Chapter 50: The girl is mine
When Beckett walks into the kitchen she looks between them and recognises instantly the testosterone charge in the atmosphere. She's not impressed. The last thing the case needs is Castle and Sorenson locking antlers like moose in rut. She ignores it completely. If they think she's some sort of prize to be fought over they are both completely wrong. She'll decide what, and who, she wants. She turns to the meat of the case, being the imminent arrival of a CPA qualified sister and the discussion of how to pay the ransom. It doesn't noticeably lower the antagonism level, or the testosterone.
During discussions with the CPA it becomes clear that Sorenson isn't exactly willing to let Castle have a turn on the swings. Beckett recognises the technique: subtle – and not so subtle - cutting off, the slightly turned shoulder blocking Castle from the circle, the lack of any eye contact. She's even less impressed. Castle may have been a pain in the ass (still is, sometimes) but he's helped her and her team to be a better unit to solve crime – and, she realises, he may not be a cop but what she'd said to Sorenson as a shut-up-and-live-with-it comment that Castle was her partner is actually entirely true. Truth in anger. Well now. When did she start thinking like that? She'd told him he couldn't be her partner, because he wasn't a cop. But... he's had her back, he helps her solve crimes, he's ...well, he's a part of the team. Okay. Maybe he isn't an official partner, but that doesn't matter. Another small curl of warmth joins the one that Castle providing breakfast caused.
Still, she's going to need to deal with this piece of macho posturing fairly swiftly. She's not prepared to watch another kidnapping go south because Sorenson can't play nice with others. She's certainly not going to allow him to think that he can cut Castle out. On the case or otherwise. Sorenson had done that before to a team member (with considerably less justification, given that she'd been dating Sorenson at the time) and it had contributed significantly to the dreadful outcome. It is not going to happen again. This time, they're – she is - going to make it come out right. Whatever it takes, and whoever's feelings get trampled on the way.
Suddenly, they have a lead. They haul in a man who'd threatened Mrs Candela, shove him into Interrogation. Much to Beckett's annoyance, Sorenson assumes he'll lead and then bars Castle. Neither makes her happy. She's got used, over these last weeks, to Castle's left-field questions and their joint style. And she leads, always, in Interrogation. She's the best at it: the combination of empathy and aggression, the intense atmosphere that surrounds her and her suspect and forces admissions they never meant to make, elicits truth. More truth than anyone can handle, sometimes.
Castle watches the aura of spiky, angry irritation rise around Beckett and is uncomfortably reminded of the way in which she used to react to him. The jealousy he won't let himself know he's feeling thickens darkly. He forces himself to concentrate on the interrogation, because anything he can provide that will help her solve the case keeps her close, feeds her addiction to successful closure, and to his presence. He'll feed her addiction to him later.
It wasn't this guy, though. That's clear. His reactions are all wrong. And when everyone gets out of Interrogation and Observation and they're all discussing it, Castle points that out. Predictably (at least predicted by Castle, who's perfectly well aware of what Sorenson is trying to do) Sorenson pooh-poohs it. It's all beginning to square up to a fight in the bullpen when Beckett steps in.
"Oh, for God's sake. Why don't you both just drop your pants and get it over with?" She sounds as if she's one very short step from throwing both of them out. Interestingly, Ryan and Esposito have very subtly made it clear that they're standing with Castle. Seems like he really is part of this team.
Beckett calms the situation for the moment and starts to issue instructions. Castle can see how the wind's blowing, and is unsurprised when she turns to him to ask him to go home. Always; first, last and only, the case. And for once, because of the subject at hand, he's not angered by it: she's not, unlike all previous times, shutting him out. She has to get this one right; if there's anything that can be done to bring the child home safely she will do it. And because he has a child, because he can imagine exactly what the parents are feeling, because he knows that if he ever lost Alexis he would never recover – he does what she asks, without a look or word or quibble. It won't be on him, if this goes wrong. But there is one more thing he can do. He flicks a glance at Sorenson, looks back at Beckett.
"Okay." His tone conveys everything about the case that he can't articulate in public. "But if you need me, call. Even if it's just to talk." His eyes say whatever you need, but you have to tell me you need it. There's a flash of recognition of the message, quick thanks, in Beckett's face before she turns back to her case, already absorbed. He knows she won't be sleeping at home tonight. The only question is whether it will be the break room couch or the Candela's home or not at all. He'd bet on the last. But he is a better man than he was even two weeks ago and he will do whatever it is she needs him to do to make this case end better. However much he hates it. Because he is not, and never will be, that other man.
He's halfway home when he gets a text from Ryan. It's short and to the point. Beckett's just told Sorenson that you're her partner. We'd better get you a shield, man. He reads it with some disbelief.
Beckett turns away from Castle back to the case and her focus on what they now need to do. She's snapping out her instructions, fully in command. She doesn't notice – and wouldn't have cared about, or for, even if she had – Sorenson's face turning darker and darker as she does. When she tells him what's next, he boils over.
"You don't give the orders here, Kate" –
"Detective Beckett." –
"I'm in charge of the investigation. I'll set out what's to be done. Step back."
