Something rustled in the dark purple corner, and a dim silhouette slowly rose. It looked like Castle was sitting right on the floor, which meant minus one to his closet. Rick shook himself off resoundingly, uttering a rather strong line to the shameless blaster, and immediately shielded himself from the bright beam hitting him right in the face. Beckett even caught a glimpse of the sooty gloves and the black cylinder of the flashlight in his hands.
- What are you doing here? - to look amazed, though, in principle, she could not ask, and not be surprised. It was not for nothing that Castle had been following her for a couple of years, because their special relationship was a unique, illogical and unbelievable "substance". In short, no matter what you touch on it, Castle will always be Castle and Detective Beckett will always be herself. And she was not going to change her personal way of life for one self-centered, narcissistic, naughty dude, if it were not for one "but"... Never, neither to herself, nor to anyone else would she admit that her so stable, so predetermined personal life had recently given in itself a crack. Which not only does not scar, but on the contrary, stubbornly expands and expands. And through it, like a young shoot into the earth's hardness, something is insistent, something that is both disturbing and troubling her. And it's not just gratitude to Castle for her salvation or her selfless strong friendship. Her very state of mind, imperceptibly but somehow steadily changing from proud, firm and independent to flexible, soft and even feminine. Maybe someone who does not know her at all, and would call it a desire for deeper feelings, but not her. Rather, she would characterize them as "broad positive emotions" that she sometimes felt when she was in the mood. Like a light burn, like a mosquito bite, they "itch" and "itch", pushing to share them with someone, but you can not. You can't share a hundred percent with Lainie, you can't share a little with the boys or even with Daddy, and you can't share it with Castle himself. Because the revelations won't go away for her, and there will be no going back to the pre-Caslovian past. And strange as it may seem, Beckett treasured it. The difficult years without her mother had inevitably hardened her. Raised her in the right quality, taught her to rely only on herself. Set her on the path to justice, compassion for the innocent, and ruthlessness to the scum in human form. And since her professionalism without false modesty is firmly appreciated at work, then so be it. But is it forever? Is everything so clear in her foreseeable future? Hmmm, who's to say. And no matter how contrary the assertion, do not restrain yourself, still something is sure to emerge. But she's bound to figure it out for herself, just like she did with Castle's obscure presence in her apartment. By the way, why hasn't he said anything yet? Why isn't he making excuses, unapologetically and childishly? Why doesn't he explain why the hell he ended up in her apartment before she did? Why isn't he asleep on his couch, cuddling with his pillow, watching him have a sweet morning nap? Did he want to play detective again?
- Castle?! - Beckett asked, apparently wishing her voice to sound firm and adamant, but it came out somehow very tender and homely. Then Kate "collected in a handful" all her "bile" and, hiding the weapon behind the sinus, firmly repeated:
- How did you get here?
The spot from her flashlight illuminated the burned planks a few feet from her feet, but Castle was clearly "too lazy" to light his own. Like Count Dracula, huge and barely visible in the dark, Rick strode leisurely straight toward her, and the glass under the soles of his boots also creaked nastily, echoing through the gloomy corners.
Finally, Castle stopped at the border of light and shadow and with a soft cough cleared his throat. He must have been preparing his excuses, and Beckett mercifully crossed his arms over his chest.
- Like I said, looking for omissions, and even without the obvious, stupid assistance of the FBI," Rick raised his hands conciliatorily to his face, as if to cover his ears just in case, and froze in the same position. - You wouldn't mind if I rummaged through a few of the locker shards, would you? I know what I'm looking for, don't I? I was fascinated by archaeological excavations as a child, and the first bone I found I'll never forget.
- I still have my bones, Castle," Kate grinned indulgently, trying to figure out which piece is more "responsible" to give to her partner, "but I don't know anything about yours. I don't mind in principle.
She really didn't mind, at least some variety. The only thing she didn't understand was how it was that Castle, while she was poking around the apartment, didn't reveal his presence in any way, but Kate took it as a learned Boy Scout skill, which was no stranger to her, either. And she yawned softly.
- My most important - is also in place, - clearly delighted Castle, realizing that the cruel massacre of parts of his face yet will not be made, - and the rest lend themselves to prosthetics.
- You'll stay out of this," said Beckett, dipping her flashlight to and fro, searching for another sector, "and you won't be needing a prosthetic for much longer.
- Very, very good! - Castle rejoiced childishly. - But I didn't. I just looked in that corner, if anything.
- So?" said Beckett, with a familiar arch of an eyebrow. - Sure you didn't miss anything?
- I tried harder than anybody else! And if there's any evidence missing from the case, we'll have to get it, together.
-Okay, Castle! I'll look in here, and you..." she pointed the light toward the center of the living room.
Castle just obediently bowed his head and, with the light on, squatted sideways toward her.
The rustling, crunching, cracking and tinkling resumed with redoubled force, and Kate hardly looked at Castle. She would stun with a triumphant shriek when she found it. Silently and methodically, she rummaged through the garbage until, about twenty minutes later, she noticed that the searches in Castle's hands were somehow not burning. He moved his hands without enthusiasm at all, as if he were boiled, as if he didn't know where, how, or what to look for. He sat for a long time almost in one place, putting the lantern beside him, and with a sad sigh looked at the crumpled coals in his huge palms. He shifted the same boards aimlessly, and, feeling Beckett's silent and perplexed gaze on him, exhaled heavily and pressed his latex-squeezed wrist to his sweaty forehead.
