Here goes, Castle thought, as he inhaled and exhaled three times in rapid succession, then opened the door of his Ferrari.
The wind and rain hit him with torrential fury, driving the car door backward against him and forcing him back inside the car. Story of my life, Castle thought, and with new resolve, thrust all of his strength against the storm. This time, he prevailed.
Quickly, Castle splashed his way through the deluge to the small, single family brownstone that lay just across the neighborhood street on which he was parked. Waves of sharp rain pummeled him like liquid daggers, soaking through his coat and shirt, and stinging the skin beneath. By the time he arrived on the doorstep, there wasn't a dry stitch of clothing to be found anywhere on his person, and his body felt as though it had fallen prey to a swarm of bees whose nest had just been looted.
Rap, rap, rap. Castle knocked three times on the faded green door, and collected himself under the covering of the small stoop as he waited for a response. He allowed himself some space to take in the significance of this moment. Here he was: a nervous man on the stoop of Kate Beckett's childhood home, waiting to talk to her father. In a different world, under different circumstances, this might mark the observance of a romantic, time-honored tradition; it might be an occasion for celebration, the first step in a blissful journey of lifelong happiness for Richard Castle and the woman he loved.
But not this night. No, this was a night reserved for sacrifice, and turmoil, and...heartbreak. It was the only way-of that he was sure; but much like the stoop covering under which he awaited the arrival of Jim Beckett, that assurance offered little shelter, and even less comfort. For a moment, he gave in and let the heartache have its place. The tears came quickly, camouflaged by the streaks of rain still flowing down his cheeks. And then, as quickly as they came, Castle locked them securely back inside. He could almost hear them screaming, banging against the stalwart palings of his soul, crying out for release, for freedom-but he had long since fortified the prison in which those tears were incarcerated, and he alone set the times for their release.
He was certain that there would be more time for them in the days to come.
Castle cleared his throat, and raised his trembling fist to the door again. Rap, rap, rap. This time, he heard Jim Beckett's gravelly, placid voice echoing through the house.
"Coming! I'm coming!"
Castle took a deep breath, then turned to face the door. Don't you dare be a coward, he thought to himself, everything depends on it.
He heard the sound of metal on metal, and surmised that Mr. Beckett was releasing the chain lock from its holster. A few clicks later, and he was standing face-to-face with the man he'd come all this way to see.
"Rick?" Jim said, a hint of surprise teasing the edges of his tone.
"Hello, Mr. Beckett," Castle said, anxiously.
"Well, for God's sake-don't stand out here in the storm. Come on inside," said Jim, in his most authentic fatherly demeanor. He stepped aside as Castle hastily crossed the threshold, then quickly fastened the door shut again.
"Thank you, Mr. Beckett," said Castle, wiping his face with his hands.
"Please, call me Jim."
Castle paused. Truth be told, he was a little uncomfortable calling Kate's father "Jim," though he wasn't sure why. He cleared his throat again, and squeaked "O-ok. Uh, well...how are you these days, Jim?"
Jim Beckett chuckled-a warm, jovial sound, Castle noted-and said, "Well, my knees have been giving me a little trouble lately. But at my age, simply having 'days'-plural-is a blessing, so I can't really complain." He winked as he finished, and gestured to a nearby chair. "Please-have a seat. Are you thirsty? Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, no," Castle said, "I can't stay long. Listen, I just came by to tell you-"
"How's my Katie?" Jim asked, a look of concern flashing across his face. It was there and gone in a second, and Castle could tell that he had spent years perfecting the art of masking anxiety. Probably for Kate's benefit, he thought. Maybe it was just one of the perks of fatherhood; after all, he'd been practicing his own brand of disguise with Alexis, who was far too keen to be fooled by the likes of him.
He suspected the same of Kate Beckett.
Castle's eyes roamed the inside of his sockets as he searched for an answer. "She's...ok," Castle muttered, with no small degree of hesitation. Should have practiced more, he thought as his eyes found center again, and focused squarely on Jim Beckett's now careworn face. All pretense was gone, all games at an end.
