- Has anyone seen my watch? - and might as well be shouting in the desert, since all those who had crammed into her apartment at the call of duty were doing nothing but their daily business. While Kate was calculating her losses with a dejected look, wondering where she could rent a cheaper place, she found herself in a tight circle of experts. Hand in hand, nose to nose, with a significant look and cunning tools, the feds and locals were confidently raking through the debris, waving their puffy paintbrushes in search of better prints, and stuffing their evidence bags with all sorts of things to collect. Some were taking pictures of everything in sight, and a group of feds surrounded Shaw, discussing something quietly, but the firefighters had fled, and only the senior crewman was still scouring the wet embers for loose spots. Apparently, all in good time.
Beckett stood politely aside, letting the expert into her seat, and focused her attention on Shaw: she was still giving a soft but commanding express briefing. Without her, Beckett. Apparently, she'd already considered her a "weak link." Did she write her off so blithely, once and for all? Bloody humiliating! And Kate felt a wave of persistent, pinching shivers sweep over her from head to toe. She had to take several deep, intermittent breaths to calm herself. I felt better, relieved, and my sobriety returned. Of course, Jordan's intelligence, self-control, and stamina were all in her own rules written in sympathetic ink, but she'd better not beat Beckett to the punch with her own initiative. Oh, by the way: well, who's the fastest one here, huh?
And Kate turned her attention back to Castle. That's who doesn't see her as a victim, but sees a strong optic in her hands. That's who she's sure to bet on in this tough case. This is her personal human resource, the biggest caliber in her clip, the biggest mug of coffee in her hands. And Rick, unlike the others, would always care about her personal requests, even though she hadn't even noticed his goofy and inappropriate responsiveness today. And Kate knew that Rick wasn't offended by her. He might have been frowning at her, sadly hiding his eyes so he could throw a sparkling joke at the Feds, or make her laugh with an amusing quip. And she knew it would affect her, in the best possible way. At first, something in her still unapproachable heart would imperceptibly but familiarly tingle. Then warmth would slip over her body in pleasant, relaxing pulses, her breathing and nerves would calm, and the dull pain that pounded against her temples would surely recede. I was in the middle of a joke, but why was Castle so wrong? He had a full-mouth smile, but it was crooked and mirthless. The wobbly eyes and the network of sharp wrinkles on his forehead. Slumped shoulders, and legs wobbling like an old grandfather. Clearly he'd done something wrong, but where?
Kate bit her lip carefully, but seeing the question in her eyes, Rick turned away, showing her it wasn't what it looked like. And then suddenly, abruptly, he sat down, a glass gleaming in his hand. After breathing heavily on it, Castle rubbed it between his fingers and put it to his eye without a second thought. Unaccountably fooling around, he slightly twirled the shard in the manner of a kaleidoscope, but after someone's sarcastic laughter carefully put it on the floor. With a droopy head he dipped his fingers into the charcoal and stood pensively, barely moving his hands. What's wrong with you, Castle? Or is it with me?
In uneasy contemplation, Beckett covered her lips and the tip of her nose with her hands, letting the air out slowly, into the gap between her palms. Could it be that a sticky typhoon of vanilla latte had suddenly descended on her workplace, or had the elephant leader "accidentally" lost his trunk? Or was it all about a stupid bet between him and the guys for a sudden carte blanche in favor of Shaw? Or did Castle unearth something again, but stubbornly, for the time being, not willing to share? Kate pressed her lips together in displeasure. Oh, that unpredictable Castle! A minute ago, just for his excessive and dangerous tricks, she would have been ready to kick his ears in public - and then in gratitude would have lowered her eyes. Not just for the coffee, which was timely and right in her hands. For unspoken support, really. That's just the way she was.
