Chapter 28: Between despair and ecstasy
"Ryan, Espo?"
"Yo, Beckett?"
"We need to search Connor's place. He says he took photos of Sevenelms beating up the victims. According to him, they're in a hidden safe in the back of his closet." She hands over the combination. "Can you go rip his apartment to shreds? Take CSU with you. They might find some other useful stuff. Evidence of Sevenelms being there would be good."
Ryan and Esposito look at each other, just a little uncomfortably. Beckett flicks her gaze from one to the other. "You got a problem?" she says. "If so, solve it." They decamp, very hastily.
"O'Leary," she says, "got a minute? Let's see what we got on Sevenelms so far."
"We don't have DNA," the Titan rumbles. "We're holding him on the basis of the tape from the warehouse and the situation we caught him red-handed in."
"Connor says Sevenelms paid him. Avery's tracing the cash. CSU are going with Ryan and Espo to see what they can pick up from Connor's apartment. What else is there?"
"Still waiting for anythin' useful from Paris and San Francisco. They ain't got much. My case is part of yours, so if we wrap yours up, that's mine done too."
"How long's DNA going to take?"
"'Nother day, minimum." There is a noise, as of small avalanches, from his stomach. O'Leary's prairie sized cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. "Guess that means it's lunchtime," he says. "C'mon. Let's all three of us get some food."
Beckett doesn't really want food: her stomach roils and cramps at the thought. But O'Leary's gaze is just a little too sharply enquiring for her to make an excuse.
"Okay." She turns. "Castle, you want some lunch?"
The three of them wander out. Well, O'Leary wanders. The other two are forced to a brisk pace. "Let's go to that fancy burger place of yours," he rumbles. The other two look confusedly at each other. Fancy burger place?
"Where we went the other day?" he says, spotting their lack of comprehension.
"Remy's?" Beckett realises. "Fancy?"
"'Tain't McDonalds. Fancy. We got time. Ryan 'n' Esposito won't be back for a coupla hours, an' we ain't got DNA before tomorrow. An' I'm hungry."
"Works for me," Castle says happily. "I'm hungry too."
Beckett sighs, just like usual. "Okay. We'll all go to Remy's."
The booth is a little over-full with O'Leary in it. Beckett is tucked in between Castle and the wall, with O'Leary's mass occupying the whole of the other side of the booth. Castle is quite happy with this arrangement, since – and because it's O'Leary, also known as Cupid – it enables him to stay firmly in contact with Beckett.
He is quite seriously worried about the way she'd behaved earlier. In fact, he's quite seriously worried about all of her behaviour since she'd finished the undercover op on Friday evening. She doesn't mind being hugged, but anything more spooks her. She'd been cruelly terrifying to Connor, and while he deserves it, Castle isn't at all sure that she'd been acting.
When she orders, he's more worried. She has soda, not a milkshake, and the smallest, plainest possible burger and fries. She eats a lot less than half of it, too, very slowly. He suspects that had O'Leary not suggested lunch, she wouldn't have bothered. Most of it is scattered around the plate, picked apart and dropped. Neither man comments, though they both notice, and know the other notices too.
Too soon, Beckett's jonesing to get back to the case and has hustled everyone into finishing and leaving, though O'Leary's dark mutterings about the lack of opportunity for dessert means that leaving is delayed till he can get brownies to go. Castle sulks all the way back to the Twelfth because he hadn't thought of that and O'Leary refuses to share. Beckett sighs all the way back to the Twelfth, which changes nothing at all about Castle's pout and O'Leary's enormous grin. It's almost what she would have done on Thursday. It almost sounds real.
On the way back, it's Beckett whose fast steps leave the others struggling to keep up. When she finds that the boys aren't back, she's less than happy, scrabbling all the other, insufficient, evidence together, drawing the spaces in their case on her murder board. The largest gap is still the evidence against Sevenelms. She glares at the board till it should shrivel and burn, and all the time her fingers knot and twitch, as fidgety as Castle has ever been. He doesn't dare open the conversation he wants to have: not in the bullpen, not in the precinct. Not in public at all.
