Disclaimer: Does it really need saying?
Time takes you by the wrist, directs you where to go
He was still sitting on the couch, still fully dressed, scrubbing his hands over his face. He had to admit that everything had been building up to this. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep this from her forever. Not if he wanted there to be a forever. And yet he had to, or there wouldn't have been so much of a chance at…forever. This was messed up, he knew, and though he blamed himself for large parts of what had happened, he was sure enough that not all of this mess was his fault. But enough, he thought.
At last, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He thought about calling her, but dismissed the plan because he didn't trust his voice right then, so he settled on texting.
Still at work?
His phone buzzed only a few moments later.
Yes. What happened?
She knew him too well…And yet that was what he had yearned for, what he had been working at for the past three years. A bitter smile crept onto his face.
Can you come over? There's something I need to tell you.
He had barely registered his message being sent off when his phone buzzed once more.
On my way.
That's where they were. One called, the other came running. Partners. They'd gone through thick and thin together. Been to hell and back. Well, whatever hell they'd faced before would look like a picnic compared to what was coming at them now.
He fought his desire to just sink back into the cushions and wait for the doorbell to ring, standing and removing his shoes and coat, leaving them in a heap behind the couch. He wandered to the kitchen, almost in a daze. He opened the tap and, quite unceremoniously, splashed his face with a handful of cold water. Though distinctly unpleasant, the water did the job of shocking him out of his gloomy mood. At least for the moment.
He dried his face with a dishtowel, then set about to make coffee. Waiting for the coffee maker to finish, his autopilot took control and guided him to his bedroom and into fresh clothes, a pair of deep blue jeans and a white T-shirt.
He'd just finished fixing himself a good-sized cup of coffee when the bell rang. Sighing, he grabbed another mug and filled it quickly, before taking both and making his way to the door. Maybe this wouldn't turn out as terrible as he imagined. She was a smart woman. Dhe might just hear him out and understand his reasons. She… Really? Who was he kidding? This would be worse than trying to make her walk away the first time. Before she'd been shot.
Holding both mugs in one hand, he opened the door.
It was not like him to just leave without an explanation. Even when his daughter had needed him and his parental instincts had kicked him into emergency mode, he'd still at least mentioned why he was going.
She couldn't help but worry. And on top of the case, worrying about her partner was the last thing she needed. It was closing on nine-thirty pm, and she had just finished sifting through a pile of missing person reports in search of their victim. The boys had done the same, equally unsuccessfully, while the captain had left two hours ago with the order to keep her posted.
Her phone buzzed when she was about to get up and get herself a coffee and another pile of reports.
Still at work?
She simultaneously released a breath she'd been holding since his sudden exit and drew in another, holding it. Something was wrong.
Yes. What happened?
She had to wait a few moments for his response.
Can you come over? There's something I need to tell you.
Her next actions were a flurry of movement as she donned her jacket, grabbed her bag and keys and texted him back.
On my way.
She forced herself to slow down and stop by the break room to tell the boys to go home and get some sleep. When they asked where the sudden hurry came from, she answered, "Castle texted me. I'm going to see what happened earlier."
She had expected more questions, but her two colleagues seemed content with that answer, just nodding and subsequently moving to clear the bullpen, while she went over to the elevator.
She was worrying the whole way to his apartment. Rationally she knew that nothing horrible could have happened, because he would have told her when he had left, or at least called her as soon as he knew something. And, almost more importantly, he would have told her what all of this was about. But instead he had asked her to come over to talk.
When she reached his building, she had to battle her instinct to race up the stairs to his loft. Instead she forced herself to walk at a brisk, short-of-running, pace. The doorman's friendly greeting barely registered to her as she zeroed in on the elevator, catching an empty one and riding up to his floor.
The look on her face spoke volumes. Worry, concern, even a hint of fear fought for dominance in her features. Her face showed so much to him these days, so much more than when they had first met, yet he wasn't altogether sure how much of that she actually let him see.
If anything, this only made what he had to do harder. And for all the self control he usually possessed, he was sure that his own face was more than just a mirror of hers.
"Kate."
"Castle, what…?"
"Coffee?" he asked, offering one of the mugs to her.
She took it, but kept her eyes glued on his face, boring into his.
He stayed silent, stepping aside to let her in, and then gestured for her to follow him into his office.
