It was warm inside, almost too much. Lanie overcompensated in that respect as if to soothe away the deathly chill common to her workspaces. A notch below discomfort was what Beckett had always recalled of the home and feeling it wrap around her now helped melt some of the frost crystals she imagined still limned the interior of the blood vessels around her heart.
Their hostess with the mostest was dressed down in dark blue leggings and a purple, V-neck Henley tunic. A clean, soapy smell enveloped the detective as the two of them exchanged a welcoming hug.
"Sorry for the ambush. I tried texting you on the way over."
"Yeah, phone's dead. It's no problem."
"Hug him too," Kate whispered before they came fully apart.
Lanie gave her a blink of confusion but did not shy from bestowing a broad smile on her partner and wrangling him into her arms. It happened naturally enough to make the observing woman think it might have occurred without aid. "Hey, trouble. Nice to see you beyond the confines of the crime scene tape."
The novelist, who had still seemed preoccupied after the exchanges in the hallway, was taken by surprise. The breadth of his smile as he returned Lanie's hug made him look almost boyish. "Likewise, thanks. I was just telling Beckett how overdue this is. I should be the one apologizing for the intrusion, though. This was my caveat."
"It's no intrusion. Gimme your coats and come on in."
They obliged and while the articles were being hung in the foyer closet, Castle toed out of his oxfords. Kate did the same with her heels while smothering a smile at the sight of the author's socks. They were black and had white lettering across the toes that read 'I'm left, dummy' on the left sock and 'That's not right' on the other one with an additional white arrow indicating its twin.
They followed the M.E. through an abbreviated entrance hall and into a sprawling living room. The faint smell of recent popcorn clung to the air.
Like many apartments, the walls and ceiling were a neutral white, handsomely offset by the varnished pallor of pine hardwood flooring except where hallway runners or area rugs were laid. Tasteful flourishes were present throughout; beautifully carved base moldings and cornices, sumptuously large windows where morning sunlight fell in waves, and light fixtures that ranged from simple inset globes to several tubes that dangled over the dining room table like a windchime. A ten-pronged chandelier glowed overhead in the living room, though only a few of the smallish bulbs were active. There were no barriers between that space and the kitchen and the only divide that separated both larger rooms from the dining area was a partial pony wall laden with a dozen potted plants.
Nemeses, Kate thought grumpily as she eyeballed the vibrant flora.
The last round of house sitting she had made on her best friend's behalf was too recent to forget how swiftly and soundly she had murdered Lanie's plants. No amount of patient care, online searches, or frantic calls to her much more green-thumbed father could save them. Part of her continued to assert suicide as their collective cause of death. She had bawled while giving Lanie the news. The woman's laughter rang fresh in her memory as Kate turned away from the sight of the things.
Lanie swept through the living room with a wave towards twin brown leather sofas and a pair of matching armchairs. "Have a seat. Anywhere is fine." She slanted away into the kitchen. "Castle, can I getcha a drink?"
"I could imbibe, oh yes."
"Oh lordy. You two really were adventurous tonight, huh? What's your poison?"
He sat in one of the chairs opposite of the sofa where Kate alighted and crossed one slacks-encased leg horizontally over the other. "Anything is fine."
"Cognac? I think I still have some Remy Martin."
"That's better than merely fine, thank you. I like your place," he added with his gaze still touring their surroundings. "It isn't what I expected."
"Dare I ask how?"
"I don't see a single archaic torture device, for one thing."
"Har, har."
"I suppose part of the appeal must be the open floor plan. That makes me feel right at home. The arrangement of everything is interesting too. It makes liberal use of symmetry without being beholden to it. There's a subtle demand for orderliness, but it doesn't feel clinical."
"Um. Thank you, I think."
"Sorry. I like it, that's all I meant."
Lanie reappeared with a pair of glasses in-hand. A short, stout tumbler was given to Castle and a round-bodied wineglass found its way into the other woman's eager grasp. She sat next to Kate on the sofa while the latter murmured her thanks and sampled the red.
Yum.
"You're fine," Lanie assured Castle with a tuck of her toes under Kate's jean-clad thigh. "It's taken a while to get it the way I like. Makes sense that pieces of me would beam from it pretty clearly by now."
"Did you take these?" He gestured with the freshly sipped brandy to some of the photographs arranged upon the walls. They were predominantly candid shots featuring friends and family, past and present. Only one image lacked living subjects: a haunting black and white print of the twin towers that rested alone between two windows on the exterior wall. The detailing was so exact it almost looked like a windowed view into the past.
"Most of them, yeah. I'm a bit of a shutterbug."
The author had scooted his butt to the edge of the sofa in preparation to stand. "May I?"
"Yeah, of course. Nice socks, you goober." Lanie grinned as Castle rose with a wriggling of his toes. "And while he snoops around, you can fill me in on this misadventure," she added with a discerning look at her toes-toaster.
That plan was immediately derailed by the sound of a door closing. From out the T-shaped junction of the south hall, Lanie's roommate emerged.
