Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.
After filing the last of the paperwork for the Gilbert case, the team members manage to slip out of the precinct under Gates' watchful eye, headed for the Haunt in separate cars. It's a little later than planned – they'll still arrive by 3:30, but Beckett had hoped to get there a little ahead of schedule. Still, she'll see her partner soon and finally get to the bottom of what's going on with him and what he's learned about her case.
Even here Beckett's plan is thwarted. Had she arrived first, she'd have gone into the Haunt. But Fate smiled on Esposito instead, gracing him with a nearer parking spot. So the boys are waiting at the door when Beckett finally arrives, panting slightly from her brisk walk.
Entering the pub proves less heart-breaking than seeing the loft gutted. After all, the bar looks unchanged since their first visit here, back before Castle purchased it and saved the landmark from an ignominious death via corporate annexation. The memory makes Beckett wonder if TJ McChucklenuts has finally managed to purchase the Haunt after Castle frustrated their initial efforts.
As they make their way into the bar, the team sees a group of suits perched elbow-to-elbow around four tables that've been pushed together. Castle sits at the head of the tables, the only man in the group not wearing a tie. He looks tired, Beckett thinks, taking in his sallow tone, the bags under his eyes, and the droop in his shoulders. Still, she can't deny the bloom of warmth in her chest from finally seeing him again after their long summer apart.
Castle brightens as he sees the team, a spark alighting in his eyes as he focuses on Beckett.
"Ladies, gentlemen," he addresses the crowd at the table as he rises from his seat. "Please carry on. I'll be back to sign the final paperwork after I speak with the detectives downstairs."
With a nod of the head, Castle motions the team towards the stairs to the office, his interest in taking their conversation away from prying ears more than apparent. Harboring no love for attorneys themselves, the detectives are happy to repair to a more private location.
Entering the Haunt's office makes Beckett reconsider her assessment of the Haunt's sale. Like the loft, the office has been stripped of any trace of Castle, whatever small remnants that remain apparently contained in the tattered cardboard moving box on the desk. Risking a glance at the wall that held the secret door, she's not surprised to see that it's been covered with sheetrock and a new paint job, hiding the secret once again.
Following her line of sight, Castle huffs a laugh. "They can make me sell the Haunt," he admits as he lifts the box from the desk and sets it gently on the floor, "but they can't make me give up her secrets." Then, with a wave toward the couch and chair, he waits until the detectives take a seat before gingerly lowering himself into the desk chair. Beckett doesn't fail to notice his careful movements.
Now that they're here, Beckett's wondering how to start the conversation. Neither Ryan nor Esposito are offering any conversational gambits, but their presence inhibits Beckett's thoughts about outreach. She's still trying to figure out what to say when Castle relieves her of the responsibility.
"Thanks for coming," he says with an odd formality, "your timing was perfect. We're on a tight schedule and need to keep moving."
The boys look at each other with perched brows, leaving Beckett to follow up. "Schedule? What's going on, Castle?"
"I need to get back home tomorrow, get back to work," he replies with a tired sigh, setting his elbows on the desk and resting his forehead on his palms for a moment.
"Back home?" Beckett parrots again, growing annoyed at playing catch-up. "Where do you live – it's not at that law firm," she infers, causing Castle to lift his head and look at her with a small smile.
"And you can't be behind on your writing already," Ryan chimes in. "You just released a book!"
"Yeah," Esposito adds. "Even your ex-wife must be willing to give you a break after your accident."
Regretting her decision to include the boys in this meeting, Beckett casts them a fierce look. Instead of broadening Castle's smile, their comments caused it to disappear entirely. She's not sure if this is due to the reference to his accident or his ex-wife, but at least one of them was a misstep. Based on her look and their long experience together, Esposito and Ryan shift back in their seats to signal their understanding that Beckett's running point on this conversation going forward.
"I've got a new project," Castle answers, sounding formal and withdrawn again. "One that requires all of my attention."
"A new project…," Beckett repeats, thrown again by another change in Castle's long-standing routine. "So you're done with Nikki?" she asks, surprised that the changes she's already noted hadn't prepared her for the lancing pain that accompanies this news.