"No. I'm on this task force because my team know how to do this better than anyone. You let us work. This is a team, and we're all part of it."
"At least you sent that civilian home." He can't even use his name? Sorensen's really losing it.
"That civilian – Castle – is a part of this team and my partner. I only sent him home because this is the grunt work of being a cop. He can't access databases or run down security footage. Oh – and because you don't seem to be able to play nice. I'm not having this case ruined because you can't keep a lid on it. So since I can trust my partner" – she puts considerable emphasis on those words, and completely misses Ryan and Esposito's fist bump behind her – "to do what's best for the case, not for his own ego, I asked him to step back. Can you say you'd have done the same? Because you didn't last time, Agent. Did you?" She goes back to her orders.
"Right. Ryan, Espo, let me know the minute you find anything. Now, Agent, we are going back to the Candela's." There's a bite in her voice. She doesn't even look behind her as she marches to the elevator. Whether he follows or not doesn't matter. Her team is going to make this work. Make it right.
She's wrung everything she can out of the Candelas, the living room, the window. Everything. And it's not enough. She wants Castle's mind to think against, to rip out theories and take them apart. But she had to send him home because Sorenson's a jerk. Maybe once she's done everything she can swing by his apartment and get his thoughts. She goes into the kitchen to make herself the latest of many cups of coffee, and is not happy to find Sorenson lurking there like a gremlin under a toadstool. He should be doing something useful, not staring at the coffee. She ignores him and reaches for the coffee herself.
"I don't want that civilian involved."
"That's not your decision. You want me on this case, you get my team too."
"I can have him removed."
"You can lose my team and lose this case, too. Are you still so incapable of valuing all the people around you that you'll risk this child? Again? What's your problem, Agent?"
"He's only here because he's trying to get into your pants. He's not an asset, he's a liability. Following you around? Yeah, right, Kate. He just wants to fuck you, like any of his other bimbos, then he'll walk. And you're such a wide-eyed fangirl you'll let him."
"You think I'd compromise a case for that? That's really what you think? If the cap fits, Agent" – the contempt in her voice would fell mountains – "you wear it. You compromised the last kidnap case we worked because you got jealous of my partner. So you didn't tell us what you knew and didn't ask what we knew, and because of that we were too late. Your misjudgement got that kid killed, and then you tried to blame my partner. I might have coped with that, because mistakes happen under pressure, if you hadn't made it clear you'd done it because you didn't trust my judgement and you were going to make all the decisions for us whether you knew what you were doing or not. You put your career and your ego ahead of the case and me. And here you're doing just the same again."
Sorenson turns white with rage. He takes a step closer to Beckett, who's standing stiff and stark against the doorframe blazing with anger and contempt. She doesn't move. No-one intimidates her, now.
"You need to lose the attitude, Agent. We've got one chance to save this kid and I intend to take it. What do you intend?" The venom in her words is unmistakeable. Sorenson takes another step closer to her. Beckett is not entirely sure what he intends, but she's not intending to back off. She'd done it once, because she'd trusted him. Never again.
"You don't speak to me like that, Detective." He's leaning in, far too close to her face for Beckett to appreciate. She starts to gear up for …dissuasion. However she needs to dissuade him.
"I'll speak to you however I must to solve this case." He can't get any closer without touching her, and Beckett abruptly realises that there's unwanted desire flickering in his eyes. She doesn't flinch. "If you get any closer you'll be chewing your testicles like they were gum."
Suddenly Sorenson raises his head.
"Just as well he's turned up," he hisses.
"Why? I don't need anyone's help to deal with you."
"She seemed to be doing just fine on her own," Castle says coolly from the other door. "I don't think Beckett needs my help." She flicks her head round at his voice, and he sees a flash of – amazement? – across Beckett's face. He can't tell whether it's his words or his presence, or maybe both. They hadn't noticed him, but he's been watching for the last couple of minutes. Whatever it is, Castle isn't sure why Sorenson was about to put hands on Beckett, though he has some interesting ideas, but he's damn sure he was, and although Beckett's seriously tough and wholly vicious in sparring, Sorenson's as big as Castle and Castle took her down, so Sorenson, being trained by the FBI, pretty certainly could too. Then again, Castle hadn't underestimated her. Sorenson just might have, if he'd touched her. But then, if he had, and by some miracle Beckett hadn't taken him apart, Castle would have. He'd learned to defend himself some time ago: went along with being able to protect Alexis, and he'd found that he enjoyed the training and the knowledge that he could do a lot more than people expected. So he'd kept it up, and practised. He's extremely competent. Anyway. No-one lays unwanted hands on his Beckett, and Castle can read the frustration and ill-suppressed desire written across Sorenson's face as if it were a poster. It's unpleasantly familiar. His angry jealousy, mostly burnt off by Ryan's text, reasserts itself, and he takes no care at all to conceal his ability to intimidate.