Theresa Lacroix was not a woman who needed to try making an entrance. It happened naturally, almost preternaturally. She moved into the room like liquid gold being poured from a pitcher. Everyone looked up as she came. Everyone breached the span of propriety that differentiated looking and staring.
Her eyes met Kate's first. It was like peering down through an arctic ice shelf and glimpsing its ancient, polar blue heart. Vibrant. Breathtaking. Entirely deadly.
The twenty-seven-year-old natural blonde's cruelly inviting curves were flimsily sheathed in a pair of pale yellow satin pajama shorts and a matching, camisole top with spaghetti straps. The spicy sleepwear had been a gift once upon a time. Now it felt like a sobering slap across the face. A pair of knee-high white socks were also worn. They lured the eyes to the line of demarcation between fabric and thigh with all the authority the sun exerted upon its planets. The outfit was not so revealing as to be considered a cheap thrill, but it would have been eye-catching on anyone. Without a trace of make-up on, the fresh arrival left mute devastation in her wake.
Only Lanie was immune. "Very subtle, T."
Tessa unveiled a lush, unrepentant smile. From between an elegant cage of enviably long eyelashes she looked to her right at Castle where he stood at a bookcase dotted with additional photographs. He was not assessing them anymore. "So, this is what all the fuss is about, hmm? I was expecting a strapping young stud with heartbreaking blue eyes. Seems I was wrong on one count."
Castle glanced back at Beckett and then favored the blonde with a hesitant smile. "Sorry to disappoint you?"
"Oh, hon, not at all." She drifted forward into the larger man's personal bubble with quintessential aggression and offered a slim hand. "Theresa Lacroix."
The author shifted at her proximity and eyed the palm for a beat. Kate thought that was probably his survival instincts telling him to flee for the hills. Instead, he took the woman's hand with his larger grasp. "Richard Castle. Pleased to meet you." The hand-holding went beyond decorum as he floundered in the other woman's eyes. "Uh." He released her, discreetly backed off half a pace, and recovered smoothly, "Do you prefer Theresa? Or T, or Tessa? I'm losing track."
Tessa glided forward into the gap. The tumbler held before the author in both hands was dangerously close to being swallowed by the valley of the young woman's breasts. "It alternates based on their approval—that is, their frequent and flagrant disapproval—of my behavior. Like moms do."
"I wish I was your mother," Lanie groused. "Then it wouldn't be weird if I paddled some sense into your ass."
The blonde replied without looking away from the man before her. "Lay-lay, you can paddle my derriere anytime you wish. Be a good host and share with our guests."
Lanie flinched in the middle of lifting her wine glass.
Castle chuckled and asked, "How long have you all been friends? I know these two," he nodded towards where the M.E and detective sat, "were at NYU together, but that couldn't be…the case with…" He trailed off as Tessa nodded with a scintillating stir of flaxen waves.
"That's where she got her bachelor's degree," Lanie said with a puff of pride on their friends' behalf. "Harvard got her for medical school. She's a neurosurgeon."
Richard blinked over at them and then back at Tessa. "Really?"
"I'm much too cute for such gooey work, aren't I?"
The author emitted a rumbling, one-note laugh. "I was going to say too young. Isn't neurosurgery a twelve to fifteen year program?" He took in another eager nod with his eyebrows lifted. "Wow. So you started college when you were—
"Fourteen," Beckett provided. "Which is why Lanie mothers her."
"Horseshit," the medical examiner replied flatly. "She gets mothered because she was wilder at that age than we were as young adults. Age hasn't stolen much enthusiasm from her," she added with a glower at their distant friend.
Tessa, slender arms dangling and hands clasped before herself, smiled prettily. Jeez. It was unreal—it was plain unfair—how sweet and innocent she could make herself look.
"T, give that poor man room to breathe. Come sit down."
"What? He doesn't mind."
They all looked at Rick, who by then was standing with his back pressed up against an unlit floor lamp that was leaning on its base at a twenty-degree angle. "I, uh, don't mind," he hedged diplomatically, "but sitting would be lovely. Shall we?"
Tessa was an artist with the pout. She didn't involve rookie maneuvers like petulance or indignance. She let her big, icy blue eyes do the heavy lifting and set her plump, symmetrical lips into the faintest gape of barely withheld protest.
Masterful.
Castle squinted at her and growled, "Listen to your mother."
Lanie chortled and, hell, even Kate rocked with silent mirth.
Tessa giggled and stepped away from the man. She quickened into bounding strides and leapt with girlish exuberance over the back of the unoccupied sofa, plopping into a pile of throw pillows. She squeezed one into a hug, nuzzled her cheek into it, and hummed contentedly.
Castle took a deep sip of his tumbler before joining them. He sat in the armchair neighboring the sofa Tessa had sprawled on, opposite of the other two women.
"Let's try this again," the medical examiner stated dryly before facing Kate. "What kind of mischief did you two manage this evening? Not literal combat, I hope."