Slowly tugging at the tight bandage on her wrist, Beckett grimaced discreetly: beneath the neat coils, the characteristic mark of ruthless flame, a burn, whined dully and nastily, not disconcertingly. True, she still needed neither sympathy nor compassion. Especially not from Castle. She firmly does her business first, and the rest later. Frowning outwardly but collected internally, Kate crouched by the pile of charred planks that had once been her dresser, and gingerly rummaged through them. After a brief search, she managed to find just about everything: a soot-covered chain, a smoking badge, and an inexplicably surviving Glock with a full clip, but not the watch. There was no buckle, no scraps of strap, no solid steel case, nothing at all. My God, why? Feeling her heart break, Beckett absentmindedly dipped her fingers into the damp coals, but she was not at all pleased with the result. Empty, empty, and empty again! Was she missing something after all? Her sigh was sure to be audible, but Kate looked around helplessly, shrugging her shoulders uncertainly. She straightened, mechanically tucked her turtleneck around her throat and tucked the strands of turtleneck behind her ears, staining herself with soot. I guess she wouldn't be able to do anything with the clock; they wouldn't let her dig in properly, so her personal time stall was a good time to concentrate on finding Dunn. Nothing else would happen to her apartment, and when Castle and the fearsome feds were away from her for a while, she'd be back here. With determination, patience, perseverance, a flashlight, and a gun, she'll turn the whole apartment upside down. She'll rake up all the ashes, scatter all the debris, and find it. Just as one cannot live without clean air, one cannot live without this watch, this most important symbol of the spiritual connection to her mother to whom she had sworn her own death oath. As long as she is tormented by such important and painful memories, as long as another loss hurts, she cannot give up the search. And she will not back down.
Kate squinted at Castle with a hard look in her eye. Her faithful partner, following the personal message that all means are good for the ends, dropped to his knees and was now picking at the coals with his huge fingers. Though no one asked him to do so. After all, it's not just a friendly help or an enduring partnership, but, as they keep trying to hint at her, something more. And those, the fiery looks Castle strenuously hides when he meets her eyes... No, this is definitely not for her, because personal relationships are a direct hindrance to her work, and she will never be willing to bare her soul, no matter how much someone wants to. But sometimes it's a little tricky, isn't it? Like the one with Shaw, for example, did not go unnoticed. The very way it had been phrased, it had angered her, it had hurt her, it had made her jealous, even though Castle was probably right. That was all true, but why did she still feel a great deal of discomfort whenever she looked at Shaw? And then there was Castle's impudent appearance at her house, with a bottle of wine... How foolish she had been, dropping that careless phrase about preferences! She only realized her mistake when she saw the sly grin on his face. Son of a bitch, how dare he, in general, to do so, impudently with her, unrestrained admiration of expensive toys feds and other things that surround them? What about their team, their joint theories and their white board? It hurts, it hurts to tears. What do you call it, step aside... What if she doesn't want it? From the word "at all"?
All the way to the loft Beckett chewed her lips unapproachably and resentfully, and sighed with a little relief, only crossing the threshold of the bedroom. Without undressing, she habitually shoved the weapon under the pillow and collapsed over the covers, closing her eyes helplessly. Okay, she would not shoot, this intrusive, but also sometimes useful asshole. Castle would hold his own without unnecessary warnings, and would never cross the forbidden line. So let him entertain himself with unfulfilled hopes, lying on the couch with a sly smile and a wine glass in his hand. Let him think that he guards her sleep, and let him dull his ego, thinking himself to be a nobody, while she rests. When you're being hunted by a sick bastard, it takes strength at the very least, and she's going to need a lot of it, as well as composure and sobriety. Of course, you shouldn't discount friendly support, but strength will come back with sleep, and sanity as soon as you can find the hours. And when the hard, unpredictable and hectic day arrives, there will probably be a third victim, which means you'll have to work up quite a sweat. To the point of exhaustion, hard and hard, and now sleep...
... He stumbled over them almost immediately, kicking the front door open with his shoulder and collapsing to the floor with it. The acrid, hot smoke took my breath away and made my throat clammy, but my teary eye caught sight of something small, with a dull metallic sheen and a distinct shape. It rested on the only spot free of fire, surrounded by the glowing wood that had once been Beckett's dresser. There was no time to think things through, and Castle, supported by an arm and both legs, spread his fingers in a short, unaccountable body-throw forward. The maneuver was not the safest, the wrist burned both above and below, but the strong, ornate scolding said that the goal, in general, was achieved: the palpably hot body of HER watch was in a tightly clenched fist. And immediately a mercilessly searing tongue of flame reached behind his hand, aiming straight for his face. Barely able to cover his eyes, Castle jumped up and waved his hands frequently, knocking sparks from his smoldering bangs. There was no time to look at the watch, so Castle slipped it deep into his pocket. Now it was time to find Beckett, whose lodgings were a living hell. It was not clear how it was possible to survive in it, in this mess of fire, where the heat bubbled and burst paint, the plastic smelled suffocatingly, the curtains and upholstery of the chairs burnt mischievously, and the wood, ruthlessly devoured by the "servant of Hephaestus" rattled with a crackling noise.