"I'm done with writing," he answers sorrowfully, "at least for a while."
"No!" Beckett reacts, startling not only Castle but Ryan and Espo as well. Blushing at her outburst, she forges ahead despite her embarrassment. "You can't stop writing, Castle. It doesn't have to be Nikki, but you need to write," she implores him, stopping short of confessing the significance of his books to her mother and, later, herself. "What could be more important than writing?"
Looking at her the way he used to, the way that made them both forget that anyone else was around, Castle raises his eyes and whispers his answer. "Your case."
"My case?" Beckett parrots again. "Why is that a problem? Come back to the precinct. Things are different under Gates, but you can still use your connection with the mayor. We can't do anything to lead Gates to Montgomery, but we can still run the case from there."
Castle slowly lowers his arms from the desk and draws himself up in his chair. Losing the droop in his shoulders, he leans forward and speaks with a quiet intensity. "I'm not just working your case, Beckett. I'm taking it over."
Silence. Each of the detectives stare at Castle and wonder if they've heard him correctly. Beckett recovers first.
"You just don't learn, do you?" she asks, volume increasing with each word. Without thought, she's up from the couch and stalking toward the desk. "It's my case, Castle. Mine!"
"No," Castle replies just as fiercely as he rises from his seat and leans across the desk, "it's not. You've had more than ten years. Ten years!" he repeats, thumping his fist on the desk for emphasis. "I've made more progress on my own in the last month than you ever did."
While she'd hoped he'd made progress while she was away, hearing it like this – paraded out as an example of his success and her failure – fully and justifiably ignites Beckett's temper.
"You'll tell me every single thing you've learned," she threatens in a low voice, facing Castle down from across the desk. "And then you're gone. This is my case, Castle. I've got the scars to prove it," she growls, tapping on her chest to needlessly remind them all of her recent injuries.
"You want to talk about scars?" Castle replies in a low tone that holds as just as much dark promise and recollection as Beckett's. "Fine," he declares as he shrugs out of his jacket. Roughly undoing the buttons on his cuffs, his hands repeat the motion on the top two buttons on his chest before he nearly rips his shirt off over his head.
"Shit, Castle," Esposito interjects from his seat on the couch while Beckett gasps and Ryan groans. "Are those electrical burns?" he asks, recognizing the shiny scar patterns on Castle's abdomen.
"No," he answers Esposito with his eyes focused on Beckett, "they're reminders. So I wouldn't forget about my real scars while I was on my stomach," he says before slowly turning in place.
Beckett's surprised by the low keening sound until she realizes it's coming from her. The low moans from Ryan and Esposito provide a grim accompaniment. Angry red welts and ridged scars mar Castle's back, a haphazard, asymmetric latticework of pain and suffering carved into his flesh. Beckett chokes down the bile that rises in her throat as she surveys what is clearly not the remnants of an automobile accident.
"Oh, Castle," Beckett whispers, reaching out toward him with the ire of their standoff forgotten. "What did they do to you?"
Turning back to face them, Castle takes a few quiet minutes to shrug back into his shirt before looking at Beckett. "Did you really think they'd just stop after you disappeared?"
The hand that had been stretching out toward her partner is pulled back, instead used to cover her mouth. She'd thought any danger from her situation would follow her – it's one of the reasons she left town and didn't share her destination with her colleagues. But she'd been so cut off, by proximity and by choice, that she didn't know what happened while she was away… She sits heavily on the edge of the couch, legs knocked from beneath her as she'd backed away from Castle in shock.
"Five days," Castle whispers as he lowers himself back into his chair after slowly tucking in his shirt. "Five days they had me. After the second night," he recalls, eyes gone hazy as he sifts through the memories, "they believed I didn't know anything about your case or where you were. After the third night," he continues, lost in recollection, "they believed no one was coming for me."
The boys look at each other guiltily for not having realized Caste was gone, not having checked up on him after his "car accident." Beckett, meanwhile, wonders what she would've done had she actually reached out to Castle during the summer and been unable to reach him.
