Chapter 21: I can't stand the rain
The morgue is cold, what with the need to keep the corpses cool and the drop in the outside temperature, and by the time Castle's made it down to Lanie's domain he's wishing he'd added a sweater under his too-light jacket. He's carefully timed this so he can offer to buy Lanie lunch: he thinks that might sweeten her mood, get her to talk to him.
When he discovers her carefully slicing a Y-incision into a body that doesn't have much of a face left, what with the hole in it, he waits quietly until she puts down the scalpel – he doesn't want her to either jerk and cut herself or to make any sudden moves at him – and then speaks.
"Hey, Lanie." She whips round, the expression on her face so unencouraging it could have been Kate the first day he forced himself into her life.
"What the hell you doing here, Writer-Boy? Who let you in?"
"I came to buy you lunch. Seeing as we didn't get to talk last night." That's a little edged, but he wants Lanie to talk to him. He wants to patch up all these fractured friendships, before the rip's too long to sew.
"Don't have time. Got this autopsy to do." She's turned back to her faceless corpse, reaching for some instrument that was probably invented to remove brains via nostrils in Ancient Egypt. Curiosity momentarily overcomes other considerations.
"What's that do?"
Lanie growls. It's not enticing. "It removes the balls from irritating visitors." That's not friendly. Time for something a bit blunter. He still has to show up for this signing at three and he wants this in some way resolved first.
"Lanie, what's up? I wanna talk to you. I don't wanna shout. Espo slapped me around enough about yelling last night. I don't need you doing that too. C'mon, come for lunch. Your man on the slab there won't mind."
Lanie doesn't look receptive. And she's near enough to the scalpels that tugging her along doesn't seem like a good plan. "C'mon. I'm paying. Or I can stand and talk to you right here."
"Or you could leave. Now I understand why she got so irritated with you. Do you never just take a hint and go?"
"Nope," Castle chirps cheerfully. He hasn't missed Lanie referring to Kate as she, though. Hmm. That's odd. Time for an intervention of his own.
"Are you still mad at Kate? For not calling all summer, I mean."
"No. Yes. Sometimes." Well, that covers pretty much all the options. Not exactly helpful. Try again.
"Are you feeling guilty you yelled at her? Because I got pretty mad at her, too, and I didn't try to hide it." Lanie's reach for her instruments is halted when she spins round in amazement.
"You got mad with Kate? You never get mad with Kate. Even when you should." What does that mean? When should he have got mad at Kate? Another thought for later. At this rate he'll need a week to get through the list of thoughts that are waiting for later.
"Yeah, I yelled at her." Lanie's words start to tumble out, her normal New York twang reasserting itself as she speaks. "She dropped off the grid for more'n two months, never called, never wrote. Of course I was mad. I thought she'd just ignored that we'd be worried. It's not like it was a couple of days, like she often does. Didn't ever think that girl'd be stupid enough to try to deal with everything on her own." Castle carefully says absolutely nothing about that. Yet.
"So when she called me I was really mad with her, and I wouldn't listen to her." He knows that tale, inside out and upside down. "And then she just collapsed, and when I went round she didn't answer. And then Javi told me she'd been benched and you'd seen her lose it in the street. I got it all wrong, and I'm her best friend." There's a guilty-feeling pause. Castle knows that story too, none better. "So I've been waiting a coupla days for her to get over being upset with me and then I was going to call." The last sounds a bit defensive. Seems like Lanie's been putting off something unpleasant – like apologising to Kate, and admitting she was wrong. What is it with all his friends? None of them ever seem to talk to each other properly. Not that he's particularly good at it, when it comes to Kate. He turns his attention back to Lanie.
"I thought the same. Far as I knew, she was still with Motorcycle-Boy. Even when she said they broke up" – Lanie splutters – "Didn't you know that either? I wasn't interested in what she had to say. So I just watched her walk away. And then this truck backfired and she completely froze up and didn't even know I was there. That's the only reason I knew anything was wrong. If that hadn't happened I wouldn't be here talking to you." There is one other point, though. "Why didn't you just use your key and go in?"
" 'Cause the one time I did that before Kate flung me out on my ass – for real, I slipped when she shoved me out the door - and took a month to even speak to me outside official channels. The bruises on my ass when I landed lasted nearly that long. A repeat wouldn't have helped anyone." Ah. Yes. He can see that. Not something he'd have needed to worry about, he supposes. He's not smirking. Much.
Lanie looks somewhat happier than she did when he walked in. She's acquired a hint of an expression that Castle last saw when they were picking up books, cosmetics and nightwear to take to the hospital. It's a mix of thought and mischief, liberally laced with smirk. Though she still looks mostly guilty and unhappy too. He doesn't query it. Lanie back to (relatively) normal is probably the best ally Kate could have, (well, except him) and besides which, whatever Lanie may be planning he is relatively sure that it would be safest not to have any idea about it. That way he'll be out of the firing line (he winces at the phrase) if it all goes wrong, which is certainly very possible. He's not going to get involved in any reconciliation discussions between Kate and Lanie. That's a short route off a very high cliff. Lanie's efforts at interventions carry considerable risk to the neutral bystander. Ha. He's not neutral. He just has a well-developed sense of self-preservation.
