Chapter 8

"I will also point out that your conduct, together with that of your so-called team" – Gates's tone bit.

The fire re-sparked.

"We are a team" –

"I doubt that. Your so-called team and so-called partner took no steps at all to assist you to resolve your issues when they became apparent a few months ago. You actively sought to hide your issue. Your collective conduct was unconscionably stupid, and proved quite conclusively that you are neither a team nor a partnership."

Beckett's mouth opened and shut several times. Castle saw the small signs and glanced around, seeking cover. Gates had landed on the one, enormously high risk, strategy that might just work.

"Had you been any sort of a team at all, let alone the team you claimed to be, your co-workers would have acted in your best interests and reported your PTSD to me, regardless of your views on the matter. Had Mr Castle actually been your partner, and not merely been driven by the need to sell more books, he would have had your best interests at heart and" –

Beckett exploded, ignited into furious life.

"How dare you? Castle saved my life and you say he's not my partner? He absolutely is."

Castle gaped.

"Ryan and Espo did more than you ever have to help me and we four are the best team you'll ever see."

Are? Castle thought. What an unconscious admission. You aren't done at all.

"You wouldn't know a partner if it bit you on the ass and you wouldn't know a team either. You deliberately cut me off from my team and you think that's a good thing? Your head's so far up your ass I can see your eyes when you open your mouth. My team got me through and as far as I knew it was all fixed. I hadn't had a single issue in almost six months."

"May I remind you that you are speaking to a superior officer?"

Beckett ran straight over that. Castle didn't think it had been a warning, but goading.

"You're going to fire me. That's what you've wanted since the day I returned because I made detective faster than you and you're jealous." Castle tried to hide. "You've tried to kick Castle to the kerb and that didn't work, so now you're trying to break the team and that won't work either. You might have stopped Ryan and Espo calling me but you can't stop me calling them. If I'm on medical leave you have no authority over what I do and if you try to fire me for talking to my team then I'll be in with the union rep so fast you'll see the sidewalk burning behind me."

"I have already said I do not intend" –

"Yeah, right. Because it looks bad" –

"Enough."

The knife of Gates's icy anger cut straight through Beckett's outrage and silenced her.

"I am not firing you. Therefore you will address me as sir. Further insubordination will not be tolerated. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Beckett's tone was just as icy. She paused. "Sir." Castle breathed again. For an appalled heartbeat, he'd thought she wouldn't give Gates any respect. "With all due respect, sir" – so that would be none, Beckett, which all three of us perfectly understand, because I've seen less bite in Jaws – "I disagree with your comments."

"Which ones?" Gates snapped. Despite the primal terror Gates induced in him, Castle relaxed further. Beckett had been baited into defending her team and out of her terrifying lassitude. His respect for Gates had risen considerably in the last few moments.

"My team is solid. They're what got me through and they did it because they thought it was best for me. They were there when I needed them, same as I've been there for them. Our team is tight. Castle is my partner and will be whether you try and kick him out or not. You won't manage it, because our stats have been better ever since he arrived and if you try and spoil that I'll fight you all the way to the top of 1PP and then the Mayor. They want crimes solved. I'll make it look like you let petty personal prejudice stop that. Sir. So if you want a war, bring it on. You might start it but I will finish it. Sir."

Castle contemplated the value of a blast shield. Beckett barrelled on, utterly enraged: her fury overcoming her physical weakness and holding her up.

"You mess with my team and my partner and you'll have to go through me first. Sir." Gates started a sentence. Beckett didn't let it go past the first sound. "You might be the Captain but you haven't given us any respect, so why would we trust you to do what was best? You haven't earned that right because you've spent six months trying to bring us down and I don't care if you are our boss, I am not letting you destroy my team and my partner, just like you've been trying to all along, because they did what we all thought was best for me. Do you understand me, Sir?"

She finally stopped, the blast furnace still burning in her eyes.

"I understand you perfectly, Detective Beckett. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you right now for your insubordination to a superior officer."

