." She pauses, then finally decides to turn on the charm. "It's just, there's this one problem..." She screws up her face in mock concern, looking up at the sky.
"What?"
"Well... how ya gonna help, if Gates kicked you out?" She gives him a sidelong glance, long on playful sexiness.
"I only let her kick me out because there was no reason to stay."
"Oh." She rolls her eyes, just a touch, and lays on the sarcasm, smiling, loving it, loving every second. God, she's missed this, missed him.
"She'll take me back."
Beckett, gun once again in hand, catches up to him outside Gates' office. "Showing her up with the mayor? You might as well have beaten a beehive with a bat!"
Castle would never let on how much it still stings, the memory of that hellish morning when Gates had called him in to her office to tell him he had no place in her precinct, how she didn't want him wasting her detectives' time. And just how welcome this chance at revenge (however petty) had been. "It worked, didn't it? Besides, it sure was great, seeing her face twitch like that."
Ryan is at the murder board posting a few photographs, as they approach. Old home week...
Castle starts scanning the board, trying to take it in as quickly as possible, speed-reading through the notations. Beside him, Beckett is doing the same. The warm familiarity of it loosens the knots inside him. Maybe things will be OK, they can get through this and keep moving forward.
Society murder, Sonya Gilbert, a paparazzi staple. Sounds open and shut; a neighbor saw her boyfriend leaving the morning of the murder. He's a rock drummer, with a history of drug use. Castle is just starting to get warmed up when Esposito calls them aside.
He has a copy of the fire investigator's report, and the fire was just a few weeks after Beckett's mother was murdered. Seems Beckett's instincts haven't been affected at all. Damn, how did she do that?
She just keeps right on amazing him, time after time.
Later that night, Castle is sitting at his desk, making notes and trying to let his mind free-associate, and not to become too concerned over Kate. It's a lost cause, of course; he can't recall ever seeing her so... broken, before. It feels like she's clinging at straws. Everything about Rod Halstead screams "straight-arrow", no indication whatsoever that he had been compromised, but Kate insisted - almost hysterically - that he must have been. That there was no way the fire was an accident.
She's clinging to that one lead like it's the difference between life and death, and it frankly scared the hell out of him. He keeps seeing the look on her face, hearing the tremor in her voice as she almost broke down, ticking off every death and loss. How there are no more options, nowhere to move the investigation. "Everybody is GONE, Castle."
His heart aches at the memory, how badly he wanted to comfort her in that moment, to tell her "not everyone," then just take her in his arms and tell her that everything would be OK, but there was no way, just no way. Things are still too raw, too... prickly between them, the hurts are too fresh, their old comfort zone not yet regained. Even at their best, it would have been hard - and risky - to offer that; but as they are right now? It would be a disaster in the making.
He's so engrossed in his thoughts that when Alexis comes in, he doesn't even notice. He knows something is wrong, instantly; Alexis almost always knocks before she enters his study. Tonight she manages to make her way to the chair, even seat herself, before speaking. How long has she been there, studying him?
"Missed you for dinner tonight."
"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I was working."
"You were with Beckett." It's not a question. He can hear the carefully controlled anger, her voice too even, almost stilted.
He's not going to lie to her. The rift is bad enough already. "Yeah."
"Thought you said you weren't going back."
About this, at least, he can be honest. "I'm not." When he sees her sceptical expression, he continues, "Look, I'm not, it's just this one case."
"Yeah, well, there's leftovers in the 'fridge." She gets up, quickly, and makes for the door. He's just about to call her back when the phone rings. Grimacing, and feeling a little cowardly about answering the phone instead of pursuing his daughter, he scoops up the receiver. He notes, with a little confusion, that the Caller ID is blocked; still, he answers, welcoming the distraction.
"Hello."
"Mr. Castle?"
"Yeah."
"I'm a friend of Roy Montgomery's." The voice is not familiar to him, and he wonders how the man got his number. "I'm calling about Detective Beckett. We need to talk."
What the hell is this? "You have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but..."
"If you need a name, you can call me Mr. Smith."
Yeah, right. "Not Agent Smith?"
A dry chuckle drifts back across the line. "I suppose I should have expected that from you, Mr. Castle. No, Mr. Smith will do."
"All right, Mr. Smith. You have my attention."
"It's better for both of us that you know as little about me as possible. I will tell you this: Roy Montgomery was an old and very close friend. I owed him a great debt; the biggest debt one can owe, in fact. The time has come to pay it."
Castle debates, very briefly, whether to press for more information. He decides to let Mr. Smith tell him as much as he will, freely, and only then try for more. Pry too much and the man might hang up. And Castle needs information like he needs air.
"I'm willing to leave it at that. Why are you calling me?"
"Because I can only pay part of the debt, myself. You appear to be the only person who is positioned to do the rest."
"Yeah, well, I owe the Captain too."
"Before Roy died, he mailed me a package. It contained a great deal of information. Old police reports, results of investigations, bank statements, and more. The information would be very damaging to some very important, and very powerful people."
"Why did he send it to you? That sounds like the sort of information he should have given to his detectives."
"The information is very embarrassing, even damaging; but in my opinion it would not be conclusive. Not enough for a conviction in a court of law. The notes that Roy included suggest that he was of the same opinion."
"So what was his purpose, in sending it to you?"
"He knew that I am in a position to use that information as leverage."
"Leverage for what?"
"Leverage to keep his family safe. His wife and children... and Detective Beckett." His phrasing doesn't escape Rick's notice.
"It doesn't seem to have worked. After all, we both know what happened last May."
"I didn't receive the information until after the funeral. Bad timing. I was... not in the city."
"I see. So, again, why call me?"
There is a pause on the line. He suspects that Mr. Smith is weighing just how much to tell him. "The file also contained a photograph of you, and some after-action reports that... spoke to your character. It also contained detailed notes about you from Roy, himself. It appears that he held you in very high regard, Mr. Castle."
He pauses, clearly waiting for Rick to fill the silence, but Castle finds himself suddenly too choked up to speak. It's amazing how the grief can sneak up on him at the weirdest times, blind-siding him, even now.
After a moment, Smith continues. "Which brings us to your part in all this. I have contacted the people in question through secure channels. I have made it clear that if they move on Roy's wife or children, or Detective Beckett, that I will make the information public in the most damaging way I can possibly manage."
"I see. And what was their reaction?"
"They have agreed to... refrain from any action. I've been monitoring Detective Beckett's progress, and I'm aware that she has now returned to active duty. Which brings us to you. The people in question had one condition: Beckett must cease all investigations into the matter."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Do I really have to answer that question, Mr. Castle?"
"So, you want me to... steer her off the case, is that it?"
"Exactly."
Oh, God. How the hell is he going to do this? "That won't be easy. You probably know enough about her to know that. She has already tried to get back into the case, today."
"Then you've got your work cut out for you, it seems."
Castle continues, speaking as much to himself as to Mr. Smith, "The only good news is that it doesn't seem that our one lead is going to pan out. But she's a bulldog, Mr. Smith."
"I didn't say your job would be easy; just that it was your job. Roy seemed to believe that you were the only person with enough influence over the Detective to do this."
"The Captain may have been overly optimistic."
"For her sake, I hope you are wrong. For both your sakes. Goodbye, Mr. Castle."
"Wait! How do I get in touch with you?"
"You don't. If there is any reason, I will contact you."
"Mr. Smith!"
"Yes?"
"Was... was he a cop, or was he at the DA's office?"
There is a pause, and for one brief, pulse-pounding moment Castle thinks he's going to get an answer.
"She needs you alive, Mr. Castle."
The line goes dead.
