The next day, there was a new case, and Castle couldn't find a spare moment alone with Beckett to ask her all of his questions. It seemed like the whole world was conspiring against him, he thought grouchily, after Ryan interrupted them in mid-conversation for what felt like the dozenth time.
Finally, at the end of the day, they had caught their murder suspect and brought him back to the precinct. Castle tagged along with Beckett while she took the suspect to be booked into Holding, and as she was finishing up the paperwork, Rick finally reached his breaking point. So he just blurted out: "Beckett, how's Mickey doing?"
She gave him a bland look. "He's great, thanks for asking." Her tone clearly said, End of discussion, and she immediately turned to walk away. But of course, Castle just couldn't let it go that easily.
"Beckett," he called, jogging after her down the dingy hallway leading from Holding to the elevator. "Wait, but can we talk about-"
She swiveled abruptly on her heel, pinning him with a glare so sharp it stopped him in mid-sentence.
"Mickey is fine," Beckett said in a low, dangerous voice that sent prickles up his spine. Abruptly he remembered that Beckett was a witch and for a brief dizzy moment the thought was terrifying. "Thank you for your help," she added, bitingly. "We are not talking about it." She turned away again, heading toward the elevator.
Why can't anyone except me see him at crime scenes? Castle heard his voice asking in his mind. How does he get there? How do you know when it's time for the spirit to move on? Can you communicate with the criminal soul? Can Mickey understand English? And a thousand more, but just like the previous times, the words got caught in his throat and wouldn't come out. He struggled with it, frustration boiling up. But as he and Beckett stepped onto the elevator, he caught a glimpse of her face and saw that she could hear all the questions, loud and clear as if he really were speaking them.
"Stop it!" he got out, his voice strained with the effort.
"Stop what?" Her face was white, lips tight, brows drawn down in a scowl. "You're the one asking questions I already told you I'm not going to answer."
"I'm not asking anything," he objected, "because you're putting some kind of spell on me, keeping me from speaking." As her eyes widened, he added, "And then you read my mind and hear everything anyway, so what's the point?"
"I'm not keeping you from speaking," she said, sounding shocked. "I don't even know how to do that."
Castle paused, a little of his anger dissipating into curiosity as he studied her face and saw that she was telling the truth. "But you are reading my mind, aren't you?"
She averted her eyes, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "I guess. I don't know. I've never heard anyone's thoughts before."
"Well," he said, getting annoyed again, "if you're reading my mind without intending to, maybe you're preventing me from talking without intending that either. Maybe you're doing magic and not even realizing it."
"If I could shut you up with magic, I'd have done it a thousand times already," Beckett snapped back.
"Don't change the subject, Beckett. Why won't you just answer my questions about Mickey? You already told me the story, what's the harm?"
The elevator stopped at the parking garage level. Beckett stalked out, fury in every line of her body, every vector of motion. Castle strode along just behind her, determined not to let it go.
Then she stopped, again, and whirled toward him, again. Her face was contorted with an agonizing mix of anger and grief.
"What do you want me to say, Castle?" she demanded. "Do you want to hear that after my mom died I thought the only thing that could save me was becoming a cop and finding her killer, but I've never been able to do that, and sometimes I think it's because of Mickey and the deal I made? Do you want to know how it makes me feel that I'm the best homicide cop in the city but I still haven't managed to find justice for my own mother?"
Castle reeled backward, stricken by remorse. "Kate-" he tried to interject, but she wasn't done.
"Do you want to know how often I lie awake hating myself for what I've done to Mickey?" she hissed. "Thinking about how I screwed up there too, I fucked up the deal with the demon and Mickey is the one who suffers for it? Mickey is all that's kept me going this whole time, him and the fantasy of solving my mom's case, and I've failed them both."
"You haven't failed," Rick protested, but she shook her head, rejecting it. The passion began to fade, her expression turning weary.
"I know where he wants this to end," she said more quietly. "The demon. He wants me to go rogue, turn into the kind of cop who shoots the bad guys in cold blood and then claims self-defense. He thinks if it gets bad enough with Mickey, I'll turn that way. Create an endless supply of new dead souls to keep him going."
"He's wrong," Rick gasped, horrified. The thought hadn't even occurred to him, but clearly Beckett had spent a lot more time thinking through all the threads of cause-and-effect leading out from her one ill-fated act all those years ago. "He's wrong, Beckett, you would never-"
"Of course I wouldn't," she spat, scowling. "I won't. Not ever. But... once again it's Mickey who pays the price. The in-between days are getting harder for him, and there's nothing I can do about it."
She dashed a hand swiftly across her face, brushing away the wetness that had gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"And so, Castle, that... is why We. Are. Not. Talking about it."
She turned on her heel and strode away before he could find any words, any words at all to tell her how sorry he was.
Shoulders slumping, he turned the other way and walked off as well. But by the time he got back to his loft, he was already making some phone calls.
