Chapter 14
Castle, losing himself in writing, surfaced late morning to find no missed calls, but, much to his surprise, a text. Not that the text told him anything, except that at some indeterminate point of the morning Beckett would see her shrink. He returned to his keyboard, but failed to concentrate, made a grilled cheese sandwich, and failed to savour it, and then tried, fruitlessly, to write for some time longer.
Mid-afternoon, he gave up. Beckett must surely have seen her shrink by now. If nothing else, he justified to himself, he could tell her himself that he'd made an appointment with Burke. It was tissue-tenuous – and entirely unnecessary, since Burke had made it clear that he would himself tell Beckett – but it was all he needed. He didn't feel totally good about having stormed out the day before.
After some thought, he purchased two coffees from the nearest coffee bar to Beckett's apartment. Of course she had a machine, but…it was a statement, without having to open his mouth. He still didn't understand why she was so insistent that he'd grow to resent her. How could he? If he didn't now, he never would.
He rapped assertively on her door. He was about to rap again, much louder, when he both remembered the unsleeping baby nearby and heard movement.
"What happened to you?" he blurted, as she opened the door.
She stared at the two cups of coffee, and didn't answer his question, wavering sideways to let him in.
"You shouldn't be up."
"I had to answer the door."
Castle coloured. "Sit down now, before you fall over," he said, and recovered his composure.
She sat. "You brought coffee."
Castle put the coffee on the table, and sat next to her, regarding her pallid face and the dark circles ringing her eyes with worry. "I thought you were better? We came back because you were better."
"Yeah. Me too." She slumped. Castle slung an arm around her, and put her coffee under her nose. "Thanks." Several gulps went down her throat, and she brightened up. "That helped."
"D'you think you should go back to a doctor? You've been back four days and you're shattered again. You were asleep, weren't you?"
She merely nodded, and leaned on him. His fingers closed around her arm. There and then, he could be easy; forget the problems that beset them; forget the hard words and quarrels – and remember only the feeling of soft Beckett nestled into him, quiet and peaceful.
"You know I'm seeing Burke tomorrow," he said, since after all he'd had a purpose in coming here.
"Yes."
"Um…are you okay with it? Really okay, I mean? Because if not I'll cancel and" –
"It's good." She downed another slug of coffee, in a conversation-ending fashion, and put the go-cup down.
Castle snugged her in a little more closely, and didn't comment on her laxity or the way in which her head fell against him. Since she was there, he dropped a tiny kiss on her dark hair, unable to resist the temptation. There was a soft sigh, and a further relaxation. If only they never tried to talk, but simply stayed close-cuddled, Castle mused, it would be perfect.
"Missed this," she murmured into his neck. "My pillow smelled like you."
"I'll bring my cologne over and spritz your sheets," Castle said lightly, thinking oh shit oh shit oh shit. "That would do it."
"This'll do." She shifted slightly, and became closer. "Just this." Serenity surrounded them, until she spoke again. "I had an episode," she said miserably, "in the session." Castle petted gently, and didn't say anything. "They just keep happening. How am I ever going to get anywhere if I can't deal with the original problem?"
"Isn't that what you need to work through with the shrink? He's the one who should know." He dropped another delicate kiss on her hair, and wrapped her in. Her hand crept up to his shoulder.
"How can you do this?"
Not this again.
"Even after Monday, here you are, holding me up."
Wait, what?
"I couldn't even think of what to say to you this morning. I can't even manage to explain what I mean and then we just go round in circles and it all goes wrong."
Uh?
She ran down, but stayed tucked in, unmoving and tense. Eventually, she spoke again, head still down. "I can't do talking. I hate it. Everyone always says you should talk but it never solves anything. All I do when I try is get it wrong."
Realisation suddenly hit Castle with the force of a runaway Amtrak engine. Beckett never talked with her words. But she'd spent months trying to show him through her actions that she was trying to get closer: ever since she'd come back – she'd come to the bookstore, but she hadn't said anything much; she'd taken all sorts of little actions, but she hadn't spoken. He did words. She…didn't. And because she didn't and he did, he'd misunderstood her.