"That's when things got really bad," Castle continues, voice growing even more grim. "They talked about crushing my hands or cutting off my fingers. They talked about taking my eyes. They talked about 'gelding' me. But then," he inflects, as if the preceding threats were trivial and they're only now getting to the real issue, "then they started talking about Alexis – what they'd do to her, what they'd like to do to her, what she'd beg them to do to her."
Even with unshed tears in her eyes, Beckett can see her partner well enough to note his paling color, his clammy skin. He's back in the moment, reliving his horror as his daughter – easily the most important person in his life – was threatened.
"Even after all your time with the NYPD, all the things you've seen, you wouldn't believe the horrible, depraved threats they dredged up," Castle promises as he lets his head fall. "They thought they'd broken me, then." Then, raising his head to look at each of them in turn, he lets his tone change to something more focused, more direct. "I let them think they'd broken me."
Castle pauses a few moments to let that thought sink in.
"None of you know me well enough to know what my girl means to me," he says challengingly, his eyes drifting back to Beckett to include her in this assertion. "They thought they'd break me by threatening her – break me then remake me into a nice informer for them. I guess they did reshape me," he considers with a shrug, thinking out loud. "I was supposed to be a collar for Beckett. But I'm not a collar," he nearly growls. "I'm a noose."
"Castle," Beckett finally interjects, breaking into his soliloquy. "Don't do this – don't fall into this case. No one knows how deep this hole goes, what it can do to you, better than I do."
Castle swivels his head to take her in, thinking about her comment. Then, after a blowing out a large breath, he ignores her advice. "You're not exactly a credible voice for caution and restraint. I'm already doing this, Beckett, and I'll see it through to the end."
"You're in over your head," Beckett throws back, anger stoked again as his words make her recall their terrible fight back before Montgomery died. "You're doing exactly what you told me not to do," she points out resentfully. "You don't know what you're doing. Leave the real cases," she scorns, "to the real cops."
Oddly, her attack seems to invigorate him. Perhaps it's not so odd, she realizes upon reflection, recalling some their sparring and its effect on their cases. But Castle's fully engaged again, sitting forward to drive home his rebuttal.
"I'm better suited than anyone here to do this," he promises, sweeping his gaze across all three of them before landing, surprisingly, on Esposito. "Javi will explain."
"Me?" Esposito asks, pulling his head back and looking confused. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he replies gruffly, anxious to make his allegiances clear.
"Tell them about Orde Wingate," Castle continues, ignoring his reaction.
"Who?" Beckett and Ryan both reply. Getting nothing from Castle, they turn to Esposito, who's looking at the tagalong writer with fresh eyes.
"Castle…," Esposito temporizes, worried about this dive into military history and what it might mean for the conversation.
"In Palestine," Castle forestalls him, "not India."
Uncomfortable with suddenly finding himself the center of attention, Esposito scrubs a hand through his hair to buy a little time to recall the details. Then, with a sigh, he starts his explanation while trying to think about what Castle's up to.
"You've heard of Lawrence of Arabia, right?" Espo begins. "He was the British military officer who's known for his work with the Arab Revolt. Wingate was his distant cousin. He was a big player in the fight against Japan in World War Two, so successful and eccentric that some people think he was assassinated," he continues, cutting Castle a look to see if this is a conspiracy theory to which he subscribes.
"Palestine," Castle reminds Espo, giving no other reaction.
"Fine," the detective huffs in reply. "Wingate cut his bones as an intelligence officer in Palestine in the mid-30s. He aligned himself with Jewish political leaders and came up with a military solution to the Arab raiding parties that were striking Jewish settlements. Until then, the settlements employed a stockade-enclosure defensive strategy. Wingate changed that. He trained troops of Jewish and British volunteers to create the Special Night Squads. The Squads adopted an offensive theory of defense, ambushing Arab raiding parties and backtracking their movements to wipe out anyone who provided aid or shelter to the raiders. It was an effective strategy that won him the DSO, but brutality claims from the severe collective punishments his Squads enforced on villagers led to his transfer back to Britain."
"Nice summary, Javi," Castle compliments. "You studied him in the Forces?"