"Have a seat," he said, plopping down into one of the armchairs himself.
She stood for a moment, irritated, before finally sitting down herself, still watching him intently.
Minutes passed in silence. Long minutes. Stretching, uncomfortable silence. Ominous silence. He watched her giving in to the aroma wafting up from the mug she was holding, taking a couple of sips. He was toying with his own cup, too absent-minded to really notice what his hands where doing. Instead he was searching for words, for the carefully crafted "speech" that he'd started to put together after texting her.
He waited until he thought he could feel the silence stretched taught between them, and if he didn't start to talk soon, it would snap. He didn't want to imagine what that would bring.
"Kate…" he said softly, almost whispering. How should he do this? How could he do this? She was sitting there, staring at him, waiting for him to tell her what…what he needed to tell her. Had to tell her. Why was this so damn hard?
He took a deep breath, trying to bring his heart rate under control. He failed though, but started anyway, his eyes transfixed on the carpet.
"After…after you were shot… The day you came back, I…I got a call." He paused, letting another long moment pass before he finally, tentatively, raised his eyes to meet hers.
Confusion dominated the dark pools of her eyes. And a hint of fear. He didn't want to imagine what she was seeing in his eyes.
"The man said…that he was a friend of…of Montgomery's." His voice, while still quavering from time to time, became stronger and more certain as he spoke. "He said that he had taken steps to protect you… But that he could only guarantee your safety as long as you stayed away from the…your mom's case."
While he spoke, he watched her jerk a little in shocked surprise, followed by her face falling to depths that he had rarely seen before. Where before he had seen confusion and traces of fear, the latter was now written all over her face, the confusion still there, but mildly subdued for the moment.
And, mixed with the fear, as much as he didn't want to see or admit it, he saw hurt. Anguish. He wasn't sure–didn't want to be sure–of its reason, didn't know if it was the memory of her mom's death, her mentor's or her own near-death experience, or if it was the fact that he hadn't told her of this.
For however unsure he was of the reason, he knew he was the cause. And it killed him, looking at her face, her beautiful face, transmitting, silently screaming her heartbreak at him, and knowing that he was the cause of it.
He wanted so desperately to just get up, take the two steps over to where she sat and wrap her up in his arms, tell her everything would be fine. Just do something to help her, make it all better. But he couldn't.
He had hardly told her anything so far, there was still so much–so much he needed to tell her, because it mattered now. And so much he wanted to tell her now that the secret was out. All along he had wanted to confide in her, wished that they could work through this together, needed someone to lift a little of the load from his shoulders.
"Why, Castle?" she asked after an eternity of silence, drawing out the question, fighting the tears that were poised to leave her eyes.
He wasn't sure what she meant. Why hadn't he told her sooner? Why was he telling her now? Why had he lied to her?
"Kate…," he said softly, trailing off.
"Cas–," she stopped when her breath caught, her eyes shimmering, "Castle, why didn't you tell me?"
"I needed you to back down," he said, his voice almost a whisper, "would you have listened if I'd told you that you were only going to be safe as long as you didn't investigate your mom's case? Because I tried that before y… and it didn't work."
"And when you said that…I was not going to solve it that day, you…" She didn't finish the question, and a single tear leaked from her eye, trailing down her cheek.
He sighed deeply, willing himself to stay put until this was resolved. Resolved. Nothing would be resolved now. If he was lucky, at some future time it would be. Hopefully they would both still be around by then.
"I meant that," he said, gazing into her eyes, hoping that she would see the truth, the honesty, in his, "we had nothing, except the threat of another sniper, another hitman, coming for you if you kept digging."
He swallowed, noticing for the first time the lump that had formed in his throat. "So," he went on, "so I told you to step away, and… And I kept at it."
Silence fell, he didn't know how to continue. If he even should. He wasn't even afraid of her jumping out of her chair and running for the door. Not with the way she sat there, tense and slumped at the same time, coffee mug clutched in her hands, forgotten.
No, he was afraid that he had broken her. That this was the final twist, the one too many.
Her thoughts were in turmoil. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he'd been in contact with someone who knew about the case, who was involved somehow, and kept it from her. What did he say? Why did he do it?
She felt the tears rise–hell, pound at what little of her emotional dam was still intact–, only waiting for a cue to run free. Would they ever stop if she let them? The little rational voice in the back of her mind told her that they obviously would stop at some point, but her feelings didn't agree.