"Do you want some lunch? I've just about time still before I need to go."
"Nah. I really do need to finish this guy. There's five more backed up behind him."
When Castle exits the morgue it's still fairly wet and miserable outside. No chance of any diversions before he has to get to the signing, at least if he wants any lunch first. Still, no harm in being friendly. Well, probably. He knows he's pushing, slightly. But you're allowed to be worried about your friends, as long as, in this case, he doesn't show it. Anyway, it would be normal, for before. And that's what this is, a way of getting back to normal, just like it used to be, though without the undercurrents. Or at least, without quite such obvious undercurrents. He taps out a text, while he's waiting for his lunch order.
Don't you like walking in the rain?
A reasonable time later, there's a reply. Clearly Kate is not sitting around watching her phone.
No. No walk today. Unless it stops raining.
If it does, why not walk by my signing session?
Come and watch you signing what? Books or chests? On a text, it's just so easy to fall back to the old sardonic, edgy banter, Kate doesn't even think about it.
Why, I'm shocked that you could think that. Books, of course. If you need evidence, come by.
Kate considers that. She hasn't really been out today, a very brief trip to the store for necessities and supplies excepted. The apartment is becoming a little confining. But still, the noisy atmosphere of a Castle signing, full of pretty, unscarred women, is not attractive. And it's still pouring.
When does it finish? Maybe if it were finished, it wouldn't be so bad.
6pm. No, that's full on rush hour, far too noisy and busy and probably full of triggers which would damage or destroy her fragile control. There's sensible desensitisation, as prescribed by Dr Burke, and then there's stupidity. That would hit stupidity right in the bullseye.
Nah, past my curfew. But it's disappointing, all the same.
Not your bedtime, surely? That's a bait she isn't willing to take. Friends, remember? Everything taking them past that is a step too far, just now. She takes a mental step back, distancing herself.
Too noisy, that time of day. If it's not raining tomorrow I'll let you know if I'm going to Central Park. Meaning – please don't come to the apartment. Too much scope for emotional outbursts, in her apartment. At least if there are to be any more of those she'll control her volume in public. Presumably also Castle has some thoughts on the position. She's not sure what he thinks, because he hasn't actually said anything about it. One apologetic letter, all about not listening, one emotional outburst about her not leaving the cafe without him, and one session of listening to her vent her resentment and fury with the whole situation, during which he'd somehow cancelled any emotional reactions of any kind at all. Cop senses say there's more to this than that, coupled with that last text. Insecurity whispers that being friends is simply a way out, and the text an automatic response. Friends for a while, then he'll gradually disengage.
Well, that's a brush off. Maybe his last text was just a hint too far. But it was so easy to fall back into old habits. He needs to be more careful, but the give and take was so like it used to be that he couldn't help himself. And now he'll spend the whole of the signing thinking about Kate and knowing she won't show up, though certainty of outcome will not stop him forlornly hoping. And he will absolutely definitely not go home via Kate's apartment. Absolutely not.
Which is undoubtedly why, at half-past six, he is standing outside her door, trying to decide what to do: knock, or not knock. Not knock, as advised by common sense, is winning out, until a rather delicious smell of apple pie oozes out from round the door frame and insinuates itself into his nose. The thought of apple pie - and maybe ice- cream? – effortlessly overcomes the idea that this may not be such a good plan. So he knocks.
Kate has been cooking. There's not a lot else to do on a wet afternoon, if you're benched, if you can't go out in the city for a reasonable length of time, and although she'd never admit to it in front of the boys or Castle, she actually quite enjoys it, occasionally, when she has time. She's also quite good at it. So when she'd gone to the store, she'd got the ingredients for apple pie, and a casserole which she can make and then reheat the leftovers tomorrow, when she won't want or, depending on how the day goes, have time to cook. Whilst the pie is cooking, she curls up with a book and more of the despised herbal tea (well, it's hot. It's the only good thing about it.) and tries not to fret about the coming evening with the boys. She rather hopes Lanie won't be there. Lanie's sure not to pull her punches and Kate is very sure she's not up for a boxing match. Especially as she's not allowed to spar yet.
The pie is cooling nicely, flavouring the entire apartment with the smell of cinnamon and cloves, and the casserole just in the oven, when the door sounds. Even after three months, that's an instantly familiar pattern of knock. She hadn't expected that. Nor is she particularly sure she wants it, though the immediate flare of happiness should belie that. Another round of not being able to look at him for more than an instant, another confined space in which emotion – hers, at any rate – can and likely will run high, another chapter of realising that whatever she feels she's not ready to deal with it. And, extremely trivially, she was looking forward to casserole and pie in the not too distant future, and now she'll probably have to delay it or share it. She wasn't planning on a cosy dinner for two, either. That's a long way beyond the limits of her bullet-shattered tolerances.