Beckett shot Castle a forestalling look before she delivered a cliff-notes version of their evening, starting with the last-minute call from Nellis at the Twelfth and concluding with the bizarre encounter in room 407 of Beth Israel's secure ICU. She temporarily omitted her overblown reaction to the dead teen's semi-revivification.
The M.E. listened while sipping intermittently from her wine. She took the tale in stride. Tessa, though she lazed on her back while staring at the ceiling and stroking at the slightly concave bowl of her belly with her nails, was listening intently too, the detective knew. The latter rolled onto her side with one cheek further pillowed on the bend of her forearm to look at Lanie.
The medical examiner shrugged. "It's a little weird, yeah."
"Castle mentioned, uh, Lazarus syndrome?"
Tessa breathed a soft laugh. The sound crept up the back of Beckett's neck with a spreading coolness and made the grip on her wineglass tighten reflexively.
Lanie smiled too and shook her head. "The simpler answer is that she was still alive at the time, at least initially. Doctors have been jumping the gun on death declarations since people have been dying. I've had a few people come into the morgue who weren't dead."
"Really?" Castle asked.
"Unfortunately, yeah. It's very rare, but it happens. It's possible that Lazarus syndrome plays a role in that now and again, but more often it's something the doctors or nurses missed during their final assessments. That's an easier mistake to make than you might think. Our bodies can get very quiet while they're conserving energy for the fight to survive. EKGs, EEGs—they're capable devices but they aren't infallible. Anyway, none of that explains why you needed a late-night check-up."
Beckett was peripherally aware of Castle watching her. "We—that is, I was pretty startled by the incident." She shook her head with some exasperation. "I dunno why. I reacted poorly and apparently I fainted for a few seconds. According to Castle, I might've suffered some kind of seizure when I went down."
Lanie sat up straighter at that. She came to her feet with a growled, "I need my kit," and marched through the adjoining doorway to her bedroom.
"I'm fine now," Beckett called after her.
"How were you at the time?" Tessa asked. She was sitting up on the couch, her posture erect and alert. "Afterwards, I mean. You said you were only out for a few seconds?" She waved the questions off before an answer could be given and looked to Castle instead. "You saw this happen?"
He looked at Beckett. She sighed inwardly and gave a curt nod.
"Start again from the beginning," Tessa said.
The author shifted in his chair. "Uh. Okay. That's a bit tricky, actually. There are some minor discrepancies between what I remember and what she described from her perspective, at least in regards to her interactions with the victim."
"Discrepancies aren't uncommon in high-stress situations, but go on."
Castle did so with more brevity than he might have normally employed while story-telling. The actual nuts and bolts of their narratives were very similar. The big differences lay in how they interpreted it all. Listening to his version, Kate suddenly remembered that she had been gripping onto the girl's shoulders at one point. Not pulling her closer, as Castle had initially surmised, but in an attempt to hold her at bay, which was his amended conclusion as he described it presently.
More or less on the sage page now. Good.
Lanie returned to the living room with a black leather satchel in-hand. She paused with one hand on the armchair nearby to listen.
"...and then Beckett fell, like she said." Castle's hands were resting together between his knees. They paled in places from the mangling grip they had on one another. "I heard her head hit the floor. When I came around the bed she was lying crumpled up at the foot of it, almost fetal. Sh-she was spasming—" He cut sharply to silence. A dreadful second passed. "I went over to her. Um. I realize now that I probably shouldn't have, but I picked her up—her upper half, that is. I could feel her trembling. That stopped several seconds later. She woke up a few seconds after that."
"That'd be an awfully quick turnaround for a grand mal," Tessa observed to Lanie, who nodded in agreement. She focused on Kate and asked, "How did you feel when you regained consciousness?"
Beckett was silent as she studied the man across the way. How could he wonder at her hesitation with their relationship while sitting there looking agonized over her? It hurt to be the cause of his suffering, even if it was unwitting and temporary. When he pictured a future together, did he factor in the frequency with which they risked their lives together? Tonight would not be the last time something like this happened. Was he prepared for the years of potential anxiety ahead? Was she prepared for the constant guilt of being its source?
"Kate?" Lanie asked.
Beckett gave a soft clearing of her throat. "Sorry. Uh. I was tired, I guess. Tired and a little disoriented. It felt like I'd been out for a lot longer. My body felt weird too, like it was obeying my commands a fraction of second later than normal. It still kinda feels like that to a lesser degree."
"Huh. Sounds like a grand mal though," Lanie said with a frown.
"It sounds like at least a dozen possibilities," the other doctor countered mildly without looking away from Kate. She addressed her specifically, saying, "You'll need to schedule an appointment somewhere. You do seem fine, but you can't let this go without further inquiry. We talked about this before, remember? We need to stay alert for any late-developing symptoms of brain damage resulting from your shooting."
"That bullet just keeps on giving," Kate muttered wearily.
"Don't get stressed over it," Tessa said with a shrug of her slender shoulders. "This is most likely an isolated hiccup. You were startled, and with good reason. Fear wreaks havoc on our bodies. That's probably all this was."
Kate looked at her shadow with a slightly smug purse of her lips. Told you so.