"Yeah," Esposito replies. "Standard stuff. 'Specially the part about the brutality and backlash with the locals," he replies pointedly. "You plannin' on going off the reservation and ambushing some bad guys?"
"You've got it backwards," Castle replies equably, refusing to rise to Esposito's challenge. "I'm not Wingate. I'm hunting Wingate." Noticing their looks of disbelief, he presses the point. "Whoever's responsible for Beckett's misery, he doesn't just target his opponent, he targets his opponents support. Exhibit A," he says, lifting an arm to point at his back with his thumb. "They knew where Beckett was, but they still took me and tried to beat her location out of me. Why? Because they thought I was someone she might turn to for help."
Though he spoke without rancor, Beckett feels his words like a slap. She can feel herself starting to lose control as she tries not to imagine what Castle did, what he thought, while he was being tortured. She wants to talk, wants to turn back the clock. But all she can do is focus on her breathing so she doesn't break down here in front of her own team – ending up with a medical discharge isn't going to help anyone.
"It's like that old Clint Eastwood movie," Ryan mumbles, clearly thinking along similar lines. "Unforgiven, that's what it's called," he remembers and Beckett flinches again at the title. "What's he say? Something like 'anyone takes a shot at me and I'll kill him, his wife, all his friends, and then I'll burn his house to the ground.'"
"There's nothing left to burn," Castle replies with a sweeping gesture around the office. "The loft, the beach house, and now the Haunt – they're all gone. I've got nothing to target – no forward bases, no fixed assets, and no exposed family or friends who aren't in this room."
"What about Alexis?" Beckett nearly groans, imagining Castle's daughter as a younger version of herself, a young woman who very well might lose her parent and send her life sideways. "And Martha?"
With a large sigh, Castle rubs his forehead and sits back in his chair, again moving slowly in deference to his back. "Alexis is secreted away in a foreign boarding school under an assumed name," he explains, watching the detectives' eyes widen. "It's a place that caters to those requiring confidentiality and security," he assures them, "and she's got additional personal protection."
"Private Witness Protection," Esposito grunts, wondering about the options available to the wealthy. "With teeth."
"As for Mother," Castle continues after nodding at Esposito's summary, "she's… convalescing. In a private facility. Beckett's shooting and my injuries were just two of the shocks she received this summer."
Every time she thinks she's got a handle on her emotions and can reenter the conversation, Beckett hears another comment that knocks her back. Of course her shooting shook Martha – why wouldn't it? They might not be close, but Martha's a kind woman. Seeing a stranger gunned down would've affected her. But her son's friend and muse, someone who lived under the same roof? And then to have a front row seat following Castle's ordeal? She knows Martha's a strong woman, but that alone could break a mother. And yet from Castle's comments, it sounds like Martha endured other surprises, too.
"Castle," Ryan tries to interject, sounding reasonable. "You're not trained for this. Keep going and your redheads will suffer a loss they won't be able to survive. You know what happens then. How many times have you been there when one of us has to notify the next of kin? Please don't do that to Alexis or Ms. R."
"Don't," Castle growls back in a fierce voice. "Don't try to play my family against me. I will do anything," he vows, his eyes piercing Ryan's, "anything to protect my girl. As for training," he continues as his voice grows more tempered, "you're right. I don't have training. But I've got money and resolve. And I can use those two things to get what I need to protect my daughter. I've already got help," he chuckles to himself. "From a completely unexpected source."
"Castle, your 'help' is probably dirty!" Esposito chides. "They're probably setting you up for the person who's responsible for all this!"
For the first time in this conversation, Castle looks truly angry. "You seem to be laboring under a couple delusions, so let's make a few things clear. One," he says, lifting his finger, "I'm not asking for permission. Now you know what's going on. Keep your heads down and protect the people important to you. I'm doing this regardless. I'm doing it already."
"Castle…," Ryan tries to interject.
"Two," Castle rolls on, lifting another finger. "There isn't a 'person' who's responsible for this," he says while looking at Esposito to refute his claim. "Coonan. Montgomery. Raglan. McAllister. Lockwood. That's five. There were three holding me and none of them seemed like shot-callers. One person might've started this but there are far more involved. Although," he adds with a feral grin that looks out of place on his normally jovial face, "there are fewer now."
