Author's note: Your responses on the last chapter were so beautiful, and overwhelming. Thank you so much! I have taken a little longer again to get the beginning of part three just right. While I said there would be 17 chapters, it seems like I'm mistaken once again. So, let me stop making predictions and just write instead hahaha x
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, Andrew Marlowe wrote a story about a writer and his muse. They, in turn, became my muse and I their writer (not creator ;) ).
"You don't understand, she's sober alright. She recognizes both her father and Sorenson; she knows that Montgomery is dead. She seems to know everything until Madi's murder, except for me," Castle tried for the umpteenth time. He was surrounded by Dr. Wise, Dr. Shepherd from Neuro and a few nurses.
"Mister Castle, please lower your voice," one of them said. They were standing right outside of Beckett's door.
"It is normal to be a little confused after the trauma she has endured; allow her some time to regain her bearings.," Dr. Wise said. Castle was about to object when the head of Neuro interjected.
"Mister Castle, we understand that this must be difficult. Have some patience; I will do some neurological tests to see what might be causing this temporary memory loss. I've also called in a psychiatrist who is specialized in trauma and abduction patients. Please, give it some time," she said placing her hand on his shoulder as he was about to speak again.
"The scans we took of her when she came in were clear; she didn't sustain any injuries to her brain as far as we know. So, whatever it is that is going on, could just as well be some confusion, or her mind's way to temporarily deal with the trauma." She smiled at him kindly.
"Thank you," he said, knowing that it wasn't fair of him to take it out on them.
"Tell her we'll come by in 15, when visitor hour is over, okay?" Dr. Shepherd said, leaving him to it.
Castle took a moment to calm himself, before he opened the door to her room again. Both her dad and Sorensen were at her bedside, but Beckett was asleep again. A gut-wrenching feeling went through him at the sight of Sorenson stroking her hand softly. Mr. Beckett turned his head, his face stricken with pity for him. He got up and pushed Castle back out of the room, as if he'd better not see. Better not see how it was Sorenson comforting his daughter, not him. Because what was the point? Why would she want to be comforted by him?
"I'm sorry, Rick," he said once outside. "She said she was tired, I didn't want her to force herself," Castle glanced back at the door. If only, he could go back in. Wake her up, make her remember.
"It's-" okay, he wanted to say. But the words died in his mouth. Even lying at this point was too difficult for him.
"Maybe it will be better tomorrow?" Mr. Beckett offered, and even though Castle knew it wouldn't be he responded with a "yeah, probably".
They remained in the hallway for a while, a few nurses passed them. Castle, not looking anywhere specific. Eventually he couldn't take it anymore; he couldn't stay there, only a door away from her. She was alive and safe, but instead of Castle being the one to hold her hand, instead of her father pushing Sorenson out the door because she was too tired, he was the one now being pushed into the hallway.
Because why would she want him there? Why would she want a complete stranger that vaguely reminded her of her favorite novelist to sit next to her? She was only allowed two guests at a time; why would she choose him over her own father and her ex-boyfriend who had heroically saved her from the claws of a Russian spy?
Castle had to leave; his legs moving on their own accord.
"Rick, I'm sure it will all come back to her," he heard Mr. Beckett say, but he didn't have the heart nor the energy to turn around and reply. Instead his legs carried him away; past the staircase, through the revolving doors, out into the Manhattan air.
He had no idea where he was going, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Every now and then, he would bump into another pedestrian. He would hear how they started to yell at him, "move out of the way," but then they would recognize him; "hey, aren't you that novelist who killed a bunch of KBGs? How cool man," which earned him a pat on the back.
He'd shrug it off, smile politely like he was used to do, and he'd head on. It was only when the colors of brownstone and concrete made way for green and soft pink, that he realized he had walked into a small park. There was the sound of children playing on the playground, some birds bickering over leftover fries.
He was headed for a bench, when a familiar voice spoke.
"Sit next to me," he heard. Not needing to turn around to know who it was, he followed the man. He wasn't surprised; he knew he would come. From the moment she had woken up, and hadn't recognized him, he knew his father would show his face again.
"How is she?" Hunt asked.
"She seems fine, besides the fact that she has no memory of ever having met me," he said, attempting to contain his frustration, but failing.
"I was afraid that might happen," he replied.
"You knew this would happen?" his voice raised. A few pigeons flew away.
"I had my suspicions. There's a reason he gave us so much time, son."
"Why didn't you tell me? We could have saved her sooner." I could have saved her sooner, his inner voice added.
"No we couldn't. You know that. I didn't tell you because all that matters is that she is alive, and she is safe."
"So, what? I just have to accept that she doesn't remember me and move on?"
"You wanted her back, didn't you? I told you I would, I never specified in what state."
Castle got up, unable to listen to this any longer.
"Richard, please sit down," he said. Castle looked around. The children in the playground were having a row; their nannies chatting away loudly, barely glancing at the children they were paid to watch. Finally, he decided to return to the bench.