Still, it's only polite to open the door, especially if it's obvious that you're in. She even manages to flick a very swift glance up at Castle's face, although she drops her eyes almost immediately, before there can be any ...unfortunate... consequences.
"Come in," she says resignedly. No point in saying go away, especially as she doesn't want him to. No point in getting too pleased that he's come by, when there's certainly a time limit on this friendship.
It's not precisely the enthusiastic welcome he'd hoped for, though not expected. Kate still can't, or won't – he thinks it's can't, from the twist of her mouth – look at him, and he's rapidly acquiring the sinking feeling that tells him that this was probably a mistake. The pie looks really good, though.
"I didn't know you could cook," he says, assuming rather more surprise in his tone than he actually feels. No point in explaining about the other evening. Kate might wonder how he knew about the stroganoff, or what else he might have noticed. "I thought you lived on takeout and coffee."
"Nothing else to do." Her back's to him and she's fiddling unnecessarily with some papers, pretending to tidy up. He thinks it's so she has an excuse not to be looking at him. Interestingly, at least one of the papers looks as if it's full of neat black handwriting. He's consumed by curiosity, and can't let a single ounce of it show.
"Why are you here, Castle? I said I'd let you know about a walk tomorrow." It's not quite as snippy as the words alone imply, but it's certainly not open armed welcome.
"I had to come past here to get home. Just thought I'd stop off for a few minutes, like friends do." He sees her relax slightly, as if she'd been worried that he was intending to stay for a while. It's not exactly flattering, but then again, she still can't look at him, so he supposes that it's fairly stressful to have him there: his locked down feelings, so he doesn't pressure her, notwithstanding.
"Oh. Do you want some coffee? Or dishwater herbal tea?" Mmm. That's marginally more hopeful, though he's not at all convinced by the description of the tea.
"If I ask for coffee will you be annoyed with me because you can't have one? If so, seeing as I like my unmaimed life, I'll try the tea, though you're not exactly selling it well."
"No, I won't be. I can always enjoy the smell."
Kate turns away to the kitchen and the kettle, and Castle takes the opportunity to sit rather nearer the bundle of papers than is necessary. Unfortunately he's not near enough to read the words, though he's absolutely sure it's another letter from the format of the first couple of lines. He reluctantly recognises that he shouldn't be doing this (at least where he might get caught) and avoids further temptation by following Kate to the kitchen.
"Can I help?"
"No thanks." She pauses. She doesn't like what she's about to say. Not because Castle will be hurt, though that's possible, but because it involves admitting more problems. Still, he can't have failed to notice this one. "Would you mind going and sitting down? It's rather...difficult...to have you this near. I" – she stops again – "don't know how long I can deal with looking at you when you're in the way before things start to go wrong." She ends with a rush. She hasn't looked at him once in that time.
"Sure. Sitting down right now." Well, that's unusual. Direct truth and explanations, for a second time in two days. A lot has changed. It's just a shame it was changed by a bullet. However, if he has to sit down, he can select where to sit. Temptation leaps up again. He's a speed reader, and he really, really wants to know what that letter says. He sits down at a point where he might be able to look but can claim, and appear, not to be reading, and tries very hard to mind his manners. He's helped when he remembers how bad he felt about reading the first one, but not by much.
It takes approximately half a second for temptation to win. He's read down the page before he hears the sound of the kettle boiling and then water being poured. Annoyingly, the balance of the letter is on the other side of the paper. He'll consider the contents later, though he's not flattered by her (utterly wrong) assessment of his motivations nor that she's so sure he'll decide there's no more story and leave. Even if she says she'll miss him. He'd very much like to see the rest, both of this letter and the ones she wrote over the summer, but it isn't going to happen. Well, unless she goes to the bathroom, and since this visit is time-limited, he doubts that will happen. He's sitting back in his chair, seriously considering the best way to achieve a spot of gentle burglary, when a coffee cup arrives in front of him and he murmurs thanks.
Unsurprisingly, Kate takes a seat somewhere she need not look straight at him. Friends, Rick. Friends are allowed to ask careful questions.
"Is this an okay place to sit?"
"Yes." She breathes it out on a sigh of weariness. "I told you I couldn't look at you before I left because of the flashbacks. That's still pretty much true." He'd rather guessed that, even before he'd read the first page of the letter. It had been a little difficult to miss that she didn't look at him unless she absolutely had to. He even misses being glared at. And since she isn't looking at him, he's got a better chance of getting away with being – what was that politician's phrase, ah yes – economical with the truth.
"I'd guessed. You aren't glaring at me." He grins. Just be normal. "I'm sure you would have, otherwise. I must have done something to induce a glare. Breathe, for example." He's unreasonably delighted to hear a Beckett-flavoured snigger.
"Maybe not breathe, Castle. You can't help that. Talk, now…" She sniggers again. It's the nearest he's heard to normality since before Montgomery was shot.
Sorry, everyone, no more till Thursday, probably. Work is manic and I doubt that I'll get five minutes to post between now and then.
Please still review, though!