"Castle," Beckett finally returns to the conversational fray on this macabre note, "what did you do?"
"Nothing unwarranted and nothing within your jurisdiction," he answers cryptically. The three detectives exchange troubled looks, wondering darkly exactly how far Castle would go to protect his daughter.
"Castle, please don't do this," Beckett implores. "Please listen to me. No one knows the cost of a crusade like this better than I do." Then, knowing she's losing him, that she needs to make this more personal, she reaches for a more personal plea. "I don't want to lose you. And I don't want to have to hunt you down and arrest you."
The notion of Beckett hunting him down tickles Castle in some unspecified way, based on his small smile when he replies. "The wheels are already turning. I've got four lines going and people in place. I'm not going to stop, not so long as there's any threat to Alexis."
"Four lines of investigation?" Beckett can't help but ask.
"And as for arresting me?" Castle continues, still smiling while ignoring her question. "It's happened once and won't happen again. What do you think I've done for the past three years?" he asks incredulously. "I've watched you, all of you, on case after case after case. You won't find my money, you won't find my allies, and you won't find me."
"So that's it?" Beckett fires back, accepting his challenge. "A life of crime for you, a life on the run?"
Castle actually chuckles, surveying the detectives. "I haven't done anything illegal," he answers with a secret smile as he rises from his spot from behind the desk, signaling the end of this meeting, "and I don't expect I will."
No, Beckett thinks, it can't end like this. She's got nothing – no insight into what Castle's doing, no idea where he is, no clue about his lines of investigation, no reason to arrest him to buy some time. And no partner. Time for extreme measures.
"I thought you loved me," she confesses to him as she ignores the shocked reactions from Ryan and Esposito.
"I do," Castle replies simply as he walks out from around the desk and picks up the cardboard box containing the last of his belongings from the Haunt. "I wish that was enough. I wish you felt the same way," he adds, trying unsuccessfully to sound unaffected. "I wish I didn't have to choose between my blissful ignorance at the precinct and taking steps to protect my daughter. But whatever I am – writer, consultant, son, partner, annoyance – I'm a father first. And I'll do anything and everything to protect my girl," he trails off, looking down at the box in his hands before raising his eyes to his former partner. "Whatever the cost."
With that bridge apparently burned, Castle twists his wrist and shakes his head when he realizes how long they've been down in the office. "It might not seem like it," he says as he shuffles the box into one arm so he can hold the door open with the other, "but it was good to see you all again. Whatever happens, please keep yourselves safe. You," he says to Beckett as she approaches, reaching out toward her before letting his hand fall back to the box, "especially."
"I'm not the one playing with fire," Beckett replies, stopping directly in front of Castle and prompting the boys to stutter-step in order to avoid crashing into her.
"It's my turn," he replies with a shrug, turning her charge with three simple words. "But for now, I need to get back upstairs."
"That anxious to sell this place?" Beckett asks as they walk up the stairs. "Or that anxious to ditch us to hang out with some lawyers?"
"They're not so bad," he replies with a shrug. "Certainly not the worst people I've met lately. And they serve a useful purpose."
"Charging you thousands of dollars an hour?" Ryan asks as they clear the stairs and come back into view of the assembled lawyers who scramble back into position at Castle's reappearance.
Castle spins to face them while continuing to walk backwards and cradling his box. "They do their jobs and they do them well. Especially their most important job."
"Keeping you out of jail?" Esposito asks as Castle drifts further away.
"No," Castle answers with a smile before checking his watch again, "providing me with a rock-solid alibi. Good day, detectives," he finishes with a wink before spinning on his heel and striding toward the head of the table where the sales documents and an attorney holding out a pen await his arrival.
A/N: So, two chapters to get us kicked off. They represent the sum total of my writing over the holidays and I post them as a way to commit to continuing this story. I'm hoping for weekly updates, though my work schedule for January looks grim. Trust that I'll post when I can and I won't leave this unfinished.