"Angela's adopted," he says. Beckett looks up. That sounds like one of Castle's left field statements. She raises a mental eyebrow when she sees Castle's posture. That's right back to the looming bulk that he uses when he wants to impose himself on a situation. It's frighteningly effective. It's having an effect on Sorenson, too. She doesn't think Sorenson's realised that he flinched when Castle made his presence known. She also doesn't think Sorenson knows he's backing off.
"So?" she says, waiting for more. She can feel Sorenson's dislike tainting the air around them. He's still far closer than Beckett wants. Castle, by contrast, is rather too far away. She takes the opportunity to step away from Sorenson without it conveying any form of backing down.
"So prior to giving up her baby" – there's a flare of disbelief that anyone would do that across Castle's face – "the birth mother would've been given background on the Candelas. Specifically, their ability to support the child." Left field indeed.
"Knowledge of their finances," Beckett says with satisfaction. She opens her mouth to start on their normal practice of ripping into the theory when Sorenson speaks dismissively.
"We're going to waste time on the insights of Nancy Drew?" For God's sake, Sorenson, leave it be, thinks Beckett. Castle's had a good idea, and you know it, so stop waggling your undersized dick and get to work. She calls it in to Ryan and Esposito to start them on finding the birth mother.
There's nothing more to be done here. Time to leave the Candelas to whatever comfort they can find in each other, time to leave this apartment soaked in tension, testosterone and tragedy, time to hit the precinct. Past time to leave Sorenson behind.
"Want a ride, Castle?" And this time, Beckett sees the swift, ugly flick of jealous anger across Sorenson's face. Fuck. This is exactly what happened last time, and exactly what she doesn't need. Fortunately she can trust Castle to do what's best for the case. He follows her out, and into the car, taking care not to touch her or stand too close where it might yet raise unwanted curiosity.
"Thanks," she says, as she pulls out. She can feel Castle's questioning look. "For leaving earlier, without a quibble."
"A missing child's just a little more important than my feelings." An unspoken tension dissolves upon the words, light as they are. The meaning behind them is obvious. It's almost a cop statement, everything understood, nothing spoken.
"I need to go by the precinct, but then d'you want a drink?" Castle hears what he thinks she isn't saying: I need downtime. Try as he might, he can't quite turn it into I need you, but it's a lot closer than it has been. It soothes away all his jealousy and anger at Sorenson. Watching Sorenson get far too close to Beckett had taken all his self-control: not to remove him by the neck; to let Beckett fight her own fights. She'll only stay close if he gives her room. He can't take care of her, shouldn't take care of her, doesn't need to take care of her. He can't show his possessiveness about her in public. But shortly, he thinks, they won't be in public. The amount of tension and anger flooding from Beckett tells him that she's only one short step from adrenaline-induced explosion – and while there are three ways that could manifest, he only intends that one of them should. He's not precisely calm either, and in defusing the primed Beckett bomb, he'll defuse his own feelings.
"Okay."
Ryan and Espo are swiftly dealt with, and their mild surprise at seeing Castle back again is well concealed as soon as they observe Beckett's familiar, this-case-is-not-going-well glare. It's the same one that they see every time they don't close the case in twelve hours. But for tonight, which is now pretty close to being tomorrow, everything that can be done has been done. Though they think it's as well that Sorenson didn't return with Beckett too: he's just the sort of self-important jerk who'd try to set them on useless busywork rather than a couple of hours' sleep and start clean early tomorrow. They leave, while Beckett's still poking at papers on her desk, picking up and putting down, irritation at the lack of any clues fuelling her glare at her murder board. She's sitting, rigidly staring at it, kicking the base of the desk she's perched on, when Castle comes to sit next to her.
"Want that drink now?"
"I want a lead. A clue." Frustration seethes in her voice and her body language.
"Maybe a drink, and kick everything around for a while, and something will pop." Castle does his best to phrase the suggestion so that she'll leave, get some rest, some downtime: so that he can take care of her, and ease her strung out tension, and his.
" 'Kay. Let's go. I've got some wine at home. Can't discuss something this sensitive in a bar." She's wired, and she won't sleep when she's like this. If they don't go now, she knows that she won't even try: she'll maybe take an hour on the couch in the break room, maybe thump the daylights out of the punchbag, maybe just replace her blood with caffeine and keep going: anything to solve this one faster, sharper, simply better than the last time. (Maybe? Maybe her ass. Definitely.) Every minute that passes reduces the chances for the child. But she also knows that she has to wind down, try to step away, block the images from the previous case before they stop her being able to do her job the way she needs to. She needs to forget for a little time now, to be able to remember everything she needs to tomorrow. And the way to do that is standing right here with her. As long as he doesn't ask her anything; as long as he waits for her to tell him the minimum she needs to say, to explain; as long as it's about this case, but not about the rest of the past. As long as she converts this roiling, clawing anger and frustration into hard focus on the case, and nothing else.
She doesn't even see that she's relying on Castle to bring her down, to bring her to a point where she can do her job to the best of her ability; trusting him to have her back and to help her.
To take care of her, in fact.
Clearly you do not like Agent Sorenson! As may have become apparent, neither do I. Did you really think I'd let him kiss Beckett?
Thank you for all the reviews, which are all appreciated. I'm always very interested in what all of you think.
