Chapter 7

Castle, having resolutely ignored since Wednesday his edits, his phone, and everything except shooting dumb aliens on his laptop, was finally prodded by his conscience into checking his phone on Friday morning. Expecting imprecations from Gina, he was delighted to find none. He was not delighted to read Ryan's text. He should have been delighted. He should have been punching the air with glee. He should have been absolutely ecstatic –

But he wasn't. Because, with belated realisation fired by Ryan's message, Castle had finally, just now, worked out – probably – that the reason Beckett had been trying to talk to him before he quit the precinct for the summer had been that she had been going to tell him that – and Gina had turned up five minutes too early.

Well, fuck. Fuck.

He'd spent three weeks angry, ruined the last remnants of any friendly relationship with Gina for a good while to come, and been miserable – and if Beckett had just told him sooner, none of it need have happened.

Fuck.

Now he was here, and she was there, and she hadn't contacted him at all.

Oh. Oh, fuckfuckfuck. That first message of Ryan's about the overtime. Oh fuck. Ryan had been telling him that Beckett was – as ever – compensating for unhappiness by piling on the hours. Hell. He'd been so pissed at her that he'd totally missed the subtext, and sent back a sharply unhelpful retort, intended to close down any discussion that might remind him that Beckett was with Demming and not here with him.

Now what?

Because if Beckett hadn't contacted him…she wasn't going to. Of course she wouldn't. He'd walked off with another woman right in front of her just as she was about to tell him she was attracted…

Nothing like public rejection to make sure she never spoke to him again.

This being Beckett, he just bet she'd shut down, pretended that it had never happened, ignored the whole episode, and then – per Ryan – thrown herself into work to forget everything, him very definitely included.

No bet. It was a dead cert that that was exactly what she'd done. She'd done it last summer. She'd done it, so the boys had told him, every time something upset her until forcibly removed from the precinct.

So, again, now what?

He didn't know. He simply…did not know. And if he didn't know what to do, he probably shouldn't do anything until he did know, because doing the wrong thing would probably be permanent.

He hated not being able to do anything.

Beckett would have moped, but her head hurt so much that she couldn't even manage that. After no more than half an hour, she went back to bed and dozed, never falling fully asleep but certainly not awake. She struggled through making some lunch, but couldn't have finished it even if she'd wanted to; guzzled down at least a gallon of chilled water and returned to bed.

Late in the afternoon, her phone chirped. She ignored it at first, but then, through her fuzzy, painful head, thought that it might be her dad.

B. Got a confession. Marley did it. E&R. It had come from Ryan, though she was sure they'd both had fun getting that perp. Eased, she snuggled down again, supporting her sling on a pillow beside her, softening the bruise on her head with another plump pillow. She would have iced it, but she didn't have an ice pack or even a bag of frozen vegetables, and she certainly wasn't going to the store to buy them right now.

She drifted into sleep on the soft tide of satisfaction at another case closed, which – for now – overrode her annoyance at being benched.

When Beckett woke, her head hurt less, her arm hurt less, and, after half a pint of scalding coffee, she almost felt human. She'd reserve judgment on that for a while. She drank some more coffee, and wondered what to do.

It didn't take long for the bitter thought that, if she hadn't wasted her time on Demming, she could have called up Castle and suggested that he come round. At least he would have been company. She didn't like that thought. It hurt. She shoved it out of her head. It wriggled back in. She re-evicted it, and decided that what she needed was gentle exercise that nevertheless demanded concentration.

Shortly, her yoga mat spread over the floor, some soothing music playing, Beckett began a set of asanas with strict attention to form and muscle control. The slow movements allowed her to forget everything outside the discipline of the asana; the music blocked out any noise. The serenity provided by her absolute concentration permitted an idea to seep into her mind. She couldn't go to the precinct, and Manhattan was hot, sticky, and not relaxing.

Her dad's cabin would be cooler, fresher, and relaxing.

