A/N: Thanks again guys for your PM's, your reviews and your continued support.
Chapter Nineteen: 'cause I know I've been gone too long.
Two months ago . . .
Castle watches Gabor from the terrace of his room. The spy is running the length of the beach in spurts, his injured shoulder free of the sling (which it shouldn't be), clearly the CIA agent is pushing himself hard to recover. It has the effect of making his son smile, because in moments like these the novelist can't help but think how much his father reminds him in some ways of Kate.
They are both obsessive by nature, physically driven to stay in peak physical condition and could each of them kick his ass handicapped, with their hands strapped behind their backs, and probably do it effortlessly.
It makes him wonder if he could do something about that. Because although he's now starting to really see and feel the benefits of all the time he's been putting into getting back into shape while he's been stuck here, and although he's already an expert marksman – in a hand to hand combat situation, Castle isn't afraid to admit he'd be hopelessly out of his depth. Punching out Hal Lockwood aside, which was a combination of luck, surprise and adrenaline, more and more these days, Castle wants to feel empowered - probably because of the threat still looming over his life. He's sick of the sensation that he's helpless in certain instances, and he's thinking that it really doesn't need to be so.
Smiling, he heads down to check-in with Gabor on the beach; he thinks its past time he learnt a whole lot more about self-defense – especially if he has the added bonus of his own CIA handler to teach him.
Gabor waves with his good arm when Rick is still fifty feet away, halting the authors approach in its tracks. The CIA agent sprints the remaining distance between them and then drops like a stone when he reaches Castle, landing swiftly on the sand. It startles his son for just a moment, but then he notices the agent is laughing and so Castle decides to settle himself on the beach beside him.
"What's so funny?" he asks, smiling back at the older man, who's now stretched out flat on his back, breathing heavily and yet still chuckling.
Gabor waves the inquiry off momentarily, until he manages to stop gasping.
"I –am – getting – too – old-" He chokes out finally. "I keep pushing it, but this body of mine has seen a hard life Rick, and recovery from something like this gunshot just becomes slower each time for me. Still, I keep on fighting," he says, sighing dramatically.
The writer studies Gabor's face for moment.
"Maybe you should think about retiring?" he suggests, jesting.
But then Gabor surprises him. "Maybe I should," he agrees
Something hangs thick and unspoken in the air between them then; something that somehow feels vaguely like a promise from father to son. A promise that maybe, some way - when they've gotten completely through this, their newly forged relationship might be allowed to carry on.
"How's the book coming?" Gabor asks, breaking the stretching moment, as he pushes himself up awkwardly into a sitting position, rolling his eyes at Castle who's raising an eyebrow at him and clearly making a face that says, 'where is your sling?'.
The author frowns.
"Remember back when I was so brash and overly confident that whatever information you gave me I could work it into the narrative without a beat – hide it in plain sight for only Kate and the boys to see, and then easily carry on while simultaneously producing a best-seller without any problems whatsoever?"
His father smirks.
"Yeah," he nods. "I definitely remember that Rick."
Castle pushes his hands through his hair, mussing it – he's clearly frustrated by his novel's progress and he's already being asked to cope with a lot so Gabor loses the grin and tries to look sympathetic.
"Hey, it's alright," he says. "We can't send the book to Kate until at least another month has passed anyway. Valez has indicated a huge drug shipment is planned for the beginning of May, the largest single amount of cocaine any of the cartels have ever attempted to move across the border in one go. Rick I haven't yet gotten out of him the players behind it, and we can't risk removing the threat of him until I do – okay? I'm watching him with regards to Kate, so you still have time and you have to be patient a little."
They've previously discussed this, the author isn't happy about any delay, but at the same time he's not ready with the manuscript anyway.
"Turns out I have a big mouth," he confesses, looking sideways at Gabor who's watching him with interest. "I mean I'm getting there, but the ending of the book is all messed up now, the pieces just don't fit. This is so important and I know it needs to be perfect to work – it's just, it isn't so easy."
Gabor reaches out and squeezes his son's shoulder.
"I don't imagine for a moment that it is Rick – but if any writer can manage this, you'd be the one to do it," he says.
Castle crinkles up his nose into a slight frown.
"Thanks – I think," he kind of mumbles. "I mean I am flattered that you think so but . . . "
"You don't think I have any idea what I'm talking about," Gabor says interrupting.
Castle shrugs. "Well quite honestly - not really, no."