Slowly her brain processed the words he had spoken. He had kept at it. After he'd told her to step away. He had done what?
Part of her–a big part–was hurt. She couldn't help but feel betrayed, even though reason told her that his entire motive had been to protect her. She didn't need protection. She was strong. She didn't want protection.
How could he do this, after all she'd been through with this case? Her case, really. He had no right to keep it from her. No right. By all means she should be furious. So why was she feeling like her whole world had caved in on her?
She cut that thought off right then, when keeping the tears at bay was all she could do. She didn't know how long he'd been silent, but she was actually kind of grateful that he didn't heap any more information onto her.
Because he's been holding up your whole world. Where did that thought come from? He's been…what… She tried to shake the thought out of her head, but to no avail. It sat there, flat in the center, and smiled sympathetically at her. Come on, Kate, it coaxed her, admit it. At least to yourself.
Great. Now she was discussing things with herself. The perfect moment to go crazy, really.
But the thought wouldn't go away, and the longer she tried to disprove it, the more she realized how right it was. From the day she'd been back at the precinct, she'd built on his strength, on his steady presence, drawn strength from his. She had even started tearing down that damn wall, brick by brick. They had. And they had taken those bricks and started building something else. Something new. Something that couldn't be labeled yet, for she wasn't sure what it would be when it was finished… or if it would ever be finished.
He'd been there with her, be it in a murky warehouse, reassuring her with softly spoken words and implicit confidence, not pushing her PSTD issues when a sniper threatened the city or buoying her spirits with his jokes in a dark pit with a freezer full of handcuffs and knives and saws.
Whatever the matter, he'd been by her side, or at her back. She trusted him to have her back, and he had not let her down until now. Had he let her down by not telling her? What would she have done if he had told her sooner?
She had to admit that, at the heart of the matter, he was right. If he hadn't convinced her to take a step back, she might have–would have–holed up again, trying to find this mysterious man and his connection to the case. And if he was right, and the man behind Lockwood wanted to keep her from investigating the case then… What had Castle been thinking to work this case alone? What if the threat wasn't limited to her, what if he'd dug too deep and they'd ordered a hit on him? Wh… Oh.
Oh. She felt like her eyes opened–really opened–for the first time since he'd started talking some…eternity…ago.
Of course. He was her partner, he had her back. In his own, sometimes irritating way , but he had her back, without fail or doubt. He'd known that she hadn't been ready, and so he'd decided to keep this load off her shoulders, giving her the space, and the freedom, to find her bearings. And all because he…
It was like waking from a dream. From one second to the next, she was aware of her surroundings again. Aware of the silence that filled the room, loaded with a host of emotions and tension. Aware of the mug in her hand, whose contents must've turned cold a while ago, of the ticking of her watch, of the tears that wet her face, probably smearing her makeup.
Aware of the man sitting across from her. Looking at her. And, knowing him, fretting about her reaction to his confession.
A thousand thoughts flitted through her head. She wanted to hit the man for going behind her back, take his hands and thank him for doing all this, risking his own life to protect her, kiss him senseless for being the adorable person that he was… Wait. No. Well, technically yes, but no way was that going to happen. Not now.
She had a decision to make, and she had to make it now. She had made hard ones before. When he had first dug out her mom's case, she realized, she had been so hurt by his violation of her trust, and scared of falling back into the hole that she'd so barely escaped, that she had told him to go away. And then he'd shown up and apologized. He hadn't given up, and that, even if she didn't like to admit it, had been her reason to take him back. That and the trust she–they–had built.
Now it was different. They were different, and the whole situation was. She still trusted him, even more so than back then. And she'd trusted him with so many little stories, little secrets of hers, things that nobody, not even her Dad or Lanie knew.
Then there was this little voice in the back of her head, telling her to be mad at him, to scream, yell out her frustration at what he'd done and then turn around and run, to just get away from him.
But the other voice, the one that had come up with the even more disturbing thought before, didn't seem to be fazed at all. It still sat in the middle of her mind, ignoring the ruckus going on around it. She found this calm inside of her fascinating. She should by all means be drowning in despair or screaming in fury, yet there was this one spot of untouched peace.