There must be something he could do to figure out a solution for Mickey. And as for Beckett's mother's murder... maybe he could help with that too.
A few more cases went by. Things almost seemed back to normal; Beckett bantered with him like always, and as she had ordered, they didn't talk about it, even though it was driving Castle mad.
He spent hours digging into research about magic, dogs, deals with demons, summoning spells, immortality, and the like. Maybe it was arrogant of him to think he could solve a problem that a real witch hadn't been able to, but he had to try.
Meanwhile, he contacted his friend Dr. Clark Murray, and gave him the file on Beckett's mother's murder. Maybe Dr. Murray would be able to find something that had been missed.
Then there was a case involving home invasions and jewelry heists, and they got to go undercover at a black-tie event; it was like a dream come true for Rick, and he wasn't sure which he enjoyed more: showing off Beckett to his high-society friends, or vice versa.
In the end, he had to stay in the car again while Beckett, Esposito, and Ryan went to apprehend the suspect. But while Rick was entertaining himself by pretending to drive the cop car, he suddenly became aware of the prickling sensation of being watched.
Turning, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Mickey sitting in the back seat, watching him.
"Shit!" Rick exclaimed, gaping. He knew the dog hadn't been there when they'd driven over here. How the hell-? "Oh, right," he muttered to himself, " magic dog."
Mickey let out a short yip, and Castle gasped again as it hit him - the dog only ever appeared when Beckett was going to need his help.
"Kate!" he said, and put his hand on the door handle, but then paused, wavering. She had told him to stay in the car, and he'd really meant to this time, really-
Just then, with a thud, a person fell onto the hood of the car. It was the suspect they were trying to apprehend, and in the blink of an eye Mickey was in the front passenger seat, snarling and growling, trying to get at the man.
The driver's door popped open and the thug grabbed Rick, trying to get him in a chokehold, but Mickey exploded out of the car and tackled him. The man's flailing fist caught Rick square in the face and he fell back onto his ass, momentarily stunned.
When his vision cleared, the suspect was on the ground with Mickey's huge front paws on his back and Beckett's high-heeled boot pinning down his hand as she pointed her gun between his eyes.
"Go ahead," she invited coolly. "I need the practice."
The next morning Beckett came to the loft to return Martha's jewelry, and to Rick's surprise, she brought Mickey along. Alexis squealed with excitement when she saw the dog, and ran over to give him a hug, which he seemed to enjoy as much as she did.
"Hi again, Mickey," the little redhead chirped. "Do you remember me? Halloween was a long time ago."
"I'm sure he remembers you," Beckett said with a smile. "He has a good memory."
"Does Mickey like playing dress-up?" Alexis asked. "I bet my princess tiara would look so nice on him, don't you think so, Daddy?"
"Definitely," Rick agreed, grinning. Beckett looked dubious, but she shrugged.
"You can try it, I guess," she said. "If he doesn't like it, he'll tell you."
"Right," Alexis nodded as she began to lead Mickey toward her play area in a corner of the living room. "Because he's a magic doggie."
Beckett cut a glare in Rick's direction, but he put up both his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"I didn't say anything, I swear," he stage-whispered. "She just remembers him from Halloween, that's all."
She relaxed slightly, stepping closer to him to get a better look at the shiner that had formed around his eye. It looked pretty impressive, if he said so himself.
"Pretty butch, Castle," she teased, giving him a little smirk, which he returned in kind.
"I know, right?"
Beckett lowered her voice again, glancing over at Alexis to make sure she wasn't listening. "I took him to the vet the other day," she said quietly.
Rick's eyebrows went up. "Oh really?"
"Since you mentioned it, I thought maybe I should give it a try. I had to lie about his age," she added, a little embarrassed. "I said he was ten. I didn't want them thinking he's some kind of medical miracle. But..."
"But?" he prompted when she trailed off. "What did they say?"
"That he's in great shape for a 10-year-old dog," Beckett replied with a wry twist of her lips. "I took him... in between. You know."
"When he didn't... when it was just him," Rick said carefully. Again he was dying to ask a thousand questions, but this time it was only his own conscience holding him back.
"Right," she said. "Anyway, they gave me some supplements and vitamins and stuff to give him. It seems to be... helping."
"Good. That's good."
"I probably should have taken him in sooner," she sighed, her forehead creasing slightly. "I just always figured it wouldn't do any good, but after you suggested it the other day, I decided it couldn't hurt. So, uh... thanks." She grimaced and rolled her eyes, and he grinned a little, knowing how it rankled her to be thanking him.
"I'm glad I could help." And because she had been the one to bring up the supposedly taboo topic, he took the risk of asking another question: "Have you ever tried a health spell on him? You said you can take away headaches, so-"
"I do a little here and there, but it only goes so far," she said, and frowned at him. "Stop trying to fix this for us, Castle. We're fine."