Of course, it didn't help that she'd been hiding any weakness and trying to forget the greatest weak point of all – dying. When you were a hero, dying was the ultimate weakness. And he'd made her a hero, in every book, and she'd believed – she'd said it – that because that was how he'd written her, that was what he wanted; that was all he saw. She'd never acted any other way. Trying to open up her actions, but never ever showing a weak point, or an action that might point to one. He thought back to the sniper case: a perfect example, and wondered again how she'd been cut.
"So don't talk," he said. "Just stay right here, and let me hold you."
"Don't talk? You've spent all this time wanting me to talk, and now you're happy I don't?"
"For now. We can talk later, when the shrink thinks it might work. We don't need to talk right now. Let's just stay like this. It's comfy. I like comfy, and you're nice and cuddly. Like having a teddy bear when I was small." He demonstrated, by turning her so she ended up in his lap with her head never quite leaving his shoulder. "There. All nice and cosy." One hand stroked her hair and back; the other curled itself around her and made sure she was kept close against his wide chest. She was still so appallingly thin and fragile – oh. "Did you get any lunch?"
A dark head shook. "I was so tired…" She sounded exhausted.
"Are you hungry now?"
"No." She yawned, and curled in. Her hand fell from his shoulder to his hip. It was only too obvious that she was going to fall asleep again, or the next best thing. "I didn't know how much I needed you to be there until you weren't," she whispered. Castle wasn't sure that she knew she'd vocalised that comment. A minute later he was sure that she didn't know it, as her body went limp against his and her head became heavy. He resettled her to avoid his arm going numb, and considered.
She should eat. She needed – obviously, idiot – to sleep. She shouldn't be as tired as she was, and she should go to the doctor, again. None of which was within his control, though he could suggest.
The one thing that was definitely within his control was that she needed him to be there, and there he was. Unfortunately, shortly he would have to be gone: he had to get home for some time with Alexis, who had already suffered three weeks of unannounced absence. He tapped Beckett's cheek, which achieved nothing, tugged a tendril of hair, which achieved even less, and, with a sigh, heaved himself up to carry her to her bedroom. That, awkwardly, done, he searched out paper and pen and left a note, weighted down by the light on her nightstand.
Had to go home. Eat something. Text/call me. RC.
He thought about adding an x to the end, and eventually rejected it. He wanted to, but she was so damn spooked by everything that it might just be one thing too much. That nervousness didn't stop him leaving a soft kiss on her forehead, though.
Beckett woke, much later, creases marked into her skin where her clothes had pressed as she slept; alone. When she looked around, she spotted the note, read it, and managed a sickly-weak smile. Eat something. If only she were (one) hungry and (two) had anything in her fridge. Somehow she didn't think that milk in her coffee counted as food. On the other hand, she certainly wouldn't be allowed back to the precinct if she couldn't pass the fitness requirements.
If, that was, she wanted to go back.
She thought over that part of the session, and the lacerating calls and meetings with Gates. She hadn't stopped to think before defending her team – and whatever Gates had said, it was her team – oh. Whatever she might have thought or said or believed, when the chips were down it was her team and she was keeping it.
In which case, she'd better get herself back on track. And that meant, whether she felt hungry or not, eating.
She ordered a pizza, and while waiting stepped on her bathroom scales. Very quickly, she stepped straight back off, horrified. She'd lost how much weight? Surely not. That wasn't possible unless you starved yourself. She hadn't done that. She hadn't… oh.
She had. Not intentionally, but…she thought. She didn't remember whether she'd eaten at the cabin before Castle showed up. Then she'd thrown up the pizza, then she'd been so ill she didn't remember anything. And since then she'd eaten, but she'd hardly wanted anything much and even lifting spoon or fork to mouth had been too much effort to make for some days. She'd better eat some of the pizza. Tomorrow, she'd get some ice-cream. That would slide down easily, and it had calories.