The CIA agent starts laughing again, deliberately so as he tries for his son's sake to lighten the suddenly somber mood. He waits until the frown finally slips from Castle's face, replaced by a bemused but open expression instead. Then he asks -
"Where do you imagine your literary talent comes from?" His blue eyes are twinkling with that a look that Castle knows now, the one that says he's about to reveal something the author is going to love.
"Mother." The writer answers immediately, his mouth lifting.
His father pretends to think about that, but then he wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.
"Your mother is certainly supremely talented in her field, without a doubt," Gabor agrees. "But actually I'm the one with the PHD in Literature, Rick."
Castle's mouth drops open.
"Seriously?" He asks, looking completely stunned with his eyes as big as saucers in his handsome face.
His father nods.
"Graduated high school two full years early, finished college with a Bachelors Degree in English Lit after another two years; I had my Doctorate by the time I was twenty three Richard – I think I might have liked to teach, but instead I found myself joining the Agency."
The novelist marvels at his father for a moment, he never would have pictured this academic background for the man in a million years. In fact he thinks if he'd been writing the story, his father would have been one of those people who join the military straight out of high school, pay their dues in battle – military intelligence maybe – migrate to the CIA from there.
"Why the Agency?" he asks dumbfounded.
Gabor sighs, and Castle knows instantly there's another story there.
"For now let's just say 'family history'," he replies.
Rick's eyes light up, but Gabor pushes any further questioning away.
"Leave it there Richard," he pleads, and the pain in the older man's voice is suddenly all the explanation Castle needs.
"So, a bona fide academic approves the narrative construct of my work – interesting," he says smugly, lips quirked into a wry smile that entices his father to join him.
The spy inclines his head in agreement. "I do."
The novelist looks at him quizzically. "Shame," he says pouting somewhat, "that you don't actually write my reviews."
"It is that."
The two men fall silent for time, something they're accustomed to doing now, until Gabor pushes himself up of the sand and stretches his cooling muscles.
Castle watches him, envying his father's limber physique despite the restricted shoulder mobility still evident on his left side.
"Will you teach me something?" He blurts out.
Gabor nods. "Of course, if I can," he replies, "what is it that you want to learn?"
"How to better defend myself, hand to hand I mean."
For a moment, Castle thinks his father looks sad, but the man shakes it off very quickly and reaches out his right hand, which Castle ignores as he jumps quickly to his feet.
"Well?" he asks again.
"Richard, you shouldn't need to know that, you should be leading a quiet life, a safe life – that's what I've always wanted for you."
The writer frowns.
"But that isn't my reality," he says stubbornly, stepping closer to Gabor until they are eye to eye. "Even after this is all over Kate may chose to remain with the NYPD, and if she does you can bet I'll be right back there with her. So I want this Gabor; I want to feel like I'm as prepared as I can be for whatever threats are thrown my way from now on. You had to step in and protect me this time – I don't want that in my future."
Gabor sighs heavily.
"Richard, even if you had the full CIA field ops combat training you would have needed my help with this. Valez has an army to call on, plus he'd take you out at a distance –"
Castle interrupts him.
"I still want to know. I need to know, and you are the one who can teach me," he insists loudly. "Let me learn this from you, you can even make it a part of your own rehab," he angles. "Please."
Two identical sets of blue eyes stare each other down as the two men stand toe to toe on the warm sand. Strangely enough it's the veteran spy who breaks.
"I guess since I've never been there to teach you anything, I can hardly refuse you this," Gabor says, relenting. "Alright Rick you win, we'll start tomorrow."
Castle arches a brow and shakes his head.
"I'd prefer if we start now -"
He doesn't get to properly finish the thought because he finds himself flat on his back, the wind totally knocked out of him and his father's uninjured right elbow pressed down so tightly across his throat he can't draw a complete breath.
Its official, he thinks to himself, his father is kind of amazing. A literary academic and an ass kicking spy - wow.
"You were saying?" Gabor asks quietly, letting up the pressure across Castle's windpipe so the writer can speak. And despite the aggressive pose the older man's eyes twinkle mischievously.
"I was saying anytime you think you can fit that in would be just fine." Castle replies.
Gabor gets off of him, and this time when he reaches out, Castle lets the injured man pull him to his feet.
"That's what I though you said."
The spy starts back up the beach and Castle just watches for a moment as his father heads for the white stone villa, before he hurries to catch up with him across the sand.