A/N: I was so in love with the 'batcave' comments you guys left me that I couldn't resist having Castle now totally thinking of the villa's 'secret space' in those terms.
Chapter Thirteen: Isn't she everything you need?
Four months and one day ago. . .
Castle stares around the 'batcave' like room with his mouth open – held spellbound, completely entranced by the sight of the beyond beautiful face of the woman he loves.
Motionless, he finds it – for a moment – hard to breathe. It's been less than a week but seeing her face again it suddenly feels like months seen they've been together, and just like that the pit of sorrow in his soul rises up and threatens to completely undo him – he blinks rapidly through the increasing panic – until the sight of her can act to steady him.
God he misses her . . . he misses her . . . he misses . . .
The author moves finally, pulled towards the largest screen on the farthest wall slowly . . . drawn inexorably forward by his personal north star – until he comes to a stop merely inches from the video that's playing of her. Castle reaches out his shaking fingertips – resting them against the plastic – right over her cheek.
It all burns within him then – love, desire, lust, need . . . a homesickness so crippling he cannot think.
"Kate." Her name slips free of his lips unconsciously - like a benediction . . . because she is the loudest prayer in his heart. "Oh God - Kate."
"Richard – are you alright?"
His father's voice interrupts, pulls him back into his nightmare of a reality again and the writer turns from the screen to find Gabor standing behind him.
Castle shakes his head, his eyes glassy and slightly unfocused.
"No."
"I'm sorry then." His father replies. "I'd hoped . . . seeing this . . . seeing her – might help."
Castle shakes his head again – only this time it's to clear it.
"No it's not that . . ."He replies. "The images – are they live . . . where is she?"
Gabor shakes his head.
"These are not live no – they've been recorded over the last few days. It's various surveillance videos that the computer has automatically cut together using a facial recognition program."
The writer's eyes widen, heart racing.
"You mean it's searching . . . only for her?"
Gabor nods.
"It automatically forwards the video loop to me every eight hours if there is new footage that has been collated."
Wow. He's seen the CIA's toys all before and yet he's still totally staggered right now.
"Where . . . where is this footage coming from?" Castle asks, turning back towards the screen. He can't tell where she is, she's talking to someone – but the remarkably clear image of Beckett is framed pretty tightly on her lovely face. He studies her familiar features intently, the footage is color and high definition and he wonders where she could be that the CIA could tap into images caught on HD cameras like these?
"From everywhere Richard - there are camera's all over New York – you know this. There are cameras in every police precinct; grocery stores, traffic cams, ATM's - plus there are cameras in your apartment building – at gas stations – on the subway. Basically once a face has been loaded into this program – we can track that person – almost everywhere that they choose to go."
Castle nods slowly – absorbing – so much for people's illusions of privacy.
"And why exactly are you tracking Kate Beckett?" He demands – and Gabor smiles inwardly at the now affronted and highly protective tone clearly evident in his son's voice.
"For you." The spy replies simply. "It's not strictly speaking an appropriate usage of these highly classified CIA resources I'll grant you and it's certainly not a sanctioned one either. But I've felt strongly because of our discussions - that you would need this. You would need to be able to reassure yourself with your own eyes that Kate was alive and well . . . but of course I can delete her from the watchdog program if that is your wish?"
The writer's heart instantaneously protests – and Castle bows his head, fighting with himself. Between knowing how very much Kate would hate this – this being constantly watched . . . and knowing he's already completely unable to bear the thought of giving up this access to her – this lifeline.
"No." He chokes out, his hands fisting at his sides. "No please . . . you're right . . . you're right Gabor . . . thank you this . . . helps."
The spy frowns – clearly somewhat skeptical that his son is being entirely truthful – because the novelist looks tense and miserable – and clearly in emotional turmoil; and that skepticism transmits instantly, so Castle makes his admission again more firmly this time – afraid that his access is about to be taken away.
"No really – it helps, it does. It's just . . . this is crippling if I'm being honest. Just crippling to me – how much I miss her." He admits, sharing the realization the last week has wrought on him. "And not just Kate either, but Alexis and my mother too – I'm finding I can't help it – but I don't function very well this way - I'm just not a person who's used to only himself for company. Well not since I was a child anyway – and to be honest I actually hated it even then – I think it's why I started creating characters to begin with – for the company."
Gabor nods his head in silent sympathy.
