Castle finally checks Esposito's slip of paper for the address and drags himself to Jim Beckett's apartment at 7 in the evening. It's late enough the lawyer should be home from work but early enough that the extraction details can be finalized if they can get an exact location. He paces for a few minutes to work up the courage to knock on Mr. Beckett's door.
Just as he's about to raise his arm that must weigh a hundred pounds, his phone rings. Oh thank god - a reprieve. Even when he sees the call is from Gina he answers quickly to forestall facing Beckett's father.
"Rick, you haven't sent in your RSVP. Are you bringing a plus one?"
"No matter how many times you ask, the answer will not change. I'm not attending Black Pawn's New Beginnings Gala."
"It's not a party; it's a mandatory business meeting," Gina is trying hard to keep from harping at him, but Richard is being stubborn.
"RSVP and plus-ones are not part of a standard business meeting. Is there going to be music, hors-d'oeuvres, and an open bar?"
"Yes of course. Just because its business doesn't mean we have to be austere."
"Are people other than employees of Black Pawn including members of the press going to be there?"
"Richard, quit being obstinate. You are required to attend. It's a mandate from the new CEO to meet everyone together - all at once. You can't snub him."
"Gina, I offered to meet him face to face several times, but I was rebuffed. I have made it very clear that while Beckett is recovering from a gunshot wound I will not attend any event that could be construed as a party. The Nikki Heat fans are shippers who put up with the old playboy routine, but they would crucify me if I appeared to be indifferent to Beckett's suffering. I will not be attending. Goodbye."
It's an unexpected bonus that the encounter with his ex wife has managed to bolster his resolve. It broke the internal recriminations playing on an endless loop: "You failed. Her father hates you. Beckett hates you. You failed..."
He knocks and waits. There are no sounds coming from inside. Castle wants to see it as a sign he can run away from this conversation, but he doesn't have time to waste when a nefarious scheme wants his detective dead. He's ready to knock again when the door swings open. He starts to speak but the gloom of the interior barely lets him see a shadowy figure already retreating from the open door.
Despite the overcast evening there is only a single light on above the kitchen table. The man sits hunched over, focused only on something in front of him. The story, the setting, pull the writer in. "Mr. Beckett, I'm sorry for dropping in unexpectedly. I know this is a difficult time but we really need to talk."
Silence.
Jim moves something on the table, tilts his head, and flips the small clear object over.
Castle ignores his desire to snoop and instead tries to puzzle out what has Jim so focused. The curious man eases closer and stares in horror. Mini bottles of alcohol and shot glasses are lined up on the table. Opposing them are a series of coins, sobriety chips if he had to guess. The alcoholic flips an empty shot glass over; places a coin on top of it.
Oh shit, shit, shit..! "Jim, don't do this. Let me take them. He thrusts an arm towards the toxic liquors but freezes when Jim thunders, "NO! My demon came out to play. I've got to face it head-on." He picks up a coin. Puts it back down but it's out of line with the other tokens of victory.
"No one can be this strong on their own. This isn't facing them, this is torturing yourself." Castle stares at the man. He seems to be sober, the bottles are still sealed, but he's obviously hanging by a thread. "You've fought so hard. Don't give in now. Kate would be devastated. Let me take them." Rick remains very still, trying to read the man and not spark his volatile emotions.
"Even if you take these, there will be a new bottle at my door tomorrow." Jim moves a bottle of whiskey, jumping it over the 30 day coin and moves it front and center. The coin is plucked from the line and put to the side of the table. "I already let Katie down." A different coin get dropped on the shot glass and both get pushed an inch further away. "This was my chance to repay her. Take care of her like she took care of me when I was drowning, but I failed her - again." Two bottles of bourbon are pushed side by side and are tugged closer to the struggling father.
None of this makes sense. Rick wants the story and wants to babysit Jim, but there is too little time and too many plans yet to be plotted. He sure as hell cannot tell the elder Beckett that someone is trying to finish his daughter off, so he has to tread very lightly.
"Where is Katie? She would want to be here with you. You don't have to be alone in this battle."
"She's been admitted." The gin is flipped so the neck of the bottle holds it upside down in the shot glass. "Oh, I have a note for you from when she was in the hospital. I was supposed to give it to you next time I saw you but I didn't see you there again." Jim makes no move to get the missive, and continues to study the battle in front of him.
"Which hospital is she in now?" Rick whispers with the panic barely under control.
"Not a hospital -rehabilitation facility- because I couldn't be strong enough for her. She says it's for the best." He picks up a coin, fingers it, then swaps it out with the vodka. The little vial of poison gets pushed aside.
"Rehabilitation? Where?" Castle must have muttered the thoughts aloud because Jim reaches past the uneaten meal in a cardboard tray towards a sheet of paper. He gives it to Castle and goes back to manipulating the sobriety coins and libations.
Castle memorizes the return address in the upper right corner of the page. The letter, in a distinctive looping cursive he has recently studied, is dated two weeks prior.
Dad, We've had this discussion but I know you stopped arguing with me because you (and everyone) think I am struggling. What happened is not your fault. Look at the facts, counselor: We needed groceries. I begged you for a little space and assured you I'd be fine for the few hours it took you to go get food, more bandages, and my prescription refills. Everything should have been fine.