He stared back at her with his jawline tense, the very picture of lasting concern.
"I'm still checking her out." Lanie snapped her fingers and pointed at the armchair neighboring Kate. "Sit."
Beckett stared defiantly back at the M.E and sipped her wine.
Doom gathered in the dark-skinned woman's face. "Girl, I sure as shit will do some paddling tonight if you don't move that narrow ass—" The officer swiftly uncoiled and made the exchange of seats with her shoulders slunk. Her besty withdrew a white pen light from the bag now placed at her feet and bent closer. "Look straight ahead for me." Beckett did so and the other woman played the beam across her eyes.
She heard Castle's resonant baritone come to life nearby. "Tessa, may I pick your brain about a couple things while they're doing that?"
The blonde stirred upon the couch and laid the opposite way with her chin resting upon both folded arms. The lamplight lent the woman an almost ethereal glow. "Of all my organs, you're choosing my brain to play with? Kit-kat, what've you done with this promising specimen's testes?"
"T," Lanie interjected without pausing in her study of Kate's pupil response.
"Yes, yes. Behave myself. Boring," Tess droned and waved for Rick to proceed.
"You don't seem concerned that Beckett and I have slightly conflicting memories."
"Look to your right," Lanie instructed Kate with a quiet murmur. She did so and then to the left and up and down as the other woman requested while the discussion continued beyond them both.
"I'm not, no. The human brain is a remarkable organ," the blonde began, "but its capacity for record keeping, if you'll pardon some Harvard-grade lexicon, is kinda shit." Lanie and Kate gave mutual soft snorts of appreciation. "You've been working with the NYPD for a couple years now, right?" Castle nodded. "You've probably seen plenty of witness statements fall apart."
"Some do. Plenty of them don't."
"You hope they don't. The truth isn't always clear. Personally, I'd be horrified by the idea of my freedom hinging on someone else's ability to accurately recall a specific moment in time and space. Our current thinking is that memories change every time we access them, did you know that? The differences can be very subtle, of course, but imagine how quickly their accuracy might erode over time and through repetition."
"I can see how that might be problematic, I guess, but my memory of the hospital only just happened. It's pretty vivid."
"That's not as relevant as you might think." Tessa paused to consider. "Let's say I focus on a memory of Kit-Kat over there."
Oh hell. Don't you start.
"I'll picture her the night we were celebrating my graduation from medical school. An occasion like that ought to linger pretty crisply in my memory, wouldn't you think?"
"Sure," Castle said easily. "Though I'd call that a long-term memory. That's different, isn't it?"
"Short-term memory is a classification that's measured in seconds. Your memory of the hospital is long term for all intent and purposes. It's fresher, granted, and that's meaningful in its own right, but physiologically speaking it's no different than the example I'm providing."
Lanie was swapping out her pen light for an ophthalmoscope. She leaned in to continue the examination while whispering, "Here comes that funeral, as promised."
Kate winced in agreement.
"Okay, so this was in the spring of 2007. I remember these two picking me up from Kennedy after my flight landed and taking me to my folks place uptown. God, I remember my mother's reaction. I had told her before I left campus that I had a surprise. She was not expecting a framed doctorate certificate."
"Pfft," Lanie issued softly amidst her study of Kate's left eye. "Uppity bitch."
"Amen," Kate muttered.
"What was she expecting?" Rick asked, nonplussed as he looked between them all.
"A grandchild, I guess," Tessa said with an indifferent shrug. "Or at the very least to see me show up arm-in-arm with some well-to-do husband material, preferably a blonde-haired, blue-eyed epitome of WASP breeding. That was why she put me through medical school in the first place. She thought it would be an excellent hunting ground for bolstering our family's legacy."
"Wow," Castle said flatly.
"Anyway, I got changed. We left and painted the town red. It was a fun night. Until the end," Tessa concluded, somewhat subdued as she looked across the way at the detective who met her gaze before turning away. "We split a cab. Lanie's place was closest, so we dropped her off first. I didn't want to go home to my folks, so Kit-Kat let me crash with her. That was pretty common when I was visiting home." She paused a beat as her polar blue eyes drifted to one side in thought. "We went upstairs and had a few more drinks together. We talked about the future a little and she gave me a welcome home present—the outfit I'm wearing now, actually. Then we went to bed."
Kate watched the realization dawn in her partner's visage. His expression shifted from interest and curiosity to one of wide-eyed realization. He looked over at her and she… She merely sighed and nodded. It's precisely what you think.
"You two haven't slept together, have you?"
Castle's attention snapped back to Tessa. "What? No. No," he repeated. He started to add something more but screeched to a halt and stared down at his hands. God only knew what cliff edge had narrowly been avoided.
"I can tell. When you do—"
"T!" Lanie snapped.
"Tess!" Kate barked at the same instant.
The blonde giggled merrily with a roll onto her back. "If you ever do," she corrected as she righted herself and rolled her eyes, "it'll change the way she behaves around you. She's no puritan when it comes to keeping those legs closed, but there's a big difference between her engaging in sporty fun and being intimate with someone."