When the pizza arrived, she forced herself to eat a little more than she really wanted, put the remaining half in the fridge, and then ran herself a hot, bubbly bath. She sent a brief text to Castle. She owed him a lot more than that, but she'd run out of energy. Ate. KB.
She didn't add a glass of wine to her soothing bath, because even if she had wanted one, which, on reflection, she didn't, she would have worried that it would go straight to her head. Being drunk wasn't going to improve anything, and a hangover certainly wouldn't help her do her grocery shopping the next day, especially when that wasn't her favourite thing.
She slid into the bath, and let the heat seep into her tired limbs and body. It helped, a little, though she still had no idea how to overcome her PTSD or to talk properly to Castle without having another episode or another fight. Still, Dr Burke seemed to think everything could be fixed, which was reassuring. Probably. She drifted without thinking any further, until the water cooled, and then fell back into her bed and to more of the heavy, yet unrestful, sleep.
Castle had reached home in good time for dinner and catching up with his family, in which pursuit his happier mood wasn't dented. Even his mother was on good form: her latest venture was going well and she was very amusing on the foibles of the cast – though from her conversation she herself appeared to be a paragon of the profession: transcending Hepburn, Bacall, and Streep. He preserved a fond smile, and didn't contradict her.
After dinner, though, he repaired to his study and considered both Beckett and the looming worry of Dr Burke. Beckett had been snuggly, but appallingly tired. He wondered just how much better she really was, and then whether she would work out why his aroma had been all over her bed in the cabin – and then, whether he would survive it. Still, she'd been pretty clear about cuddling in, and whether she'd meant to say it or not (he was betting on not), she'd been crystal clear about how much she needed him.
His phone pinged, and, much to his astonishment, it was a text from Beckett, confirming that she'd eaten. She'd read his note, and actually taken the time to reassure him that she was acting sensibly. Wow.
He turned to the unpleasant thought of Dr Burke. He hadn't even met the man, and he was already halfway to being nervous about him. He knew exactly why. Dr Burke had shut him down hard for trying to manipulate Beckett into having treatment, and while the man had been right, it made Castle's stomach squirm. On the other hand, he'd listened.
Much later, with nothing resolved, he occupied a soothing hour in shooting on-line bad guys and then went to bed.
"Rick," Dr Burke said. He wasn't anything like Castle had expected, which only proved to Castle the depths of his own unconscious biases. He had expected a smallish, roundish, professorial type. What he saw was a tall, muscular African-American man with wise brown eyes. About the only point of similarity with his view was that Dr Burke was likely sixty-odd. "Take a seat."
"Thanks."
"Now, you told me a great deal on the phone, but I should like to clarify the order of events before we go further."
"Okay."
"Please start at the beginning of the situation, as you see it."
Castle gathered his thoughts. "Well, um… I guess it really started when Beckett was shot. Because she ran off for the whole summer and didn't get in touch with anyone. But when she came back she came to find me but she didn't tell me anything, really, just talked about a wall and how she couldn't do anything till it came down." He stopped. "Actually, that's not right."
"Mm?"
"Just before she was shot, I thought – I was sure – she was telling me she was ready to jump in. But then she got shot and it all fell apart."
"I see."
"So anyway, she came back but I guess we didn't really fix anything, and then we just pretended like everything was the same. But mostly she was doing little things that seemed like she wanted to get closer." He paused. "And then we caught that sniper case – I guess you know about that – and that shook her up but she didn't talk about it. Even though she'd cut herself, she made out it was an accident and nothing to do with the shooting. I don't believe her."
"You do not believe it was an accident or you do not believe it was nothing to do with the shooting?"
"Um… I think it might have been an accident. But I'm dead sure it was because of the sniper and her shooting. Not that it matters because she wouldn't talk about it. Any of it."
Dr Burke found himself in total sympathy with Rick. Kate had not talked fully about that situation with him either.