Beckett didn't even have to think, her terrifying intelligence and strategic mind taking hold. Castle mentally applauded Gates, but was exceedingly glad this wasn't taking place in person.

"Because you just deliberately goaded me into losing my temper and defending my team," she said coldly: right back to Badass Beckett, terror of the interrogation suite. "You were testing me to see if I still had it."

She took a deep breath, and straightened her spine, parade attention while still sitting at a kitchen chair in a sleep tee, unshowered and un-made up. Her natural ability had settled back into place, though her fingers trembled.

"You aren't going to fire me because this is the result you wanted. You need me and my team to keep your stats up. You want to be sure I'll keep you looking good at 1PP."

There was a short silence.

"Mr Castle, depart from this conversation."

"Castle, stay put." Beckett snapped. "Anything you say to me, sir, can be said in front of Castle."

The shrug was evident in Gates's tone. "I prefer to deliver reprimands in private, but that is up to you."

"He stays. Sir."

"Very well, then. Your conduct, Detective, has been egregiously stupid. As soon as you had an episode of PTSD on the sniper case, you should have reported to me and sought help. Why you thought that you could solve it yourself entirely escapes me. You are reputedly intelligent, and therefore the only reason I can find for your behaviour is an unpleasant combination of overweening pride and fear of the consequences. I am quite certain that your unfortunate therapist has not been advised of the depth or duration of your PTSD."

As Gates continued, Beckett's rigid spine slumped.

"The single redeeming feature" – Gates's stern discipline softened – "is that you genuinely thought that you had fixed the issue, and that therefore you were fit to continue serving the people of New York. Your defence of your team and partner is commendable, though I advise you never again to use such language and tone to me, should you wish to continue working for the NYPD. Any future occurrence will result in your instant dismissal. Any failure to report any further issues affecting your fitness for duty will also result in your dismissal."

She paused, to give that flaying a chance to strip Beckett's remaining skin.

"You will present yourself back in Manhattan in two days' time, to report to me on Friday morning, at nine a.m. You will then continue on medical leave until both you and your therapist can truthfully" – there was a nasty emphasis on that – "report, separately, to me, that you have fully addressed your PTSD. In that time neither you nor Mr Castle will enter the precinct."

"But sir" –

"No. You have attempted to use your work to mask or overcome your PTSD. Surely it is obvious to you" – Castle heard even to your boneheaded stupidity – "that it has not worked." That wasn't a question. "Therefore we will now do this in accordance with my orders as your Captain. We will discuss this further on Friday. You will not contact either or both of Detectives Ryan and Esposito until further notice, so that you cannot discuss work."

Gates cut the call without farewell. Beckett stared at the phone, and then went completely white.

"Did I really say all that?" she whispered. "Oh my God."

Her head hit the table. All Castle could hear was a repetitive "Ohmigod". He patted her gently on the back.

"You survived."

"Till Friday," she said mordantly, into the table. "Then I'll be executed in the bullpen."

Castle snapped his mouth shut on I'll step in front of the bullet just in time. "Do you want some more soup?" he asked instead.

"I – yes, thanks. But I think I want a shower more."

"Go have it. I'll warm up the soup again while you do." Anything so you don't drop back into that state again.

Shortly, the twin sounds of running water and Beckett expressing disgust at her physical weakness could be heard. Castle stirred the soup, and prayed.


Gates regarded her office with considerable and justified satisfaction. Of course, she had taken a considerable risk which could easily have failed: however, she had bet on Detective Beckett, no matter what her issues, being completely loyal to her team and her partner; and had been proven entirely correct. Gates did not appreciate the tone used to her, but she had quite deliberately provoked the reaction. On Friday, she would have all three detectives present, and no doubt Mr Castle too, and would provide them with a final dressing down.

She reflected, again, that this could all have been avoided if the team had made better decisions months ago. However, it seemed that the unpleasant – and, from Mr Castle's words, likely – situation of Detective Beckett falling into full scale depression, or worse, had been avoided.

Gates didn't expect that Friday's interview would make any of her top team like her any better. That was fine with her. She didn't need to be liked, she merely required each of her teams to show respect and obedience.