She finished her asana, packed her backpack, added her yoga mat, and looked at the small pile with satisfaction. Then she texted Ryan and Esposito that she was going out of town and off the grid, her father to tell him she'd be at the cabin, switched her phone off and packed it too, for emergencies only. She didn't think she'd have to switch it on for a week.

She had a twinge of worry as she wheeled out her Harley, but then she decided that if her arm hurt too much she'd just stop at a motel; likewise for her head. Her vision was perfect right now, and she'd know if that changed. She switched the Harley on, tugged on her helmet, and headed up to the cabin.

Halfway there, she realised that it hadn't been a sensible decision to take her motorbike. Still, she might as well get there as go home, so she set her teeth and pushed on.

By the time she reached the cabin, her arm was agony and her head not far behind, though her vision remained steady and clear. She locked her Harley, got herself inside somehow, and collapsed straight into bed, barely able to undress. Everything could wait until the morning. Consciousness fled.

Ryan and Espo regarded Beckett's text with some alarm but far more relief. If she were up at her dad's cabin she couldn't be getting into more trouble or taking dumb risks in the precinct – and if she were off the grid she couldn't be trying to back-seat drive the investigations and cases from her apartment. Sure, they'd have to work rather harder than if she were there, but they'd rather see her fixed than hurt worse.

It didn't occur to either of them that however Beckett was going to travel to the cabin, it wouldn't exactly be good for her arm. It certainly didn't occur to them that she'd take her motorbike, rather than her car.

"You hear back from Castle?"

"No," Ryan said. "Not yet."

Espo scowled. "I'd'a thought you'd get something back."

"Give him a chance." Espo growled. "He might not have got the point yet," Ryan continued. "Maybe he's thinking about what to do."

Suddenly Espo grinned evilly. "He's got a problem if he is. He's got that blonde right there, and she didn't look as if she was the type to like competition. He's going to suffer, either way."

"How'd you mean?"

"I think if Beckett had said something earlier, Castle would've ditched the blonde. But she didn't, and now he knows she might've, he's going to feel guilty." Espo grinned again. "Serve him right for upsetting Beckett."

"Come on, man. She was off with Demming. Don't tell me you wouldn't be finding someone else if Lanie'd done that?"

Espo's swarthy cheeks coloured.

"Thinking of Lanie," Ryan went on, "you heard from her? 'Cause I haven't, since Mulroy's corpse."

"Naw."

They regarded each other.

"We better tell her Beckett's outta town. Otherwise she'll make it our fault somehow. We don't need to have that sort of pain."

"You can do that," Ryan said quickly. "I'm not getting between those two."

"Wuss," Espo scoffed, and tapped Lanie's number. "Lanie? It's Espo."

Squawks emerged from the phone. Espo whipped it away from his ear, wincing, and waited for a pause in the tirade.

"Beckett went to her dad's cabin," Espo inserted in a gap for breath. The squawking turned into screeching. "Yes," he shoved into another space. "No, I didn't know before she went." The volume dropped. "She says she's going off-grid. You can call her if you want to but I don't guess her phone's on – if she even took it with her. No, I don't know where the cabin is and I wouldn't follow her if I did. I like living and I don't want Beckett mad at me." More squawks. "No. You wanna find her, you're on your own. I'm not helping."

He cut the call on more high-intensity commentary. "She's not happy," he said, which was totally unnecessary since the entire bullpen would have heard that Lanie was unhappy. "Wants us to locate Beckett and then go get her."

"Lanie's crazy if she thinks we'd do that," Ryan noted. "We'd be shot."

"After Montgomery had fired us for misuse of the databases," Espo said bleakly. "She's supposed to be having a rest."

"Indeed she is, Detectives." Montgomery had softly sneaked up to them. "I expect she's gone out of town, to the family cabin?"

"Yes, sir."

"So there will be no disturbing of Detective Beckett, am I clear?

"Yes, sir," they said in tandem.

"Unless, of course, Castle asks."