She explored it, prodded it, until she began to realize why it was there, and what it was. It was, simply speaking, her trust in Castle, which explained perfectly why it was calm. While the rest of her was in limbo between rage and anguish, with neither side winning, the trust was calm because it knew he hadn't done this to hurt her. She knew.
The first time he'd brought up the case, against her wishes, anguish had won and she'd been crushed. The last time they'd had an argument about it, rage had dominated her and she remembered brief flashes of that conversation.
She was beyond anguish, beyond curling up in a ball and waiting for the world to turn and lift the pain off of her. And, reluctantly, she saw that she was on her way to being beyond rage too; she didn't want to fight him. She wanted to trust him. Wanted to believe in him.
The voice in the back of her head grew a little quieter while the one in the center smiled a little at her. She breathed in deeply, let the air flow into and expand her lungs until she felt like she was about to burst before exhaling with a mighty sigh. She had decided.
His posture was one of calm repose: feet on the floor, hands folded in his lap. Someone watching him from afar would have been fooled. But behind the blue of his eyes a storm was raging. Fear ran rampant. Fear that he'd made a mistake at some point along the road. Fear that his confession had broken her heart, or worse, her spirit. Was there really a 'worse' in this context? He wasn't sure.
She was silent. Why was she silent? She should be mad at him, scream, yell… Hell, even if she hit him he'd have taken it gladly, just for the sake of getting a reaction. Something that proved that her spirit was still there. Words, he could handle. He was a wordsmith after all. He could even handle violence. At least, better than the absence of either.
He startled when she exhaled loudly. Or was it loud? The silence probably made it sound louder than it actually was. He returned his focus to where it had been for most of the time that they'd spent in here. He gazed into her eyes openly, unguarded. If she looked close enough, she'd surely be able to see the turmoil behind them. But he didn't–couldn't–care right then.
To his great–enormous–relief, she finally spoke. Quietly, but their surroundings where so silent that he didn't even have to make an effort to hear her words.
"Thank you, Castle," she said.
From one second to the next, his mind went into overdrive. Her voice sounded strained and still slightly choked, but it didn't sound one very important thing: angry. She wasn't angry. He'd known her for almost three years now, and he knew her moods. He knew how her voice sounded when she was hiding her anger. She didn't sound like this. He also knew how her voice sounded when she was genuinely thanking someone. And he thought he detected a hint of that sound in her voice now. Though for what she was thanking him, he had no idea.
She must've caught the confused look on his face, for her next words were, "For having my back. For keeping this off my back when I wasn't ready to lift it." Her left hand slipped from the mug and made a generic, including gesture in the middle of the room.
"You're right. When I came back, I wasn't in any shape to pick up that case again. If you had told me then, I would have fought you every step of the way. And it would've ended with me winning, or destroying…," she interrupted herself, casting an uncertain glance around the room, before going on, "You know me, Castle. I don't like to be taken care of," he snorted lightly at that statement, his confidence slowly returning with every second that passed without her flipping at him, "Okay, I hate it, but I don't blame you for keeping this from me. How could I?"
She gave him a small, almost shy, tight-lipped smile.
How could she blame him for doing what he had done? He could come up with an endless number of ways just in an instant, and yet it was apparently so obvious to her that he wasn't at fault. He was, in the most basic sense, speechless.
Now that she had started talking, there seemed to be almost no stopping her.
"I understand that you wanted to keep me safe. But for God's sake, why did you keep digging, Rick? Why? So you could crack the case all by yourself and then swoop in and be the knight in shining armor to bring me closure?"
She spoke evenly, no trace of accusation in her words. He realized that she only wanted to know. He swallowed, fumbling for the words.
"Kate… I feel like all of this is my fault. It was me who dragged up the case three years ago, and I got you to pursue it again. If I hadn't done that, then Montgomery would still be alive and you…you wouldn't have been…," he trailed off, his voice cracking toward the end while he fought his own rising tears.
She in turn gaped at him. "Your fault? You think this is your fault?"
When he just stared at her, eyes full of emotion, hurt, fear, guilt, she continued, "You didn't kidnap mobsters off the street. You didn't order the hit on my mom, and you didn't stab her. You didn't hire Lockwood to kill Raglan, McCallister and…Roy."
She looked straight into his eyes and said, "You. Didn't. Shoot. Me."
He opened his mouth to speak, all of his posture communicating dissent, but she cut him off before he could make a sound.