"You'd make a truly lousy spy." He says wryly – glad when the statement manages to procure at least a smile from the younger man.
"Yeah?" Castle laughs softly. "I guess I would."
The two men are silent for moment – and Castle's eyes inevitably drift back to the screens and to Kate - its different footage now, all black and white and grainy but still identifiably her. It looks like a parking garage . . . his building maybe? He can't honestly tell – but his eyes don't move from her, his pupils dilated and following every movement that she makes.
His expression – if only he could see it is utterly heartbreaking. Gabor cannot recall ever seeing a man look quite so bereft – so lost.
Clearing his throat he attracts Rick's attention again.
"Well I'm not a lousy spy – not usually at least. I've always been able to predict people very well – but I didn't foresee this actually – that you would cope so poorly alone – I figured writer's were pretty solitary creatures by nature – it seemed a logical assumption to me – considering what it is that you do."
The author shakes his head.
"The act of writing might be very solitary – but that's not really how it works . . . at least it isn't for me. I draw my inspiration from people – my stories come from what I see and observe - from those I interact with. It's that interaction that sparks my ideas – and then the tales flow. And Kate . . . Kate is for me – from the moment I met her – she's the muse, she's the inspiration for all of it – everything I've written since the day she walked into my life."
Gabor suddenly looks very thoughtful.
"What?" The writer asks.
Gabor smiles. "Just an idea – something else that I should have thought of prior to now . . . hopefully another way to make this easier for you Richard."
Castle shrugs.
"Aside from this . . . "He indicates the screens all around them, "I can't think of much of anything that can do that . . . except . . . can it track Alexis also?"
Gabor nods.
"It can be done. You'll have access to this room once per day – fifteen minutes only at 6pm – understand? If I'm here I'll accompany you – if not Dianthe will make sure everything is on and playing and you'll find the door open for you. Do not attempt to access anything using the computers Richard – and this is important. You need fingerprint and voice recognition and codes – they won't work for you my son and if you attempt to hack into them – even touch them – you'll find yourself gassed and incapacitated. It's highly unpleasant – I don't recommend it."
Yeah it certainly doesn't sound pleasant - so the novelist nods.
"I understand." He says, taking another long desperate glance at the screens – still full of Kate and he can feel himself trying to absorb it – her – just soak up as much as he can to get him through until tomorrow.
He can't help but notice that she looks tired on the monitor now – and it looks like this footage is from the lobby of their apartment building . . . she's waiting on the elevator by the looks of it. She keeps rubbing the side of her face – and biting on her lip. They're her 'worried' tells, her shoulders are slumped . . . and weary and his heart is breaking for her – for them – because what's being stolen from them right now is more precious than diamonds – it's time – lost time together in a finite lifespan – as if they haven't had enough of that? He can't think of anything crueler – or more unfair.
Forcing himself he manages to turn away – to say goodbye to her image – at least for now, and he follows his father back down the stone corridor – back out into the villa. Gabor heads back downstairs with Castle on his heels and at the kitchen door Gabor indicates that the writer should go inside and finally eat some breakfast.
"I'll be right back." He promises.
Castle tries not to look concerned, and his stomach growls he decides he'll just obey.
He's halfway through a meal of bread and cheeses when his father returns, a large-ish bulky case of some kind carried in his right hand – and the writer is instantly intrigued.
Gabor joins him at the table – hefting the case up so he can deposit it in front of Castle's meal.
The spy smiles . . . the light in his captivating blue eyes sets them twinkling.
"What is it?" Castle asks around a mouthful of food – pointing at the case with his eyebrow quirked.
"Another distraction . . . I hope . . . something else for you to do." Gabor answers cryptically.
He opens the case and Castle can't help it – his whole face lights up – because this will help . . . it absolutely will . . . he can feel the possibilities already.
"You like it." His father says smiling hugely now. "I'm relieved."
Castle nods, reaching out immediately and running his fingers carefully over the contents of the case.
It's kinda beautiful - to him anyway . . . typewriters always make him feel that way about them.
That sense of 'old-school' he thinks - of mystery; and he can't even imagine why it should even be here . . . but between the video screens and now this - he has a feeling that he's just been handed both of the required keys to saving his sanity . . . oh this is so much better than scribbles on paper.
And suddenly he's breathing easier again.
Because he can write properly now . . . he can write for Kate . . . he can write himself out of this place . . . he can write . . . he can write again . . . he can write that other ending.