Montgomery slithered off, leaving his two detectives staring stupidly at each other.

"Did he say what I thought he said?" Ryan asked.

"Maybe he's tired of being Captain. If Beckett finds out he's interfering, she'll shoot him."

"I always wanted promotion," Ryan said.

"Think of the paperwork."

"Bummer." Ryan's face fell. They turned back to their work and the new pop-and-drop body. There was little doubt about who'd done it, since the guy had been yelling you screwed my daughter so the whole city could hear. They just needed to collect the evidence.

And so the day wore on. Simple, murderous people committing simple murders. Castle didn't reply to Ryan. Beckett, as expected, didn't contact them at all. And Lanie fretted and fumed and fulminated but failed to break Montgomery's orders.

Castle regarded his phone, Ryan's message, and Beckett's contact details over and over again, without getting any closer to a decision on what would be best to do. He wanted to call Beckett, but he had a nasty feeling that she would decline his calls. He ought to return Ryan's message, but he didn't – for all his words – know what to say.

So instead he turned to his edits, and resolutely edited until all Gina's points were dealt with, and then, the day almost over, sent them off. That would at least keep her away from him for some time. Not, he felt, long enough to draw the sting from her words, still burning in his memory.

The words stung the more because they were true, of course. All he could think of was Beckett: her form and figure, her voice, the slight scent of her bodywash and hair products; the sway of her hips and the seductive little nibble of her lip which, half the time, she didn't know she was doing; the forceful clack of her high heels and the assertive, confident stride, her gun in her hand and the hunter's light in her eye.

He realised that he was rock hard, and as swiftly as the realisation came, his arousal left on the wings of Gina's bile.

He wanted Beckett. His Beckett, who made sardonic comments and punctured his ego and laughed at his jokes and inspired him every minute of every day since he had met her.

And yet he didn't dare to dial her number, in case she didn't answer.

He sat in the early evening sunshine, still warm on his bare chest, and then swam in his beautiful pool until he was exhausted; downed a cool drink and returned to the sunshine…and wished, passionately and agonisingly, for Beckett to be there.

Finally, as the sun began to set and the heat to diminish, Castle constructed a text to Ryan.

Ryan. When did they break up? He had to know if his theory was correct. I haven't heard from Beckett. Is she okay? Castle.

He stared at it for a long time before he gritted his teeth and pressed Send, and then he sat for a while, wondering what he should or could do to resolve the situation. Maybe he shouldn't do anything, for now. Maybe wait for Ryan.

Maybe try to message Beckett? Tell her he'd ditched Gina? Tell her…they'd both made a mistake so why not come to the Hamptons and fix it, together? He'd sleep on that, he decided. Wait for Ryan to answer. There had been quite enough miscommunications already this summer.

Late in the evening, his phone chirped. Earlier the evening you left. Ryan.

Castle didn't miss that Ryan hadn't answered his second question. Pleading the Fifth, Ryan? he wondered. Most likely. In which case, Ryan had answered it, and Castle didn't like the answer. Beckett wasn't okay. Which covered a multitude of possibilities, starting with the already-confirmed working far too many hours, went through arguing and/or pushing away her team and friends, and ended up, horribly, at injured. He forcibly stopped thinking before he went beyond injured.

Well, hell.

Thanks, he tapped out. I guess she's not okay? What's she done? Again, he thought for a long time before sending it, and then did, with a sense of doom.

Over the remains of the evening his worry intensified, until at last he bit the bullet and tapped out a text to Beckett herself. Missing the precinct. Any interesting cases? RC. He sent it, and then reluctantly went to bed.

In the morning there was no answer from either Ryan or Beckett. Although he really hadn't expected anything, logic telling him that probably neither had seen their phone or had time to reply, he was still disappointed. He made himself a consolatory coffee, and wondered if he should simply take a day trip back to the city.