"Tess," Beckett huffed. "Please." She risked a glance at her partner and immediately regretted it. For a moment, the hunger for it all was raw in his expression. It wasn't lust. She could have handled mere lust.
"Stop moving," Lanie ordered her patient. "This is why I prefer the deceased."
"I'm not making fun. I think it's sweet." Tessa looked at Castle, studying him intently as she continued. "I think I was twenty the first time I successfully seduced her, but I'd wanted her since the moment we met."
"You wanted to fuck her," Lanie corrected dryly.
Tessa blinked at her and shrugged as if to say: what's the difference?
Kate grunted unintelligibly to herself in embarrassment.
"Anyway, we kind of grew into an unofficial arrangement where we'd have some fun together when neither of us were in relationships. Truthfully, I wasn't always single when it happened, but I lied about that when necessary. I couldn't deny myself having her. I guess I'll spare everyone the juicy details. The relevant part is that I remember the way she looked at me the night we were celebrating my graduation. Maybe it was different that time because I was done with school and planning on coming home soon. Maybe she felt the same thing I did: that the future was opening up around us in the peculiar way it sometimes does. You know what I'm talking about, hon?"
Castle moistened his lips and said, "I've faced a hard crossroad or two in my time. You feel nervous and maybe excited, but also disquieted by the weight of the change you can feel looming over you."
"Exactly." Tessa paused again in silent self-conference. "I watched her after she fell asleep next to me. I must've counted her breaths for an hour or more while I thought about how different and meaningful everything had felt that time. Jesus, I was terrified. She looked so beautiful it made me want to cry."
The blonde stopped. For nearly half a minute the only sounds in the room were those of the city which rose from below and the occasional soft clicks of the ophthalmoscope in the M.E's hand as she switched levels of magnification.
Soon, the dark-skinned woman sat back with a nod and said, "Done and done. Your pupil response is excellent and I'm not seeing any aberrations or signs of swelling in the optic nerve. The thickness of that skull has served you well once again."
"Cheers," Kate muttered softly, unable to manage a smile.
Lanie set aside the pen light on the arm of the chair and went rooting into the bag. "I'm gonna check your blood-pressure while we're right here."
Rick cleared his throat. "What—uh. May I ask what happened?"
"I happened," Tessa replied with a wan smile. "I went out into the kitchen and had a few more drinks to calm my nerves. I ended up calling some friends and we threw ourselves a little party on the roof. That was just the distraction I needed. More people showed up and before I knew it our cozy little get-together had turned into a nice shindig. One of my former professors from NYU showed up. I'd always had a bit of a thing for the guy, but I'd never acted on it. I can't remember now if I seduced him or if it was the other way around. Anyway, I fucked him in the 5th floor stairwell."
Richard absorbed the confession with a painfully neutral reception.
"And his TA," Kate inserted with an eye roll as Lanie rolled back her shirt sleeve.
"Yup. Jesus that kid was hung. Dumb as a brick, but hung. Not my first tag-team," the blonde submitted with a shrug as she studied the fingernails of one hand, "and probably not the best if I can't remember much about it. I left the party after that and went downstairs, back to bed with Kit-Kat."
"Oh," Castle spouted softly, a succinct emission that encapsulated a complex array of emotions.
"Yeah," Tessa agreed. "I, uh, always demand protection. It's usually an iron-clad rule. I wasn't prepared that night. When we woke up the next morning, it was to the unpleasant surprise of finding a bit of a mess in the bedsheets."
"Oh," Castle said again with a hard wince. "Phew. That's… That's a lot, Tess."
"It was a helluva lot."
"T," Lanie hissed with a sharp glance, but the younger woman didn't giggle after twisting the author's words. She wasn't even smiling.
Richard looked at Beckett, studying her carefully emotionless façade before regarding the blonde on the couch again. "What did she do?"
"She left without a word. I woke up a little later that morning and put two and two together real quick. I, uh, did a load of laundry and then I left too. How long was it until we spoke again after that?" she asked with a turn from her nails to the detective. "Six months?"
"It was like four," Lanie answered with her focus locked onto the gauge as she pumped the cuff around Kate's bicep a few times. "You deserved worse, you little shit."
"Yeah," Tessa agreed again. She looked at Castle. "When I look back at that night, some details are clearer than others. What I remember most are the emotions, but even in that respect I've replayed it so many times they've become mixed up with feelings I only came to harbor after the fact. I'm not sure how much of what I recall actually occurred and how much of it is what I wish had happened, or hadn't."
Castle considered the proposal with a moment of respectful silence. But soon shook his head and said, "I see what you mean, but my memory only just happened."
"No. You don't see." She shifted until she was sitting up against the couch edge, arms folded before her midriff. "It's less about longevity than it is context. You've been afraid of losing her before, right? How many times, do you think?"
Castle pointedly avoided looking at Kate. "I don't know. Several." He smoothed a palm down his face and somberly corrected himself, "A lot."