"But then nothing else happened and she was fine and I really thought we were beginning to get closer even though we never talked about it. She was… there were little things. Actions." Rick looked squarely at Dr Burke. "I didn't realise till now that she doesn't talk, but she shows things through actions. Anyway, she was trying to show me… And then there was this case. The bombing – you must have seen it on the news?"
Dr Burke nodded. "And she hauled this guy in and was interrogating and I was watching – and then she said she remembered everything. She'd lied to me all this time. So I walked out."
"You had received a considerable shock," Dr Burke said soothingly. No hint of condemnation entered his words. "Taking time to think is not unreasonable."
Rick relaxed a little. He seemed, to Dr Burke, to have been worried that Dr Burke would rebuke him.
"I went home, and I booked myself a weekend away. I didn't see Beckett the next day, and then I went to Vegas for the weekend. I didn't want to talk to her. She'd left a couple of messages but neither of them said anything except 'Call me'." He looked unhappily at Dr Burke. "It didn't seem like enough to explain why she'd lied. I didn't find out she'd collapsed till I got back on Monday and Gates hauled me in to berate me."
"I see." Dr Burke remained gently soothing, his deep tones offering reassurance. Rick obviously felt guilty about his lack of contact, but Dr Burke considered that to be unjustified. Rick must have been gravely disappointed – and Dr Burke had on several occasions tried to suggest that Kate should tell him the truth, without success, despite it being perfectly clear that the result of her silence would be unfortunate.
"So Ryan and Espo told me what went down, and I texted her. She didn't answer. So I went over, but she wasn't there and her neighbour said she'd gone away. I called, but it went to voicemail. Next morning she still hadn't answered and, well, I was pretty angry. She'd just run off without a word just like she did last summer. So I got Ryan to track her car and then I went up after her."
"When was that?"
Rick counted back on his fingers. "That would be, um, Tuesday third."
"And the interrogation was, you said?"
"I didn't, but it was, ummmm, March 29th. Thursday."
"And on what day do you think Kate left?"
"Her neighbour said it was just a few hours earlier than when I was there, so Monday, sometime."
"I see." Dr Burke drew himself a timeline, and regarded it thoughtfully before showing it to Rick. "Does this look correct?"
Rick studied it. "Yeah. I got up to the cabin around eleven at night. It's a long way off the interstate."
"Mm. Do you have any idea what Kate might have been doing between Thursday, when the interrogation occurred and she collapsed, and the point at which you arrived at the cabin?"
"No."
"Tell me what you found when you arrived."
"The door wasn't locked."
Dr Burke blinked.
"There was nothing there. No phone, no Kindle, no food: just an empty coffee cup and a blanket on the couch. Beckett always has her phone, and at home she's always got a book or a Kindle next to her. She didn't come down – I expected to meet her gun first: I didn't know Gates had taken it away," he added, "so I went upstairs and she was asleep." Rick's face twisted. "She thought I was a dream."
"Mm?"
"She said that I didn't come. She'd needed me and I hadn't come, and then she said that she'd missed her chance." Rick reached for a Kleenex from the just-opened box, and blew his nose. "I made up another bed and went to sleep there."
"Mm," Dr Burke said again. "Kate's condition was obviously a shock to you. Was that when you decided to stay?"
"No."
"Oh? But you were worried about her."
"Yes. But I was only going to stay that night and then talk to her in the morning."
"To what end?"
Rick's face twisted again. "I wanted answers. Why she'd lied. Why she'd run off again. Just… I told myself that. Truthfully?"
"That would be most useful," Dr Burke said dryly.
"Because I couldn't not go to her. Whatever she'd done, I still loved her. I couldn't just let her go."
Thank you to all readers and reviewers.
ICCA (guest): Castle's call at the end of chapter 12 is the same call as you see from Dr Burke's point of view in chapter 13. We went back in time a few hours to see Beckett's reaction at the start of chapter 13.