"Castle." One word, sharply spoken to get his attention. "Yes, you dug her case up, and yes, I was miserable and mad at you when you did that. But I'm over that. We are over that, remember? And what if you hadn't dug up the case? Then we might never have caught Coonan. And Raglan still might have come to me, and everything would still have happened, except that I'd have been miserable then. Honestly Rick, that would have been so much worse. So. Much. Worse."
He still wasn't convinced, and he knew that she knew him well enough to see it. But decided to keep quiet and listen to her.
"Look at what you've done apart from that, what you're doing all the time. Yes, you annoy the hell out of me, you weasel your way into my private life no matter if I tell you not to, but at the end of the day…you make me smile, Castle. You do all your prying and bugging and tugging and…," she interrupted herself, her frown being replaced by a slow smile. "You remember what I told you the night after I shot Coonan?"
He searched his memory for a moment, then replied, "You said that you had a hard job and that I made it a little more fun… And you said you wanted to have me around when you catch the guys that hired Coonan."
She could tell he was still wary, but at least he wasn't transmitting as much guilt as before.
"Yes, that's what I said. And I stand by that. I want you to be there with me when we take them down. Because whatever happened or will happen, we're partners, Rick. Always," she added, finally being rewarded by a tentative smile.
"You mean…?" he asked.
"I mean for you to stop moping around and tell me what on earth made you believe you could keep investigating that case on your own? What if they had noticed and got someone to kill you? What about your family? Alexis? Martha?" What about me?
"I… Kate… I wanted to be prepared for the next time we stumbled upon a lead. And I wanted to have something when I told you about… this."
He was silent for a bit, and she waited him out, only probing with her eyes. Finally he gave in and continued.
"Alexis… she doesn't need me that much anymore. She's going to college soon and…"
Now she was back to being slack-jawed. Did he not know? How could he not know?
"Rick," she began, "you're everything to her. When you and Martha were in that bank, I talked to her, and she said that the two of you were all she had. She all but screamed that at me, Rick. You are the only father she has." She swallowed hard, biting back the tears that were coming dangerously close to the surface again. "She's younger than I was when I lost my mom, Rick! How can you think she doesn't need you?"
She was aware that she had almost shouted those last sentences at him, and so was he. What she wasn't aware of was how she had come to be standing between the two chairs, and when the mug had migrated from her hands to the desk.
Had he just… Yeah…idiot, he thought to himself. He knew that he had these moments when he just didn't fully think through the things he said, but this was an extremely bad situation to be thoughtless.
He didn't even mean the words the way he'd said them… the way he now realized they'd sounded to her. All he'd meant to say was… Well, it didn't matter now, not really. What mattered was trying his best to keep her with him and make this right. As right as it could become now, anyway.
He was still completing this thought when he jumped up from his chair, meeting her where she stood in the middle of the room, taking her hands in his.
"Kate, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I didn't…," he trailed off, searching her eyes with his. Please, Kate, he thought, please stay here.
If she was startled by the sudden proximity, she didn't let on. Instead she deflated visibly, gripping his hands and leaning forward against him, resting her head on his shoulder. They stayed like this for a minute, before she pushed away from him, though still keeping a hold of his hands.
"Kate…," he breathed, gazing at her with wide eyes.
"Rick, there are people who love you, people who need you. People who would be devastated if something happened to you…"
"Last time I checked, it was my life," he said softly, "I believe those were your words."
She shook her head. "Rick…"
"No, Kate. If that argument works for you, then why can't I use it?"
"Because you have a family, Rick."
"As do you."
"But you have a daughter!"
"And you have a father who already lost his wife to those people. He couldn't lose you, Kate."
"Rick…"
"It happened, okay, Kate? What's done is done, and you're right, it was–is– a risk, but… I couldn't not do anything."
She dook a deep breath, let it out, then took another. He was right. Of course he was, but she didn't have to like it. She should be glad that he was still alive, though. They both should be. Closing her eyes, she pushed her concern and her desire to hash it out right there, to make him see her point, no matter how wrong it might be, to the back of her mind, while at the same time she let go of his hands and took a step away from him, as if to restore at least an air of professionalism.
"Okay, Castle, that covers why you didn't tell me then," she said, still fighting a little to keep her voice even. "But why are you telling me now?"