"When you recall one instance of Kate being in danger, you think of other times you almost lost her. You remember the worst ones. That grisly expectation—that contextualized fear—can bleed across and contaminate other moments from your past. Our brains are remarkably adept at pattern recognition but that can make keeping similar data points isolated and accurate problematic. It only gets more complicated when you factor in acute levels of stress or extreme emotions."
"You think I'm remembering the hospital incorrectly then?"
"I think you've experienced a lot of trauma. Maybe you recall the whole thing perfectly as you perceived it. How would you know if your perception was faulty? How could you prove your memory isn't at least partially based on what you were afraid would happen? Maybe you were watching the event like a man waiting for her to fall backwards onto the cemetery grass, just like I was expecting her to wake up and realize she was falling in love with a sociopathic flake who couldn't love her back with the same integrity."
Kate looked away at that, hard and away at the blood pressure cuff slackening in its grip around her bicep. Lanie gave it another few pumps, double-checking the reading, then nodded silently in approval before she let it deflate and began unstrapping everything.
Castle looked at Kate, Lanie, and then Tessa again. He splayed a palm across his brow and rubbed his temples. "My head hurts." He set aside his drink and lifted the same palm as if to rake it through his hair. He stopped abruptly as Tessa's right hand snapped closed around his left wrist.
"Lay-lay."
The medical examiner paused at the low tone of concern and turned as she stood upright. Between the two women, Kate could see what had drawn the blonde's interest. The author's hand was visibly trembling. He belatedly noticed as much and snapped it shut, but it was too late to conceal.
"Dibs on this patient," Tessa murmured amusedly.
"What? No, I'm fine. I wasn't the one who—"
"Don't argue," Lanie interrupted. "You came here for medical advice. Hush up and take it."
"Serves you right," Beckett gloated.
Tessa plucked up the pen light Lanie had set aside and leaned down to give her partner the same treatment with occasional murmurs of instruction. The detective set her jaw tight. She couldn't see him to know whether he was taking advantage, but she was damn well capable of imagining the view of Tessa's cleavage being purposefully offered up to him at the time. She had, after all, purchased the sleepwear with such imagery in mind. Ire wilted rapidly as the blonde shifted left more and proffered her heart-shaped ass to Kate's stare
You're such a bitch, she thought, torn between a tickle of fond amusement and crackling jealousy. Too, she couldn't help drinking in the alluring view with a distracted moistening of her lips. When she had found those pajamas on the racks, she'd known immediately that they were the right choice.
The shorts were dangerously succinct at that angle. Flirtatious waves of pallid yellow lapped against the saucy cheeks of the other woman's rump with each subtle sway of her figure as she worked. The crinkled crotch shaped itself lovingly around the tender hump of the blonde's labia. The narrow strip of protection there was so minute Kate could see where the creamy bronze of the neurosurgeon's inner thighs acquired the faintest tint of the cinnamon hue which otherwise ruled the woman's erotic core.
For fuck's sake, Tess. No underwear?
Despite the lurid nature of the showcasing, what it actually provoked was a stream of less blatant memories. She could feel again the vibrating hum of arousal she'd felt while shopping through Victoria's Secret on the other woman's behalf; the thrill of the affair she was keeping under wraps, the giddy pleasure at finding what she wanted and imagining Tessa's reaction to it later. And her lover had been tickled by it. Despite drowning in gifts from would-be suitors and even a few casually accepted ones back at school, the blonde had reacted to Kate's present with girlish glee and, later, a purely devilish version of the same.
Lanie, who reclaimed her perch on the sofa and had been frowning in thought for a time, noted the obscene source of the detective's turmoil. She narrowed her dark eyes, reached out, and slapped Tessa across the ass. The crack of the blow was like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. Promise kept.
The blonde didn't even twitch. She hummed a throaty purr of a laugh and murmured, "Harder, please."
"And you," Lanie whispered to Kate. "Don't play her fucking game."
"I'm not."
Except she kind of was. And when Tessa's head lowered enough to get a glimpse of Castle, she really was. The man looked more embarrassed by the unwanted attention than anything else but, ho-god, the imagery of the blonde bent over between the two of them was so wrong—so unnervingly provocative—Kate squirmed against the cushion of her seat. And he saw it happening to her.
Fucking kill me now.
"I swear to god," her neighbor hissed softly. "Stop."
"Lanie, jeez," she whispered back, "I fucking know. Gimme a break."
"I'm tempted to."
"Were you drinking at any point this evening?" Tessa asked quietly.
Richard shook his head.
"No recreational drug use?"
"No."
The neurologist nodded to herself as she stood upright, looking down at the pen light in her hands. She clicked it off. "Then it's fair to surmise the redness in your eyes is due to a strong emotional reaction to the circumstances."
Both hands arose and Rick buried his face in them in embarrassment. They slid down to the cheeks and he gave another, single nod.
"Duh," Lanie issued quietly.
Maybe it served him right to squirm under the spotlight the way he wanted her to occupy, but his motives had been pure. The detective ached to see it.