Standing still was not so much impossible as impossible: the heat penetrated even through the soles of my shoes and clothes. Dodging debris hanging from the rafters from the ceiling, and shielding his hand from bright red sparks flying blindly in all directions, Castle continued his search. If an integral part of Detective Beckett had been so successfully found, where was she herself? One didn't even want to think about the sad outcome, and Castle hoped desperately that he wasn't too late. Beckett might be wounded, burned, and maybe broken, but only if she were alive. After all, he owed her his life.
- Beckett! Kate! - Castle growled hoarsely, hooked and straining his hearing. He caught a crushed sound, seemingly coming from the bathroom, and rushed there with excitement, covering his face with his hands. A sigh of inexpressible relief burst from his chest, for the Lord was once again merciful: there she was, his muse, curled up defenselessly on the bottom of the cast-iron tub. Her skinny shoulders were shuddering, the soot a greasy layer covering her sharp shoulder blades, and her fragile vertebrae shyly peeking through. Kate coughs loudly, panting, and doesn't seem to believe she's been saved until now. It is unlikely that in this situation, even seeing her naked, he would have erotic reveries, but it was easy for Castle to feel the exorbitant weight falling off his shoulders. And even if he didn't get any thanks, he wouldn't mind it at all. In the meantime... At the sudden sound of his voice Beckett sank to the bottom of the tub, pulled her knees up to her chest and covered herself bashfully with her hands. Angrily, in her usual harsh manner, she yelled at his babbling tongue, but Rick could not refrain from an innocent, joking judgment - it was her nature. But that was not what was more important, the other thing. When Castle, donning his cloak for Beckett, gently put his arm around her trembling shoulders and, holding her gently by the waist, led her outside, the best reward for her rescue was her bright, grateful look and lips that silently said "Thank you!"
Now that Beckett was in relative safety, it was time to fix her watch, and not just repair it, but restore it to its pristine condition. Well, who but him, Castle, knew the best mechanical watchmaker in town, eh? Nobody. And you don't have to waste time poking around police databases or visiting the secluded Central Park chess community to do it. It all looks so much simpler.
Rick cited an urgent need to wash off the soot, and, smelling of smoke, with black and ashy hands and clothes that didn't belong in his closet, but on a construction site among plasterers, he ran headlong to Abraham Holstein, an old acquaintance of Martha's.
The watchmaker lived on Queens' west side and was a very entertaining man. The owner of the richest collection of antique clocks, which he did not like to brag about, Holstein had suave manners, an impeccable ear for music, a photographic memory, and a modest sense of humor. As Rick himself not unreasonably believed, it is unlikely that the master had forgotten him. Castle himself remembered the old man's hands shaking with inexpressible awe as he carefully held another rare item in his palms. However, it had no effect on the thoroughness of the examination as such. First Abraham critically assessed the watch's appearance according to the criteria known only to him. Then it was time to dismantle it with the squirrel tassel, the master instrument. Its tiny tip generously moistened with Zippo gasoline painstakingly washed away dirt and old paste from various screws, cogwheels, fine hands and tiny springs, and the final reassembly process was completed with a few drops of fresh grease in the key points of the movement. When Holstein wound the clock, he slowly and slowly held it to his ear with his bony fingers, his head sideways like a parrot, and a triumphant smile blossomed on his thin, wrinkled lips at the precise, measured ticking, with indescribable shades. If only the old man's health did not fail!