"I truly am sorry that she doesn't remember you, but maybe it's for the best. I told you only half of his horrible practices; trust me, you do not want to know what he was capable of. Sometimes it is better not to know these types of things."
"So you're saying she's better off like this?"
"I'm saying you should praise yourself lucky that she is here now, and she is healthy. And have patience, who knows. Maybe she does regain some memories." He looked at his watch.
"I gotta go, son." He got up, but Castle wasn't done.
"You said the CIA was able to rescue some of his victims." Hunt turned his head, he seemed… hesitant.
"What happened to them? Where are they now?" He needed answers. If Beckett wasn't the first, maybe her predecessors were the key.
Hunt moved closer again.
"Listen, son. The ones they were able to save were brainwashed and killed their bosses. Some of them are locked away, far away, and if they'd get the chance, they'd go on and murder everyone on the list of people Volkov persuaded them to kill."
"What about the others?" Castle pushed further.
"I don't k-"
"You don't know? So, there might be people that survived it, that turned normal?"
"Turned normal," he scoffed. "Richard, they aren't zombies. They aren't people that can just be turned."
"Volkov did. He did something so gruesome that made them want to murder their own people. Didn't you do that too? Didn't you push his daughter to the brink of insanity, made her murder her own fiancé?"
"Listen to me, Richard. What we- what I did to his daughter was completely different," he couldn't believe his own father. It was one thing to commit a crime, but it was another thing to minimize its cruelty.
"How so? You destroyed her life, seems pretty similar to me?" Castle spat, not knowing what to make of his father, the spy. He seemed like a puppet, almost as bad as Volkov himself.
"Richard, I don't need you to understand why I do the things I do. Doing what I do isn't always as black and white as your books make it out to be," Castle rolled his eyes at that.
"What happened to Ana… we tortured her; we broke her to the point that she didn't know left from right. When we released her, her fiancé found her. She was so far gone by that point that she would have killed anyone that triggered her the wrong way.
What Volkov did, however? When the CIA rescued his victims, they were traumatized but seemed like themselves. The CIA thought that all they needed was some good therapy. So, for a month, everything seemed fine. They went to therapy every day, went home at night. And then one day, they woke up and killed five of their superiors in their own homes, as if they hadn't just killed some of the highest-ranking agents in the special service. We interrogated them for months, but they never budged. They denied their own crimes, while we had them on tape killing them in cold blood."
"So, how do you explain Beckett?" Castle eventually asked, letting the words sink in.
Hunt glimpsed at his watch again.
"To be honest, son, I don't know. None of his previous victims experienced memory loss. The whole point of it was for them to remember the gruels they underwent. So, as I said; maybe it's better for everyone that she doesn't. Now, I really have to go," he smiled apologetically.
"Right, duty calls," Castle murmured, as his father walked away. He remained on the bench for a while, his father's words circling through his brain. Maybe it was for the best? Maybe his father was right and he should praise himself lucky. He wanted her back, didn't he? Castle got up and let out of a grunt of frustration. Two nannies looked up, and gave him a look.
After their talk, Castle decided to go to the precinct. Not like there was anything for him to do there; Beckett's case was closed. They found the ones responsible and they were dead. Captain Gates had wondered who the man in the sketch was, but since so many of Castle's theories had been right, Sorenson had stood by Castle and convinced Gates that the old woman must have made the whole thing up.
Nonetheless, he'd rather go there. He had already told Alexis and his mother about Beckett, and he wasn't in the mood to be coddled first thing when he got home. He was sure the precinct would have heard too, by now. But with any luck, they would be too busy to pay any attention to him.
He knew Ryan wouldn't be there, still recovering from his wound. They expected him to come in next week though, already claiming to be bored on sick leave; not able to understand how Beckett had survived the summer after she'd been shot.
It had already gone dark by the time Castle finally made it to the precinct; Esposito was at his desk, doing paperwork, trying to explain what had gone down in the hangar. The television was on in the corner, the news reporting the same images they had for the last four days. It was a shaky shot of the hangar, spotlights on the door when Esposito and Sorenson came out carrying an unconscious Ryan, followed by Castle with Beckett in his arms.
Then the shot panned to the reporter on site, who tried to explain what they expected to have happened; not yet having received the full report from the police. The image was replaced by the network's studio where two news reporters gave more details about Beckett's kidnapping and rescue. It was followed by images of Volkov, other war victims that had gone insane at his hands. And as every other day, the report ended with a "we wish Detectives Beckett and Ryan a quick and safe recovery," after which they turned to other news. The TV went blank.
"You still watching that crap?" Esposito asked, having turned off the TV.
"You were there, why do you need to listen to the watered-down Hollywood version?" he added, as he shoved Ryan's chair Castle's way. Castle declined, however, not knowing what it is that he wanted.