Tessa laid the pen light aside upon the sofa arm slowly and with unnecessary care. "The tremors are leftover adrenaline. They'll fade soon enough. He said he feels a little chilled throughout the extremities, and that's probably from the sudden drop in blood pressure. He's fine, though, it concerns me that his psychological response was nearly extreme enough to send him into a physiological state of shock. That's not normal."
"What about her?" Castle asked with his hands lowered to his knees again, fisted upon them as his blue eyes locked onto Kate's. "What's the verdict?"
The blonde looked at Lanie.
"Most likely, Tessa's right and it wasn't an actual seizure. I'll feel better after Kate gets a proper check-up. Until then, I haven't seen any cause for immediate concern. Let's take a quick listen before you go." She gestured for her patient to stand. "Lose that shirt, sweetheart. Castle," the writer was already rising from the sofa as she turned towards him, "yeah. Thanks, honey. You can wait in my room. It's just through—"
"No," Beckett said. "He can…" She looked up at his confused guise and then at Lanie as the woman's arm was lowering back to her side. "He can stay."
"Kate, I need to—"
"Lanie," she huffed, nothing more.
The other woman studied her for a silent beat, nodded. She looked at Tessa and jerked her head indicatively. The pair of women stepped apart and moved across the living room towards the kitchen, no doubt for an impromptu medical conference.
Beckett sat up straighter and kept her eyes firmly on the task at hand while she started unbuttoning the white dress shirt from the neck downward. Her hands were still a little shaky from adrenaline too.
Castle eased down into place in front of her. His abdomen pressed warmly against her knees and shins. As large a man as he was, to her he felt downright mountainous. He was everywhere outside and a strange sense of pressure she could feel on the inside as well, straining the limitations of her bones and skin. She watched with her lips poised apart as his larger hands extended and gently—so gently her eyelids drooped—finished what she had started. "You never cease to surprise me," he said at a discreet rumble.
Beckett's fingers slid nervously along the opened edges of her top. She could almost feel his eyes where they had affixed to the central scar of the entry wound. "This is so far off from how I imagined this happening for the first time."
A closed-lipped smile made the man look his age. The differences in their years rarely manifested in a tangible way. There was warmth in his face and a wisdom seldom glimpsed in the fine crinkles bordering his eyes. "The fact that there even is a first time is your victory. And I—" He swallowed and the roughness in his voice smoothed itself out. "I'm very grateful to be here for it."
Damn it. He killed her sometimes.
"I bet you are." He didn't smile but she could still feel him on the inside. Snug, warm, and secure. "Can you—"
He rose to his feet before her as she pulled the pallid fabric open. Despite the heat in the apartment she shivered slightly from the lick of air on bare skin. He pulled from the shoulders until the article pooled around her sides and lower back. Castle lifted it clear. He stared at it in his hands. That was what finally made her cheeks flush—watching while he marveled over the heat of her body still clinging to the fabric.
Richard looked at her and back at the shirt in his hands. He winced faintly and dutifully folded the garment, setting it aside upon the chair arm.
"This too," she said, touching the black strap of her bra at her left shoulder.
"Uh. I don't think Lanie needs—"
"I do. I'll hold it," she explained. "It just hurts. It's been on all day and I can't. The abrasiveness." She paused, snapped her eyes back to his. "Do it."
He did, tentatively, with torturous slowness and a burgeoning reverence in his expression that fluttered in her belly and spooled itself into a warm coil between her thighs. A gathering awareness of fullness and wetness combined with a cool prickling of receptiveness threatened to override her awareness of anything else. Everything else. The painful familiarity of his cologne and the almost imperceptible layers of him that rode beneath promised an utter obfuscation of rational thought. Charcoal lashes beat out two distinct swoops of relief as the pressure against her left side eased and the scrape of fabric fell clear of her scar tissue. Once upon a time, that particular brand of bliss was reserved for the moment she was finally allowed to step out of her heels for the night.
God in heaven. You are exquisite.
Beckett shivered again and lifted one hand in the air, mutely begging for him to stop right there. Not another word. Please, god, not another sound. She sensed him ease away, heard the soft pad of his socks on the floor. A world of weight rolled off her shoulders and left her breathing easier, clearer.
"Oh my god."
Beckett lifted her eyes at the sound. Tessa came forward and lowered onto her knees in front her. She flinched but didn't lean away from the other woman's touch. Delicate long fingers laid along the detective's ribcage and, with gentle insistence, lifted Kate's left arm overhead. The pads of the other's questing fingertips moved across the surgical scar along her ribs as carefully as a gust of breath. It elicited another twinge nonetheless.
The touch darted away for an instant in response but soon returned. The second, more tactile grazing of the back of Tessa's fingers was less of a shock. The same could not be said for the wetness gathering in the other woman's icy blue eyes. That was surprising. She was never the overly sentimental type. Tears trembled loose and fell down her cheeks driven not solely by grief, Kate quickly realized, but also by pure, trembling rage. "Those fucking bastards," Tessa whispered.
Kate grasped the other's forearm. "Easy. Hey, I'm still here. I'm okay."