Jim Beckett was afraid for his daughter.
"Hmm. Just okay. Well, I suppose that'll have to do for now," he said, in a desperate attempt to convince himself. "She hasn't really come around much since, well-since she went back to work."
Castle nodded, knowingly. He already knew that Beckett's choice had more to do with protecting her father than from a lack of desire to see him. Still, it couldn't be pleasant for Mr. Beckett.
"Look, Mr. Beckett-Jim-we both know what she's been through, what she's suffered, how hard it's been for her to...let go. We both know how blind she can be when it comes to her mother's case, and though she's trying to move on, I know it's just a matter of time before she starts spiraling again. I had a ringside seat for the last show, and I know how it ends; and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not be there for the encore." Castle surprised himself at the firmness and conviction with which he spoke, especially since his knees felt like pudding at the moment.
Jim nodded sadly, and whispered, "I know, Rick. You've been good to Katie. You've been good for her, too, you know," he said, his moist eyes now firmly locked on Castle's. "As I told you before, she cares about you. I can count the number of people Katie trusts on one hand, and I don't even need all five fingers to do it. I don't think she can afford to lose you, Rick. Not now."
Castle swallowed the lump that had begun it's slow ascent into his throat and croaked, "I'm afraid that's why I'm here, Jim."
Jim tilted his head slightly, confusion replacing concern as the expression du jour.
Castle continued, "Last spring, you visited me and asked me to help Kate, to stop her from throwing her life away. I tried everything I could think of, but the more I tried, the harder she pushed. In the end, I decided that the best course of action would be to stand with her, to help her put this thing to rest. I was prepared to go all the way, Jim-whatever the cost."
"Rick-"
"But then, she was shot. And after three months of therapy, recovery, bed rest, and..."-Castle paused here, looking for just the right word-"...isolation, I really thought she'd walk away for good. I should have known better. Now I do. Kate will never stop-not ever-until her mother's killer is caught and brought to justice. It's a suicide mission, Jim."
"I know," Jim sighed, his eyes shifting downward to the floor, "God help me, I know."
"I have a plan, Jim. It's a long shot, and it's probably destined for failure, but it might be the only chance we have to save her life. But I'll need your help." Castle said, matter-of-factly.
"I'm listening," Jim said, a small hint of hope easing back into his voice, "what's the plan? What do I need to do?"
"I can't tell you the details of what I'm going to do. You're just gonna have to trust me. I know that's asking a lot from someone you barely know, but it's for her own good-and yours." Castle was resolute now, his tone showing no trace of the doubt that nearly paralyzed him earlier. Telling Jim Beckett about the contents of the envelope (and what he'd done to them) would only put him in danger and compromise his role in the mission at hand.
"Not my first choice, but whatever you say."
"You need to be there for her. She'll need you more than she's ever needed you in her whole life, and she's not going to have anyone else to whom she can turn. You're the safety net, Jim, and please believe me when I tell you that she's going to fall and fall hard. You have to catch her and hold her as tightly as you can for as long as you can, until she can...move on." Castle said, a heaviness rising in his chest.
"That's all?" Jim said, puzzled. "And what about you, Rick?"
"If my plan works, Jim, I won't be a factor in the equation." Castle's sadness was evident now, even in his speech. He turned and looked out the window. The rain had subsided, and there was an eerie stillness, almost tangible, in the atmosphere. A less well-read person might be duped into believing that the squall had ended, and that those who remained had been brought safely through its fury. But Castle knew better.
This was only the eye-the calm-before the real storm was to begin.
Castle closed his eyes briefly, then turned to face Jim Beckett. He opened them to find the aged gentleman squaring off against him, hands balled into fists, mouth twisted into a look of revulsion and disgust. "You'd-leave her? At a time like this?" His eyes flashed at Castle as he waited for an answer to his question.
Castle sighed deeply. "No, Jim. I would never leave her. But if my plan works, I'll lose her all the same."