That settled, she allowed herself to indulge in a certain amount of private speculation as to the timing of the apparently inevitable outcome of Mr Castle's presence at Detective Beckett's cabin. She had to admit that Mr Castle had some good points, but she would certainly not be letting him know that she approved of his actions and presence with regards to Beckett. Gates was a deeply practical person, and practicality dictated that Mr Castle was (one) good for Beckett and (two) good for the precinct's stats. Therefore she would put up with him in the precinct, where she would profoundly prefer that he was not. Civilians should not be putting themselves in unnecessary danger by shadowing police detectives.

She scowled at the desk at a new consideration. Mr Castle had convinced Beckett to call her. Gates, an extremely intelligent woman, wondered whether, and if so when, Beckett's fury at her would burn out and leave her back where this mess had begun. Sufficient unto the day, Gates quoted to herself, and turned to the rest of her in-tray.


Beckett came back downstairs in a clean t-shirt and sweatpants, wet hair twisted up out of her way. She was cautious and shaking, clinging to the handrail and checking each step before she began the next, but there was still life in her eyes and she hadn't dropped back into that horrifying absence and nothingness.

"Better?"

"Yeah. I'm… I think I'm hungry," she said, sounding surprised. "But after that I want to change my bed sheets and wash some clothes."

"Okay. Here's the soup." Castle whisked a bowl in front of her, which she finished, despite the tremors in her hands as she raised the spoon to her mouth. "More?"

"I think I'd better take it slowly."

"You haven't eaten for what? Six days? You didn't exactly keep down the pizza – Beckett?" A delicate colour had sliced her sharp – too sharp – cheekbones. "When did you last eat?"

"Uh…" She looked completely blank. Her colour had faded to grey.

Castle decided on discretion. "You're right. Better take it easy." If she couldn't remember… if he hadn't come, she wouldn't have eaten. It wasn't a long leap of imagination to reach the next, terrifying, conclusion, because when he got here, and for the six and a half days after, she hadn't cared or been able to eat, and he didn't think she'd cared before that.

He picked up her bowl, intending to tidy up, but before he could turn towards the sink she placed a hand over his, and curled her fingers around to clasp his. Her face, still pallid and fine cut, turned up to meet his clear blue eyes.

"It can wait," she said: stood, still trembling, and wrapped her arm around him. He instinctively embraced her, and as she leant in, cossetted her closer until he was quite sure that he could catch her if she fell. Her tremors were pronounced, and suddenly he was supporting all her weight.

"Kate? Kate!"

Aw, shit!

He scooped her up, carried her to the couch and laid her down, trying not to think laid her out. She'd obviously overdone matters: burned her energy on Gates and, thinking that she was better, stood in the shower and then come back down. Looking at her now, her clothes were as frighteningly loose as – well, as one might expect for a nasty case of flu and inability to eat, coming on top of bleak misery and simply not bothering to eat.

On the other hand, optimism pointed out that she'd recovered some personality and tried to hug him, which was a gesture she'd made maybe, um, three times in her entire life? He checked her temperature – okay – and made himself a coffee while he waited for her to wake up.

The mugful was long done when her lashes twitched.

"Urrggghhh."

That appeared to be the sum total of life.

"What happened?"

"You fainted," Castle said bluntly, "which isn't very surprising because you haven't eaten for at least six days and I bet it's more like two weeks, and then you burned up all your energy trying to turn Gates into a small pile of ashes. She must be made of asbestos."

"Oh," Beckett said in a very small voice. "Oh God." She cringed and shrank into her already thin self. "I said all that? Oh God."

"You got away with it. This time." And you've forgotten that you said you were done and were going to quit. "I don't recommend doing it again, though. Likely she won't appreciate it." He grinned. "Worth listening to."

"Oh God." She tried to sit up, and gave up. Castle ambled over and hoisted her up, which gave him the chance to put an arm around her. If she'd tried to hug him, then he could certainly hug her, even if she was disturbingly floppy. There was a tiny wiggle, which brought her closer, and her hand landed on his knee.