Pride squashed that idea flat. He wouldn't go running like a puppy on a long lead. Text messages, yes. Running after her when she'd been flaunting Demming under his nose – nope. He pushed away the thought that he'd flaunted Ellie Monroe under her nose. He didn't like admitting that they'd both been at fault. Couldn't they just…put all of that behind them and never talk about it again? Move forward without recriminations?

Couldn't they?

He ambled off to make himself more coffee, and left his phone behind. If a watched phone never chirped, then an unwatched phone should chirp its electronic circuits off. He pootled about, achieving nothing, slowly, and studiedly not listening for his phone. Gradually, his thoughts turned back to Beckett, and the expression on her face when Gina turned up: gone as soon as it arrived. He concentrated, and then sighed. If only he'd known five minutes earlier. That would have been enough.

He went back to his phone, and found that, unsupervised, it had lain idle. So much for unwatched phones, he thought – and then it chirped. He scrabbled to look –

And sighed, miserably. Sure, he wanted to hear from Ryan…but he hadn't realised until that moment, when it wasn't Beckett, how much he wanted to hear from her. Dispiritedly, he opened the text.

Shouldn't you be dealing with your blonde?

That had to be Espo. Aggressive wasn't the word. Castle, hair-trigger tempered already, sent back She left a week ago, not that it's your business. Beckett had her Demming. I'm not a lapdog.

Almost instantly the boys replied. Espo stole the phone. That was obviously Ryan. Don't you think you shoulda told us that? And there was Espo.

Castle fired back just as fast. Why? As far as I knew Beckett was off with Demming. Shouldn't she or you have told me they'd broken up if you're expecting me to tell you Gina had gone?

There was a noticeable gap in transmission. Then: okay, yeah. Another, longer pause. Beckett got a bit beat up. She's on medical leave for a week.

What the actual fuck? Beaten up? Injured? He dialled.

"Say what?" he half-yelled at Ryan. "Beckett injured and you didn't tell me?"

"Why the hell should I? You weren't here, you were all shacked up with that blonde, so what were you going to do about it? Her dad was there and he's her emergency contact, not you. So sit the fuck down and shut up, Castle, 'cause you haven't the right to yell."

Castle felt as if he'd been savaged by a pet gerbil. "I do so! I'm her partner" –

"You're her shadow. Not a cop, not her boyfriend. And you weren't here. So shut the fuck up. Call back when you've calmed down."

The call was cut. Castle, utterly infuriated, dialled again – not Ryan or Espo, but Roy Montgomery.

"Montgomery."

"Roy. Why didn't you tell me Beckett got hurt?"

"Why should I?" Montgomery inquired smoothly. "You'd just gone off with your editor and ex-wife, arm in arm."

"I thought Beckett was going off with that Demming from Robbery!" Castle bit back.

"Did you, now?"

"Yes! She turned me down for him."

There was a short, thoughtful silence.

"Did she, now?"

"Yes."

"And then she changed her mind," Montgomery mused, "just too late. Well, that makes a difference, I guess."

"What do you mean, it makes a difference? I'm her partner, Goddammit, and one of you should have told me!"

"Now, just you calm down and stop your hollering, Castle. I'm not going to be browbeaten by you when you're too dumb to see what's under your nose. You're the one went off with some two-bit actress, so I'm not surprised Beckett went off with someone else too. You pair are both as stupid as stumps and about as hard to move, so think of me as the backhoe."

Castle spluttered, which deterred Montgomery not at all.

"I said, stop your hollering. I haven't time to listen to you. Beckett's on medical leave this week and she's off the grid. She's gone to her cabin, out of town."

"Where" –

"No. She needs a rest and right now you aren't restful. You're not going to go disturbing her."

"But" –

"But what's your ex going to say when you go chasing off? That's not restful either."

"Since she already ditched me – again – I don't think she gets a say," Castle said acidly.

"At least she's got some sense," Montgomery muttered. "Anyway, I'm busy. Don't make trouble." For some reason Castle inserted more into that sentence. "Bye."

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.