Lanie eased closer and laid a hand on the neurologist's right shoulder.
Tessa shot to her feet. She writhed loose from both of them with her beautiful features absolutely livid. Twin pools of polar winter roved erratically from target to target. They found and bypassed Lanie. They performed the same cold calculation on Kate. When they locked onto Castle, the detective's instinct was to stand up between them. She had no idea what might happen. Not violence, never, but there were plenty of comments Tessa could have made that would have cut as effectively as a blade.
Beckett didn't stand up though. It was not required.
Some manner of a connection seemed to kindle to life between author and neurologist. They looked at one another, his expression grave, hers a seething fury, and without a word Tessa strode forward to grab Castle's wrist. She marched him across the living room and into the kitchen. He did not resist.
That can't be good.
"Sometimes that girl chills my blood," Lanie murmured softly. She sat down on the arm of the chair Kate occupied. "Lean forward a little. Lemme do this while they do that." She inserted the ear tips of the stethoscope.
Kate obliged with a forward lean and gave a soft hiss of protest when the cold drum of the instrument was pressed into place against her back.
"Oop. Sorry. Deep breath."
She inhaled without taking her eyes from the pair in the kitchen. Tessa was speaking, gesticulating at times with cutting motions of her hands to punctuate her sentences. Castle, arms crossed at his chest, was listening with a neutral expression.
"Again," Lanie requested and, moments later, shifted her butt a little more forward on the chair arm. "Your lungs sound good. I'm not sure I'd be able to identify any cardiac irregularities, but let's take a listen anyway. I can measure your heart rate while I try."
The detective leaned back against the seat and slightly lowered the arm holding the cups of her bra in place. She glanced down, watching Lanie's index finger trace a tender circle around the puckered scar. She smiled up at her besty though the other wore a more melancholy version of the same. The M.E. set the drum of the stethoscope in place again. A minute later she rolled up the instrument with another announcement of satisfactory results.
"Don't hold off on making that appointment. Check your insurance and see which offices they work with. T will help you find the best neurologist from among whatever list you bring her."
"Ugh. She'll spend an hour complaining about not being able to do it all herself."
"Well, pick your fuck buddies with greater care, girl."
Beckett gaped.
"And cover your tits. Lordy. You two are a matched set."
Beckett hastily did so and shot a glance towards the kitchen. She could have sworn she caught Rick turning back towards a still fuming Tessa. She squinted and thought his cheeks had acquired a faint coloration.
Yeah, you saw 'em.
Did it qualify as progress that he hadn't needed to navigate a burning apartment to get his second glimpse at her rack? Let's say yes. I need a win tonight.
"What do you think they're talking about?"
"Your former lover and your potential lover-to-be? What could they possibly have to commiserate over?" Kate huffed at the dark-skinned woman. "I don't need to be a neuroscientist to know what's going through her head. As for him," Lanie continued, but paused to turn and assess the distant author. "Heaven only knows. He scares me a whole lot more than she does. At least T's consistent. She protects her own like a mama horse. A stallion will chase off a predator threatening its herd. A mare will run it down and straight-up murk its ass. That's our golden-haired girl. Your writer-of-wrongs is chaos incarnate. He might tuck in his tail and follow after your fine example like a good lil' pup, or he might rip your shoulder out of its socket with a hard tug against the leash and go tearing off to rip someone limb from limb. You'll never know which until it's already happening."
Beckett was frowning by the end. "He thinks you don't like him."
"What? He said that?"
"Not in those precise words. He's worried you don't. He's concerned the boys don't either."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
The M.E issued a soft laugh that eased into a fond smile. "Yeah, it really is."
"Lady, you just suggested he could turn on a dime and go into a violent frenzy."
"On your behalf," Lanie clarified with a slow fade of mirth. Her dark eyes grew cold and fathomless in the shadows cast over them by the chandelier above. "I don't condone it, but I can appreciate that kind of reaction from the man."
"I don't," Kate gritted. "Don't ever encourage him like that."
"Mmhmm. Don't tell me. I'm not the daughter of an international fashion magnate who pulls down half a mil a year in her own right. Two rich white people who both have a slew of other rich white friends and solid political connections?" She shook her head. "I wouldn't wanna be the guy they team up to find."
"Fuckin' hell," Kate hissed as she stood, ripping her shirt off the chair. She turned away to hastily yank the article on, swiftly closed two middle buttons before she strode into the kitchen. "Our appointment is done," she stated with a chill assessment of the pair. Neither coughed up a guilty look. Neither smiled as they exchanged a final glance. "Let's go," she told Castle. "Now, please. Get your things."
A/N: Sorry for the delay, sheesh. This beast of a chapter fought hard. I must have laid down at least twice its length in several other more reasonably lengthed attempts. I'm still firmly on the fence about this result, but the delay has dragged on long enough and there's still a fair ways to go with this tale. Quick note: I'm no doctor and research only helps so much. Take the medical information (or any glaring errors which attempt to be) with a grain of salt, please. Thank you for reading.