Fortunately, before Beckett's restless fingers actually cause a friction-lit fire, Ryan and Espo reappear, stony-faced.
"Surprised she sent us out," Esposito says.
"Yeah? Gimme a minute to get CSU to meet us there." Ryan makes a quick call, and achieves success. "Okay. Why?"
Espo squirms uncomfortably, and there is a considerable and unpleasant silence. "She threw me out. Wouldn't listen. Don't think she's cool with me."
Ryan thinks that might be a considerable understatement. Then again, Beckett isn't exactly in her usual headspace, so it could be anything.
"Didn't give me a chance to say anything." Ryan makes a vaguely sympathetic noise. "She ain't cool with anythin' I've done. All I did was have her back, an' she chops me off at the knees."
Ryan thinks for a bit, as he negotiates the traffic to Connor's New Jersey apartment, in a very smart area. He might have claimed to be a top-class photographer, but if Ryan's any judge, he couldn't have afforded this without some serious extra-curricular earnings. It's pretty clear where those came from, now.
"Maybe she doesn't see it like you do. You thought letting Castle see her mom's file would help, but you know how she felt about it – hell, Espo, you were there before me, you know the story. Why'd you do it?"
"'Cause he seemed like a good guy. Then."
"So why not now?"
"He went diggin' an' upset Beckett."
Ryan emits a disgusted noise. "An' what'd you expect when you let him loose? Huh? You know he sticks his nose in everything. You telling me you didn't think he'd take it on? Sure you did." He stops hard. "Oh," he says. "I get it. You thought he'd fix it. An' when he couldn't 'cause Beckett threw him out without listening you blamed him. An' when he did like she asked and kept his nose out after it you blamed him for that."
Espo doesn't say a word. Ryan goes on.
"An' then you blamed him for not dating her when she wouldn't even speak to him all summer an' walked out his loft. We'd've arrested him for laying a finger on her if he had dated her – or tried, when she didn't want it. You set him up for trouble an' then blamed him when he got it. Way to go, dumbass."
More glowering silence fills the cruiser.
"The only way you're gonna fix this mess is if you explain an' apologise. No-one else is going to be able to do it for you."
There is complete and hostile silence until they pull up at Connor's apartment, after that comment.
CSU arrive right behind the detectives, and the apartment is taken apart. There are indeed photos, the subject matter of which is quite sufficient to shock Ryan and Esposito into horrified camaraderie again.
"That's freakin' horrible, bro!"
Ryan nods. The photographs are sickening. They are also very clearly of Sevenelms. In fact, they are so clear that it's a dead cert that they were blackmail material, should it ever be required. Without further ado, the two cops convey them back to the precinct as fast as they can. There is no conversation on the way back that isn't expressions of disgust at the new evidence.
"What have you got?" Beckett asks immediately.
"The photos," they say together. "It's – you don't wanna see them."
"I'm a cop. Show me." There's no room for argument in her tone. This is her case and these photos are a key piece of evidence.
Shaw and Avery appear on her words. Esposito spreads the photos out on Beckett's desk and everyone looks at them. There is stunned silence from everyone, for a moment.
"Nothin' like bein' caught on Candid Camera," O'Leary says heavily: no humour in his tone whatsoever.
"Very nice," Shaw says coldly. "All we need now is the money trail and the DNA. We're not going to get them on a Sunday night. Time for everyone to take a break and start fresh tomorrow."
Three detectives aim for their desks. Beckett does not. "I'm going to see Stardance tomorrow," she says. It's not a request for permission. "Their dresser is going to find out that feeling up the models is a very bad idea." She doesn't wait for a response.
"Time to go home, Beckett," Castle says, from her desk as she approaches. He hadn't gone near the photos. He couldn't stand the thought, never mind reality.
She consults her watch. "I've missed all the flea markets. A table will need to wait another week."
Considering her day, that's a non-sequitur of stunning proportions.
"Floors work just as well, and you can't knock things off them."
"Only over," she says, with half-hearted pedantry. She isn't obviously packing up.