- Phew! It's stuffy in here, but there's nowhere to hang his jacket. I'm afraid of the thieving ghosts, too: I might be the same size as them. Let's take a little break, shall we? - Rick suggested cautiously, standing up straight. - I've been here longer than you, and I'd swear on the Book of Life that no Lucifer sentinel has ever been here. As I wiped the floor with my knees, it seemed to me that amidst the global outrage and the general commotion between us and the Feds, we were missing something important, something meaningful. I'd even say some point of reference that no one was paying attention to...
Castle interrupted for a moment, straightening to his full height, and Beckett squinted her eyes. It seemed that Castle had not only come here for her, but was also pursuing some purpose known only to him. God, had he decided to explain himself? No, no, and no, because she wasn't ready for that. Yeah, well, she wasn't, absolutely not, no matter how hard Castle tried. And trusting his intuition, common sense, the ability to maintain distance, she asked as indifferently as possible:
- And what or who the hell are you talking about? About the missing evidence, or about all our victims, including Ben Conrad? Or are you still admiring the "stuff" of the stern and opinionated Shaw, or are you just grieving for the pricks who didn't leave you even a piece of their hearts?
- Don't be harsh, Beckett," Rick said in a mundane way. - It's not about you or me, it's about memory.
Kate shrugged indifferently and bowed her head, as if she didn't know what he was getting at, but it was easy to understand that Rick had studiously avoided the word "us. And that there was a reason for this conversation. Unless...
- Whose memory are you talking about, Castle? - feverishly racking her brain, Beckett slowly strode across the room past Rick, shining the flashlight aimlessly at her feet. Hundreds of possible developments swarmed in her head, and, not knowing why, Kate suddenly realized that she would never find the clock, because... Tapping on her heels, Beckett suddenly turned sharply on the living room threshold, and Castle, who was following her shadow, even flinched from a sharp, painful poke in the chest.
- Castle, answer me! - her breathing became treacherous. - Is there something you want to tell me?
- What exactly did you want to hear? - he backed away in a daze toward the exit. - How I trembled with fear, waiting for you? It's all so unpredictable!
- And who says it's unpredictable, you don't just show up here! - Kate blurted out in his face the hunch that was tormenting her. - You found the watch, didn't you?
Castle hovered unimaginably for a moment, making a series of inimitable, uterine sounds, and then Kate bitterly and resentfully realized that she had hit the mark. Castle could not be in her apartment for nothing, could not do without tricks, could not even confess. And what kind of a man he was!
Beckett came close to Castle, who immediately helplessly covered his hands in anticipation of attacks, and shook him hard by the lapels of his jacket, taking out the growing anger.
- Well, what?! Am I right?
- It wasn't me! Or rather, it was me, but it wasn't like that at all! - Castle hopelessly tried to justify himself and wrinkled his face. - I can explain everything!
- Try me! - Beckett grimaced, unable to swallow or spit out the thick, viscous saliva. - I hope you know why you're doing it!
- You're my friend, Beckett! You're my partner! How can I do nothing for you?
- Sometimes doing nothing is better than doing something! And what's stopping you from just telling me you found them? - Kate shoved Castle off unceremoniously, then made a sharp, unhappy gesture with her hand, as if she were waving him away forever, and staggered out. She didn't hesitate to tear the yellow strip and crouch at the edge of the flight of stairs, looking down at her feet through her tears. She wasn't sorry for the time and energy she'd wasted, but she was gripped by a terrible grudge. At him. For daring to get ahead of her on her own case. For running this circus. For not saying anything at all, for not even trying. She wouldn't have eaten him, really, even though she was exhausted from the trouble she was in. She's so in need of clues, clues, clues, clues, clues, not inappropriate jokes from overripe humorists. Does she really need all that?
"You've fallen on my head!" - Beckett muttered to herself, nervously creaking her gloves, and then out of the corner of her eye she caught a shadow that flashed past. Beckett looked up: It was Castle turning to face her a few steps down. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, hands behind his back. And there was no smile to be seen.
- Forgive me, Beckett! - Castle looked sadly downcast. - I was only trying to do what was best, and the last thing I wanted you to think was that I was playing some elaborate game over your disappearance. No, that's not it at all. I just felt sorry for them.
- What do you mean? - Beckett sniffed her nose perplexedly and shot him a critical glance from under her eyebrows. The dim lighting cast a shadow over his face, the lanterns unabashedly extinguished, but silly things aren't said in such a guilty tone. And how good it was that she'd learned to guess from Castle's voice his mood. Well, maybe not a hundred percent, but right now it's certainly not a misfire.
The back of her light hand brushed a crumb of stone off the step with the back of her hand as best she could. The rubber creaked, shaking off the stones, and with a slight tilt of her head to the side, Beckett invited Castle to her side.
For a while Rick stood with a confused look, unable to believe what was happening, but when he realized, his hand clasped to his heart. And then the bow came out, so dramatic and comical that Beckett couldn't keep from smiling weakly. Castle... The writer Richard Castle. Fancier, inventor, blabbermouth, but still intelligent, prescient, purposeful. And yet odd, in some places inscrutable and mysterious. And even if his good deeds are sometimes incomprehensible, they still remain so. So should I be angry and resentful? Probably not. After all, Kåñëa's sincere aspirations, warmth and genuine care, so organically combined, are aimed, if not at eliminating her mental crisis, at least at making up for it. And this is very, very valuable.
"Sit down, SITTER!" - Kate invited tiredly, patting her hand on the step, and Rick immediately lowered himself down beside her. Swallowing incessantly, he stared straight ahead, holding something between his palms. Not a flashlight or a cup of latte or a bag of donuts, but something. Or rather, her THING, so irreplaceable and dear to her heart. In his smoky fingers, which he had idly rummaged through a few minutes ago. And now Kate didn't want Castle's silence or his chatter, but something third, so understandable only to them both.