His eyes had been fixed on the floor from the moment she'd let go of his hands. They remained there for a spell before he straightened and looked at her again.
Everything that she'd seen in his eyes before, all those terrible emotions, they were still there, lurking in the corners, where only someone who knew him well could see them. For the most part, they were being replaced by steel: blue, determined steel.
The worst part was over, the secret was out, and she was still there. Both of them were relatively well too. He hadn't screwed up. Not completely, anyway. And now she was signaling him that she was ready to move forward from that. He would've been relieved if not for the little voice reminding him that the worst was still ahead of them.
"This guy, the victim… I recognized him. In the photo," he said, watching her closely. "A lot of the digging I did was about social profiles, focusing on the three cops. Finding out who they were in contact with, mutual acquaintances and that sort of thing."
"Yeah, I know what a social profile is, Castle," she interjected.
"And I also checked those people's contacts. Montgomery told us that the guy used the money to become what he is today, so that implies either more money or power. Or, more likely, both. And there really was a connection. It wasn't obvious, else we would've found it already when we were on the case while you were…recovering. But there was one name that popped up several times. One name, and never in direct contact with any of the three. Karl Weston. Our victim."
Karl Weston. A connection between the three cops that nobody had managed to find until then. Until Castle had asked the right question. Her head swam with the implications of this one name… and its association to the body that was currently being scrutinized by Lanie.
"What do you know about him?" she asked, pulling herself together once more, trying to focus on him, the board, the facts.
"He's–was– a lawyer. Specialized in business law, with a respectable clientele back in the day…hold on a sec," he said, turning around and walking over to his storyboard.
He took the remote control from the shelf above and switched it on, then tapped an icon and brought up her face, squarely in the middle of the screen, her name written underneath. Another double-tap on it and it shrunk a little, a number of other faces spinning outward, settling in a circle. Her mom and her colleagues, Roy, Lockwood, McCallister, Raglan, Armen, Pulgatti, Coonan… Those she recognized. And then there was another face, just one, straight below hers at the bottom of the screen. Underneath it the name Karl Weston.
He double-tapped that face and it replaced hers in the middle of the screen, with a new set of faces appearing around it along with several columns of notes. Beckoning her over he scanned the text until he found what he'd been looking for.
"Ah. There it is. He had his own office and worked for a variety of clients, some of them even known mobsters, until he was accused of aiding and abetting in a large case of money laundering in 1985… Police found proof and he subsequently lost his license and went to prison for three years, stoutly denying all accusations directed at him. When he got out in '88, he used the connections that he'd made as an attorney to get a job as a senior business consultant. That went on until '91, when he gave bad advice to a number of clients and was subsequently let go. In response to this he opened up his own office, but with little success. Understandable, given the events that got him fired.
"Now comes the interesting part. There's a coffee shop across from where he had his office. Opened up in 1978 and until today it's been owned by the same person. You might think that's surprising, but the guy makes really great coffee…"
She cleared her throat, snapping him back on track.
"Right. Now the man, Mr Cervelli, knew Weston, who was a regular at the shop. They exchanged bits of small-talk every morning when Weston got his coffee, nothing more than that. I spoke to Cervelli when I researched Weston. The guy is clean, by the way, no indications of mob ties in all those years. So, Cervelli has an excellent memory for faces. When I showed him pictures of these," he indicated three pictures on the right of Weston's, "gentlemen, he confirmed that Weston met all three of them in his very coffee shop. Separately, of course. With a few months between each meeting. The man is a genius, he's kept every tab since the first day…
"Anyway, the first of those meetings took place two months after FBI Special Agent Bob Armen's death. He met with this guy," he pointed to the picture of a younger man, maybe in his late twenties, across which was printed DECEASED in red letters, "named Charly Harris. Petty crook, a few priors, nothing more serious than theft. The day after that meeting, Harris met with Raglan in a bar across town. The landlord there remembered them because their conversation got loud and Raglan stormed out.
"Harris was found dead about a week later. Report lists cause of death as an overdose of heroin. And although he'd had no prior history with drugs, the investigating detective closed the case. He was a man from the 54th, Colosa. Nickname "Colossus". Retired eight years ago, died last year of cancer. Chain smoker. I didn't find any connection to the case, so maybe he just overlooked something.