After some incomplete hour, anxious up to the top of his head Castle flew into the master closet and immediately plunged into the chorus of multi-voiced tick-tock. The clocks were no less. As then, racks of them occupied the walls, the floor, even the window openings, and some of the shelves were suspended from the ceiling. The potential savior of Castle himself, with his gray, curly paeans from beneath his black silk cap, sat behind a peeling, time-dark wooden counter. A gilded pince-nez was permanently "stuck" to his gristly nose, and through an obscenely gigantic magnifying glass, even for Castle, the master was meticulously examining the chrome guts of the next "patient. When Rick flew up to the counter and shoved a tightly clenched fist under his nose, Holstein leaned back in his chair in surprise and gave a loud, meaningful chuckle in righteous indignation.
- Don't mess with my hair and dust, young man! This is a delicate mechanism! It's a classic! - Abraham's voice sounded like an unlubricated wheel in his own hands, and his thin forefingers trembled in time with righteous indignation. - How many times do I have to tell you that the business of clockwork is not a matter of fuss!
- Shalom* (Peace be upon you), sir! - humbly bowed his head. Having realized his mistake, he withdrew his hand and put his hands together against his chest, embodying resignation and apology. - You have no idea how much I need your help!
- Shalom rabbi! - Holstein nodded dryly. - And there's that nervous "help me!" again. And what kind of soup was your watch boiling in this time, huh?
- Oh, so it was a long time ago and not true! Today they were fried by Mephistopheles' burner! - Castle took a careful step to lean right over the counter, and gently parted the base of his palms. The charred iron immediately clattered softly against the wood.
- Hmm!" The watchmaker glanced at the visitor inquiringly, then, taking the watch with his gaunt hand, shone a magnifying glass at it. He sighed sorrowfully.
- Mnda... mnda... It is not right... How can we talk about anything here? - Holstein muttered to himself, but enough so that Rick could hear him clearly. - Glasses of such form are rare these days, the hands are incorrigibly defaced, even the bent buckle is gone from the bracelet, and not a single digit can be seen under the soot on the dial! And do you know, dear Mr. Castle, how difficult it is to remove the soot? And there's no telling what's going on with the movement! It would save you and me a lot of time to save me from such a thankless job! Do you have any idea how old this watch is?
The watchmaker's eagerness at enumerating the defects made him sound like he was trying to make up for it, so Rick was prepared, if necessary, to sink to his knees and beat his forehead against the tile.
- I don't know, dear Abraham, but without your skill, both she and I are nothing! - Castle begged in earnest. He was terribly afraid that the capricious old man would refuse him flatly, as he had done once before, a long time ago. - After all, she didn't want any others, no matter how valuable they were! After all, this is her personal symbol; a piece of her both painful and also reassuring memories of family and friends, of better and worse times, of the hard victory over circumstances and herself.
Feeling his face flush with excitement, Rick was still trying to say something, but Holstein's inquisitive and understanding gaze let him know that not everything was as hopeless as it had initially seemed.
- Young man, oy, oy! Will you calm down, at last! - Abraham shook his head irritably after a short pause. - Such a bad voice shouted only fallen into a precipice mountaineers, and I still have a great ear! Any watch in my collection I recognize by the sound! And not only mine! When I got my hands on an "old" Blacpain, I knew how and with what to compare it! At the first opportunity I...
- I beg your pardon, sir," Castle said calmly and measuredly, his hands clasped together, "but my commanding voice refuses to obey me! I am gripped by a mad excitement, persistent anxiety does not pass, and I probably never get rid of the eternal sense of guilt! One more false step and I'll be drawn and quartered in front of everybody! Really, if you want my sacrifice, I'm ready. Always.
- I want nothing from you, young man! - The old man raised his goatee proudly. - And if you bear with me for a couple of hours, then you may have the most serious reason to rejoice!
- Good! Here's a picture of them, in the best possible angle. It cost me a lot! - and involuntarily covering his right ear with the palm of his hand, Castle loudly shrugged in gratitude. - I'll be with you in exactly two hours!
Castle bowed sharply, and before Holstein had a chance to object, he ran out into the street. He ran to the edge of the sidewalk, waved his hands vigorously, hailing a cab. First home, shave, shower and change, and then to work. Or rather, to HER.