"They don't know," he said eventually, still staring at the darkened TV monitor. They don't know she doesn't remember me. His eyes trailed over the murder board which hadn't been touched since the raid. Esposito followed his gaze: "We're still going to take that down. It was just easier for the report, but if you want we can do it now?"
Without response Castle moved towards the white board. He started pulling down the various pictures, wiping down the evidence. Esposito accepted the photos Castle handed him; the only one remaining was Beckett's. Castle stared at it for a while, unable to touch it. The picture had been his lifeline throughout these three weeks; seeing her face every day brought him a sliver of hope. A purpose which to fight for.
"How is she?" Esposito dared after a while, breaking the silence that came with the hour of day.
"Same as when I left her. Her father texted me. I don't get it, Javi. I would get it if she were to have forgotten the last four years, but she hasn't. She remembers every single case we've worked on in detail. The only one missing is me. It's like someone erased me from her brain," Castle took down Beckett's picture. Unable to look at it any longer. He placed it in the evidence box after which he closed the lit. If only he could put a close on the case that easily.
There was no investigating left to do; all clues of the puzzle had been discovered, yet, they were still dealing with the ramifications. He felt selfish. Just a week earlier, he had given everything to have her back in his life, healthy and safe. And now, that he had her back, he didn't know what to do, didn't know what he should say to her, not knowing whether he should be around her like he normally was, or start all over.
They had come so close; they had finally taken the next step in their relationship when all of this happened. First Madi; then Tyson screwing with her memory of that night. It had been a blow to know Beckett hadn't remembered their first night together. But knowing now where the case would progress, he would give anything to have that version of Beckett back. This one seemed ten times worse.
"Do you think it's something that Volkov did to her? Remember what Sorenson said? He was notorious for psychological torture. I read up on the guy; the things Interpol send me… they were freaky man."
"Do you still have those files?" While his father had said that they hadn't been able to break the psychological hold Volkov had over his victims, maybe somewhere in those files, there would be a detail they had missed. Some way to make her remember, some way to get his Kate back.
"Let me just look them up real quick," Esposito said, returning to his desk. After a minute or so, the printer sprung to life.
"There you go; now go home. No point in you being here," Esposito dismissed Castle, returning to the file he had been working on.
Castle folded the bundle of papers, and as he was headed out, he heard Gates behind him.
"Mister Castle?" her head bopped out of her office, "could we have a word?"
"Sure," he exchanged looks with Esposito, who quickly returned his head to his monitor, pretending to work.
She remained in the door frame while Castle passed her to get into her office. Once inside, she closed the door behind him and gestured him to sit down, while she did the same.
"How are you holding up?" she asked eventually.
"Great, she's back so uh…"
"Great?" she suggested.
"Yeah, that's the word." Castle felt like he was back in high school in the principal's office. Those times when they hadn't caught him red-handed but knew Castle had somehow been involved in the mischief of that week; they just didn't know how yet.
"I know it's late, but since everything that has happened, I thought I would allow you some space,"
"Which I highly appreciate," Castle interjected, trying to remain in her good graces.
"But I would like to know your side of the story," she said, ignoring Castle's comment.
"My side?"
"Yes, your side, Mr. Castle. While Detective Esposito told me what happened, everyone experiences such events differently, and now I want to know your side."
"I'm not sure what there is to add? We went to the hangar; like the plan we'd come up with, I entered through the sewer system. We hoped that they would capture me; kind of like a Trojan horse. I would be the distra-"
"I know the concept of a Trojan horse, Mr. Castle. You say 'we'. Detective Esposito said you were the one who came up with the plan? In fact, from what he told me, it seemed like it was you who found the location where they kept Beckett, and it was you who had a map of the place, and explosives?"
"Um, yeah…" was all he seemed to manage to say. While he was paid to make up stories for a living, his talent seemed to fall short when needed.
"I know there is someone you're covering for, Mister Castle. I am also willing to bet that whoever that person is, was the one who brought Beckett into all of this in the first place. How else would you explain that a KGB officer would take hold of my Detective? I went through every case file of hers; there is not one possible explanation that could tie Detective Beckett to Volkov."
Better than to sin by silence, Castle was about to speak when Gates continued.
"I do not care for their identity, Mister Castle. As far as I'm concerned, this person of yours is old news. What I want to know from you is whether my apprehension is correct. I want to know that they are gone for good, and my team is safe again."
Castle was surprised; he had known Gates was good at her job, her title for one stating so. Still, he had always seen her more as a bureaucratic, stern moral figure, there to keep her detectives in check. He didn't expect her to actually conduct investigations on her own, or question the narratives that passed her review.
"It is a fairly simple question, Mister Castle. A simple yes would do," she said, ready to dismiss him.
"Yes," he replied.
"Very well, good night then, Mister Castle."
She placed her glasses back on her nose, and started scanning some of the forms in front of her.
"Goodnight, Sir."