"C'mon. Home time. You need to get some rest before you gut the dresser."
She unenthusiastically pulls herself together. There's not much spark left, and her eyes are tired and dull. As soon as she's unable to eviscerate one of her suspects, everything has stopped.
Castle doesn't touch her in the elevator, and doesn't touch her as they leave. Instead, he plonks himself down in the passenger seat of her car, and waits for her to notice.
"Want a ride home?" she says.
No, he does not. "I thought you might want some company with your takeout."
She shrugs. Castle waits. "Don't you need to go home?"
He doesn't, having used part of the waiting time until Ryan and Esposito arrived to have a private discussion with his mother and Alexis. Alexis is still not ready to apologise, but although she can't do that, she had been amenable to his staying the evening with Beckett. She's definitely coming round to sense again.
"Not yet," he temporises. "Do you want Thai? Sushi?"
"Mexican," Beckett says. She doesn't say comforting carbs. Strangely, Castle hears it.
"Okay. Anything you don't like?"
"Nope. You choose. I've got some beer at home, if you want."
"Sounds good," he says, and hopes that a little alcohol will ease the strain around her; give him the chance to make sure that she's okay. It's been a high stress day, and he still doesn't know whether she was acting or not with Connor. It hadn't sounded like it. He maintains a demeanour of amiable warmth – and no sexuality at all – all the way to her apartment, all the way up, and all the way until dinner has arrived and been eaten – Beckett doesn't want much, and most of hers ends up in the fridge for, he assumes, tomorrow. She sips at her beer, until he finishes and tidily puts his plate away by the sink.
"Shall I wash up, and you dry?" he suggests.
"Just leave it. I'll get there later."
He would protest, but he's not willing to start a petty fight when there's likely a bigger one waiting in the wings. He returns to the couch, and drops a comforting arm around her shoulders, implying without quite encouraging that she should snuggle into his broad frame and be easy with him.
She moves closer, which is both delightful and astonishing, but she's still neutral, as she had been last night. He finds the lack of connection worrying, but he gets it. He hates it, but he gets it.
Now he has to spoil it all.
"Earlier, when you were interrogating Connor, um… it was pretty convincing."
"Mhm?"
"It really sounded like you meant it."
"I did," she says flatly. He gapes. "I meant every single fucking word of it and I hate that I did. I don't get involved. I take them down. After that they're not my problem. But I meant every word and I want to see that sleazy bastard dead." She turns away from him. "His photos made me look like I was enjoying it." The words are spat out. "I want them burned." Her voice drops. "I want him to burn."
She wraps arms round her knees: tight-knotted into herself.
"I think he knows that." Castle is very sure that Connor knows that.
"They were degrading," she says bitterly. "They were horrible." Pause. "They were brilliant and nobody will believe that I hated it when they see them."
"I will. Shaw will. The team" –
"They're never going to see them." She shudders. "I thought I could do it. Not be freaked out by it."
"You did do it. You brought them down. You. You did it." He shakes her very gently, and turns her to him. "They're never going to see daylight again, because of you." He hugs her. "You did it, Beckett. Put the job ahead of your feelings and did it. Why shouldn't you want to see him dead? He wanted you – they wanted you – dead, and at one point they damn near did it. It's okay."
"It's not okay. It's not okay to let your feelings into it like that."
"The only people who know that it was real are you and me."
"And Shaw."
"She suspects. She doesn't know."
Beckett is not obviously reassured, but she's not curling into herself again.
"Anyway, it's done now. You can take the dresser apart in the morning, Sevenelms in the afternoon, and forget about it over a nice dinner and wine in the evening." He pats her shoulder. "Now, how about I make coffee and we drink it and don't think about it any more till tomorrow?"
"I'll make it."
"Okay."
Beckett slips away to the kitchen and shortly coffee appears. It doesn't seem to make her happier or more relaxed, but she acquiesces to further featherlight hugging, and sips her drink quietly. She appears to be thinking. Castle leaves her to it, for now. He's avoided disaster so far, and if that can continue he'll be only too happy.
"I thought it was all behind me," she says out of nowhere.