You've known me longer than anyone else on this earth, but you can't read my mind (no matter how may times you wanted to when I was a wild teenager.) I didn't share with you how jumpy the tree by the driveway full of heart shaped prisms made me feel. I know the sign said they were from "fans who love Nikki," but those clear baubles cast damn bursts of light everywhere like some mythical unicorn threw up and the rainbow vomit was supposed to make me happy. I think they were another deliberate attempt to rile me up and I'm sorry it worked. You had no way of knowing I'd drag a ladder out to the tree and climb it to cut down the reflections. I just couldn't live with all those flashes of light. Just to prove I am aware of my mental state I'll admit freshly cut grass is a smell that makes me jittery, but hey, it is not something I have to worry about inside here!
To add insult to injury (literally) the idiots running this rehab facility think everyone who had a past traumatic event now has a "disorder" - as in PTSD. They are using it as excuse to milk the insurance company for mandatory therapy sessions where I have to do stupid things like write letters to meaningful people in my life. (And thanks for agreeing to forward the letters to my friends - I don't want the busybodies here to know who I'm in contact with.) I have new respect for all the steps (like making amends) you went through in AA.
So if you really want to help me heal, dad, stop blaming yourself. This is a minor setback and Lanie is convinced the mandatory physical and mental therapy is the best thing that could have happened to me. I still regret that you declined to act as my health care proxy, but your argument that I can manipulate you more easily than Dr. Parish may have some historical precedence behind it! So, to paraphrase what we learned from mom's funeral, even the worst of events have the possibility for good. Stay strong for me.
Love you.
Your Katie bug.
Castle gets eerily still and processes the words. Flashes of light would trigger PTSD. His stubborn detective hid the symptoms from her father and then dragged herself out to cut down her enemy. The atrocity happened under the guise of 'Fans who love Nikki' and stirs a deep rage within him. They used his creation to hurt her so badly she is now an inpatient at some facility. This must be a deliberate attack on the Becketts. Leaving alcohol for Jim can't be a coincidence. His writer brain understands them going after a cop, but his heart can't accept going after a mild mannered appellant lawyer... to taunt the man with bottles of alcohol when his wife was murdered and his daughter shot...
The cliche' he wrote so many times finally came true: Rick Castle saw red.
"NO! I do not sit back and watch this happen." He storms to the kitchen yanking open cabinet doors under the sink. He ignores the recycling bin and jerks the trash bag up from the can, muttering "...Meredith cheats on me; I get to raise Alexis."
He stomps to the dining area where Castle flings his arm an inch above the table to sweep bottles and shot glasses into the trash. All the while he keeps talking... "Mother gets swindled and loses her life's savings, but Alexis gets a full time grandmother."
"I get writer's block, but I met the love of my life. Good must triumph! They will NOT win." The bag is tied, the entry door ripped open, and the rubbish hurled out of Jim's apartment with a little too much force. He stares at the bag flung into the hall and tries to get his temper back under control.
Rick freezes when a gentle hand comes down on his shoulder. "That's the difference between us. You're able to plot a way around the abyss. A Beckett latches on with laser focus and won't back down no matter how strong the destructive force."
The momentary burst of feeling collapses and Jim blindly navigates past the kitchen to slump down onto a small gray sofa. He reaches to the low table, past a chess board, and barely has the strength to pull an old fashioned photo album towards him. He caresses the book of memories and reverently flips through a few pages, his eyes misting and he lays his palm on a page. "Jo-Jo the Yo-Yo."
The story always draws him in. Rick flips on a table lamp and sits beside the man hoping the silent encouragement is enough. His heart breaks as he studies Kate's mother. One photo shows her laughing, the other pose a stereotypical angry housewife in an apron brandishing a spoon at the photographer.
Mr. Beckett flips to a new page with mother and daughter holding fish with a snug cabin in the background. "She could push you away or reel you in, man or woman, and you were helplessly caught in her net."
Rick huffs in understanding even as his heart breaks along side the other man.
"Johanna traced her lineage far enough back to be a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. That strong spirit was handed down through the generations. Combine that with beauty, wit, and intellect, and it is an irresistible combination in a woman. Jo kept pushing me away but I'd keep circling like a moth to a light. I think I just outlasted the rest of the horde of men in her wake. She fostered the desire in me to be a better man. Her smile, those eyes, her brilliant mind, and the depth of her heart, they'd draw me back every time."
"I might have some idea of what you're talking about."
"She'd get so pissed when I'd call her Jo-Jo the yo-yo."
Rick let a smile ghost over his face. His ear would be torn twisted off his face if he dared called his Beckett a yo-yo.
"She was worth it. Even now I'll admit I'd do it all again. The agony of her cold blooded killing, pushing Katie away as I drown in alcohol, and watching my only child spiral down in a reckless disregard for her own safety, even now I would not trade a single second of my life with Jo."
He tuned those soulful eyes on Rick then points to a sealed envelope with 'Castle' scrawled on the front. "But you're stronger than I am. You walked away from Katie last summer and you're doing it now. No matter what happens, you'll be ok." With that he gets up, still cradling the photo album, and leaves the room, softly closing the bedroom door behind him.
Castle reverently picks up the envelop. He can't let himself get distracted so he taps down his emotions just like detective Beckett. Her message will have to wait.
A/N: Thank you to each and every one who leaves a review! The next chapter is Beckett's.