"Situation was pretty much the same with the other two. Met with Weston, contacted either Raglan or McCallister, then died from an overdose. Nobody ever made the connection to either of our dirty cops nor Weston."
She stood next to him, eyeing the storyboard while processing the information he'd just given her. Her gears were turning at full speed, running several possible scenarios in her head before settling on the one that made the most sense to her.
"Good job, Castle," she said, turning a little toward him and flashing him a slightly impressed smile. Slightly impressed, hah… Actually she was overwhelmed by what he'd found out that the police hadn't, and all without getting himself killed… Stop it, Kate. Not that road again.
"Thank you," he responded, attempting a small smile of his own. "Took a while to get all of this together."
"Yeah, looks that way," she said, a little absentmindedly.
Of course he caught on to her distraction immediately. "What are you thinking?"
"Roy told us that the mysterious man blackmailed them after Bob Armen was killed… Now you tell me this guy, Weston, met with three people who in turn met with Raglan or McCallister, only to be found dead a week later. That cannot be a coincidence. What if–"
"–Weston was really working as a middle man for our mysterious blackmailer and hired some middle men himself to do the actual blackmailing, then killed them and made it look like an overdose," he finished the thought for her, moving over to lean his hip against the desk.
She smiled a little at the ease with which they fell into building theory together. "But Weston was a business lawyer. Even if he spent three years in jail, I don't think he'd know how to make a murder look like an overdose."
"Hum… Maybe he activated some of his old mob ties. I mean, he probably used to save them a lot of money as a lawyer, so they might've owed him a favor or two."
"Could be… Or the blackmailer had something to do with it. Maybe he was a mobster, or another sort of criminal, with the right connections to get the drugs and know how to stage an overdose."
"As nice as it is to be theorizing with you, I don't think we'll solve those murders from in here," he said, "Besides, we have a fresh murder on our hands."
"Right," she replied, tearing her eyes away from his storyboard–his murderboard. "Right. We need to get Ryan and Esposito up to speed about this." She looked up at him as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. "I presume you haven't told them either?"
"Not a word. Nobody knew about this. Nobody except my mother and Alexis, that is."
"You told Alexis?" she asked, a little shocked.
"Not exactly. She overheard mother and I talking about it… a bit loudly," he conceded.
She frowned. "Where are they anyway? Martha and Alexis… It's awfully quiet in here."
"They're out. My mother decided to take Alexis on a big New Years shopping tour." He glanced at his watch, revealing the time to be almost eight pm. "I called them on the way home, about two hours ago. They were fine," he said, but fumbled for his phone anyway, typing a quick "Are you OK?" to his daughter once he'd found it.
She had dialed her colleague's number while he had still been speaking.
"Yo Beckett," came from the other end of the line.
"Espo, I need you and Ryan to come to Castle's place, ASAP."
"Is everything alright?" came the detective's alarmed question.
"Depends on your definition of alright," she answered, "but mostly yes. We'll explain everything once you get here."
"Alright, see you in a few," he said, audibly relieved, probably at her use of "we" instead of "I".
"They're coming," she said, pocketing her phone.
He just nodded, staring at the display of his, waiting for a response to his text from a minute earlier. After all the theorizing they'd just done, and the stinging reminders of the risk he'd taken by digging around, he couldn't help but worry.
After another agonizingly slowly passing half-minute, his phone chimed, and the display showed a new message. He tapped the icon and was greeted by picture of his daughter and mother sitting side by side in a booth, smiling up at the camera. The place probably was a diner, judging by what was visible of the table and the few fries poking into the bottom of the image. The message below the image read "We're fine, Dad :-)".
He let out a sigh and relaxed, then flipped the phone around and showed the picture to her.
"Looks like they're having a good time," she said, smiling.
"Yeah," he answered. They spent a minute in silence before he pushed away from the desk. "Coffee must be cold," he obsvered.
"Yep," she snorted.
"Then… I guess I should go make a fresh pot."
He picked up her mug from the desk and his from the floor next to his chair on the way out of his office. She stayed for a moment, taking one more look at the screen before switching it off and following him to the kitchen.
A/N: Hope you liked it. If you did, feel like telling me? If you didn't, tell me what put you off? Thanks :)
Slightly unrelated (not really, no…), I'm a slow updater. Mostly because inspiration decides to strike randomly, and rather rarely, if I may say so. Just saying…