"You're not fine," he objected. "You're in a holding pattern. And you said yourself that the in-between days are getting harder."
"We're fine," she repeated, firmly. "The holding pattern is... holding. There's no need to rock the boat."
It was Castle's turn to frown, caught off-guard by her choice of words. Was she worried that trying to fix the situation might somehow make things worse? He supposed it was a reasonable concern, but...
In any case, she was giving him a look that could almost be called a glare, so he reluctantly decided to drop it... for now.
Just as he was thinking that, a little voice spoke up from around their hips.
"I think he had enough, Detective Beckett."
Looking down, both Rick and Kate couldn't help laughing at the sight of Mickey wearing a bright pink tutu around his middle, a pink polka-dotted bow tie around his neck, and on his head-
"Is that a Wonder Woman headband?" Beckett asked, chuckling. Alexis nodded solemnly.
"Yeah. It looks really good on Daddy too."
Beckett burst out laughing. "I just bet it does," she managed between giggles, while Rick merely shrugged.
"What can I say, my rugged handsomeness is very versatile."
Still snickering, Beckett took out her phone and snapped a quick picture of her dog in the ridiculous costume. "Thank you, Alexis," she said, putting the phone away again. "This was fun, but Mickey and I need to get going."
"Okay," Alexis said, carefully untangling the headband from the dog's ears. "Can Mickey come back and play with me again sometime?"
"Sure," Beckett said. "Could I use your bathroom before we go?"
"Oh! I'll show you where it is," Alexis exclaimed, and she took Beckett by the hand and led her off down the back hallway.
Rick knelt down on the floor to remove the rest of the costume from the long-suffering dog. As he did so, he caught Mickey's eye, and stopped suddenly as it all hit him all over again.
Just a few hours ago he'd seen Mickey tackle a big, muscular criminal without hesitation - the dog must have another spirit in him right now, giving him that energy and strength. Shifting, Rick brought his face closer to Mickey's, staring deeply into the dog's eyes. Mickey held still, letting him look.
For a long moment, Rick didn't think he was seeing anything, except ordinary dark-brown dog eyes. But then - maybe he imagined it - just for a moment - he could swear he did see something. A flicker, a hard bitterness, like the flat hostile gaze he'd received from any number of killers and other wrongdoers since he started shadowing Beckett. Just for an instant, Rick could have sworn he really did perceive a whole other entity inside that big furry body.
Then the moment was gone; the dog gave a soft whuffle and flopped onto the floor on his side, exposing his belly, wagging his tail. Rick let out an incredulous half-laugh and leaned over to give the dog a good vigorous belly rub.
"You're really something else, Mickey, you know that?" he said. "You take such good care of her. You're such a good boy."
Mickey gave a short bark and a full-body wriggle of pleasure at the praise, making Rick wonder yet again just how much the dog understood. But before he had a chance to formulate more than half of a plan for testing it, the woman and girl were back; Alexis was chattering Beckett's ear off as they walked hand-in-hand back down the hallway.
"And then they all go to the basketball game together," Alexis was saying as they came fully into the room. "It's a really good movie. You should watch it sometime."
"I'm sure I will," Beckett replied, smiling. Her grin widened even more as Mickey bounded over to take his usual place by her side, giving her hand a quick lick along the way.
"Good boy, Mickey," she said. "Let's get going."
"Bye, Mickey!" Alexis said, giving the dog one more hug. "Bye, Detective Beckett."
"Bye, Alexis." Beckett looked up then, and her eyes met Rick's, and there it was again - that flash of fire through his veins. "Bye, Castle. See you soon."
"Till tomorrow, Detective," he replied, coming over to hold the door for her. "Bye, Mickey."
As he closed the door, he heard a soft woof from the dog, and the low murmur of the woman's voice in answer. It made him smile.
More weeks went by, and more cases. Castle was no closer to figuring out a solution to Mickey's predicament, and Beckett was back to not talking about it; but as far as his writing was concerned, every minute with Beckett seemed to inspire him more and more. He was up late almost every night, the words flowing as fast as he could type.
Even the unexpected appearance of Beckett's FBI ex-boyfriend at a crime scene couldn't discourage him.
"We dated for six months," she confessed to Rick midway through the case.
"I didn't ask," he proclaimed, maintaining his innocent expression.
"Yeah, I know. You were not asking very loudly." She paused, and added in a quieter tone, "Mickey didn't like him."
"Oh. Huh."
That little piece of information kept Rick's busy brain occupied for quite a while.
Then all of a sudden, it came to a crashing halt. And the worst of it was, Castle had only himself to blame.
What had he been thinking? He never should have asked Dr. Murray to look at that autopsy file. He never should have poked his nose into Beckett's mother's murder case at all, but especially not after she had specifically told him not to.
It had been stupid and arrogant, and as he sat in his study drinking himself almost to oblivion, he knew it. He knew how badly he had fucked up. He just didn't know what to do to fix it.