"What was?"
"That scene. Leching sleazebags feeling you up and trying to get you into bed. Casting couch fucks, promising the next shoot. Selling sex and perving over teenagers." She swallows. "I thought I'd forgotten seeing it all. I missed most of it. I didn't want to be in that game anyway but it paid some of my college fees, so I could just walk away and not do it because I didn't need the next job." A harsh breath, another gulping swallow. "And now that bastard's made me look like a pinup centrefold. Like I would do it, do that. And they touched me and I couldn't do anything about it because we had to take them down."
Castle inadvertently tightens his grip around her.
"It's not how it should be and it's tainted everything," she says, and bursts into tears. Through the misery she mumbles, "I can't even…" and trails off. She doesn't need to finish the sentence, because Castle can. I can't even stand being kissed by you right now.
"Hey, hey," he says, and tucks her head into his shoulder where she can't possibly think that he could or would kiss her; leans his own cheek on her hair, and simply holds her close and cosseted. "It's okay." He stops. "Hey, that rhymes." He refocuses. "You had to do something you really hated, that you hated back then and thought you'd never have to do again, that goes against everything you are, you put yourself in the way of being drugged and raped and even though you knew we'd be there to get you out it ended up in hospital, and now you're wondering why you want to kill them and you can't deal with anything…um…" He can't find a word. "I'm not surprised at all. Of course you don't feel like it. All you need right now is just to stand down and be easy. Nothing else." He pats, and stays where he is.
There is a space of quietness.
"Something different," he eventually says.
"Mhm?"
"Alexis is sorry. I've told her she has to apologise to you face to face, but she isn't quite there yet. I think she will be. I know you don't want to come to the loft right now, but… um… maybe soon?"
"Maybe," she says, non-committally. It's not no.
Some time later Castle realises that he has to leave, and does, with a warm hug and a dropped peck on the top of Beckett's dark head.
"Call me any time you wanna talk," he says. "I'll be at the precinct in the morning. Can't deprive you of coffee and bear claw, or you'll try to work my machine and burn your fingers."
"Would not," she snips. "I can work it just fine."
He grins evilly. "You can so not. You avoid it every time."
"Nope. I just like you making my coffee. It's the natural order of things."
Castle mutters darkly at the top of her head. He pulls her tighter, just for an instant, and lets go. "My curfew," he says. "Till tomorrow."
"Night."
Beckett takes another hot-to-the-point-of-scalding shower, and feels better. Castle's completely undemanding behaviour and total understanding is not so much comforting as totally reassuring. Not that she'd ever doubted the undemanding part: but the understanding of a quintessentially Beckett point of view was helpful. It makes her feel that she wasn't totally off the wall, if someone else – a non-cop, to boot – understands. The hot water restores her, too: steaming the taint of her day from her skin and hair, washing away her make-up, her persona, and leaving just Kate.
She nestles into her pillows, misses again her previous plump, high-quality ones; and tries to come to terms with the day and her behaviour. About the only reassurance from her conduct is that it had upset her to the point of vomiting. Gradually, she manages to unpick it all to her own satisfactory understanding, which differs not at all from Castle's instant summary. That only leaves her the problem of how to fix her current absolute lack of any desire at all for him.
Of course, that's almost certainly a direct result of being overdosed and molested. It's not exactly surprising. However, she's more worried that using the memories of being with Castle to make it through the photoshoot is what's wrong. She ponders that, fretfully – and then remembers that she'd told him that's what she'd done, and he had grabbed her and plastered frantic, desperate kisses on her hair as she'd shuddered and silently wept into his chest: he hadn't blamed or shamed her, as she hadn't blamed or shamed him for his reactions to the shoot.
She curls down, and seeks sleep. Tonight, she finds rather fewer nightmares, though she wakes terrified and frozen more than once, searching for the lingering traces of aroma-of-Castle on the pillow to remind her that there's something better.
Someone better.
Thank you to all readers and reviewers.
To the guest who wondered about the transmitter, I haven't forgotten it. To another guest, yes, Selwyn and Sevenelms are completely different people.