"That's better," he said. "She told you to report to her on Friday at the precinct, so you've got tomorrow to…um…"

"Stop fainting?" The words should have snipped, or snarked. They drooped.

"Prepare, I was going to say. But not fainting would be good, too. How about some dinner?" She made an unhappy little noise. "You have to eat something. You've lost so much weight it's worrying."

"I… there didn't seem to be any point."

Castle's arm inadvertently tightened. Beckett's breath whooshed out of her lungs, and he loosened it. "Oops, sorry."

"It was all gone."

"Mm?" he murmured.

"You'd gone. You didn't answer my calls or texts. I knew you'd given up."

"All I knew was that you'd lied to me. Right up till then I thought you really didn't remember. That was…would have been… okay. But you remembering and not telling me you knew… that wasn't." She shrank away. "You didn't tell me why. You didn't tell me you were trying to fix yourself, or seeing a therapist, or anything. If I'd known any of it… If you'd said anything, then it would all have been different. I'd… I'd still have been there when you" –

"Collapsed," she said flatly, and shrank further away.

He pulled her back again. "It never occurred to me that you were trying to forget the whole of that day. How could it? I didn't know what you were going through because you didn't tell me. I just thought…well, I just thought that you didn't care and it was me – what I said. But it wasn't. That wasn't what it was all about." He paused, because that bit hard, and sometime they were going to need to talk about it. He'd opened his soul to her, but she'd been dying – she had died, twice over – and couldn't bear to remember any of it. "But you do." That was what mattered. "You couldn't say you didn't. And you know I do."

"It still doesn't fix anything." She'd stopped snuggling as soon as the conversation had begun. "I tried and tried and it hasn't worked and what if it happens again? I got a pass this time but I won't get another…" Any further words dissolved into a blur, from which what if I mess you up too eventually dribbled out.

"Let's get to Friday, and see what happens."

"I don't want to go back."

Castle tugged sharply and tumbled Beckett back into a close embrace bearing some considerable resemblance to a cage. "You just went toe-to-toe with Gates to defend your team. You do so want to go back. When you lost your temper it was all about now. Not what was. If you didn't want to go back to being a cop you'd have taken the out and you didn't. So why are you suddenly backing out now?"

Beckett didn't say anything. Castle could feel the shivers through her thin body, and for once said nothing rather than chewing on both feet.

She muttered something, too low to hear, too tired, he thought, to vocalise. He changed tack.

"You've been sick and you're not well yet. Eat something later, and tomorrow, and that'll help." He stopped hard. "Um… how are you going to get back? I mean…are you okay to drive? Because if not, one car is going to have to stay here."

She simply shook her head.

"We'll go in my car, then. It's more comfortable." There wasn't so much as a negating noise. He could only see dark, still-damp hair; could only feel slumped laxity, no more fire or fury, no more strength. He gently grasped her chin to turn her face up to his, and saw only exhaustion and the memory of defeat. But still, no blankness. None of that terrifying absence. "Come here." He brought her in and cuddled her against his shoulder. "You're still tired. Let's go change your bed, and then you can sleep till dinner time."

"'Kay." She stumbled upward, Castle never letting her go and keeping a guarding arm around her until they reached her bedroom. She stared at the crumpled mess of sheets and quilt, the tossed pillows with the smudges of tears and sweat staining them. Castle, for once the practical one, started removing the used linen: Beckett looked as if she would rather fall on the bed than change it: barely managing to remove a single pillowcase while Castle disposed of almost everything else.

"Where's the clean stuff?"

"Cupboard," she said, but sank on to the bed. Castle investigated and returned with a clean set of bed clothes, swiftly making up the bed, working around Beckett, who barely managed to put on the pillowcases.

"I think you should have a rest," he said to her closing eyes, "though it might be better if you undressed first."

She struggled to slide off her sweatpants, which she left where they finally fell, and burrowed under the sheets. Castle tucked the quilt around her, and dropped a tiny kiss on her hair. She was asleep before he'd straightened up.


Thank you to all readers and reviewers, especially to the guests who cannot be thanked directly.