"Your numbers? What was he talking about?"
Barely able to contain his curiosity, Castle shut the front door of the VSN Center with a thud, following the two detectives ahead of him back to the waiting car.
"It's a mental thing.", Esposito explained hesitantly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his maroon leather coat, "You use it when…you know…when things get overwhelming. Sometimes you'd wake up in the middle of the night soaked in sweat, heart racing, adrenaline spiking, seeing blood everywhere even though it's not there, screams tearing at your soul and you're ready to go out to the battle fields…except, you're in your apartment and not a war zone. He taught me some exercises to ground myself, remember where I'm at, count three things I can touch, three things I can smell, three things I can see, pretty much use all your senses to convince your seized-up brain that you don't have to worry about damn Bin Laden standing next to you."
"You really like this Lafayette guy, don't you?", the writer continued, receiving a nervous glance from Beckett as they moved along.
"Of course, I do. I can appreciate his dedication. He's damn good at what he does. The world needs guys like him."
"Well, you have to admit though, he's got pretty strong arms. And he's ex-military. You don't think he has anything to do with the murder?"
Faster than he'd expected, Esposito spun around, taking a step back to bridge the distance between them, the shorter man making up what he lacked in height with his fierce determination and angry glare.
"He helps people that nobody else wants to help. He's put his reputation on the line to fight for in-service PTSD treatment options in Congress. He has saved more lives than I can begin to imagine. So, no Castle, you can save your outlandish theories this time around because he isn't our killer."
"Okay...okay…breathe…just breathe. I didn't mean to sound callous.", Castle replied, trying to do damage control with a genuine pat on the other man's shoulder that Esposito shrugged off the moment his fingers made contact with the leather jacket.
A sheer endless staring contest ensued before the detective decided to turn back around and march toward the waiting car in silence, not even acknowledging him long after they arrived back at the precinct.
