Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
Lanie Parish is an impetuous person. She buys clothes on impulse. Chooses a team in the office football pool because the quarterback has a cute ass. Tries any dish that begins with L or P. Says exactly what she thinks. In every area of her life she acts precipitously, except one: her work. Medicine is serious business. Medicine requires forethought, determination, inquisitiveness, judgment, imagination–but never rashness.
She sits down on Kate's chair and examines the 4-by-5-inch While You Were Out slip as if it were the most important piece of forensic evidence that she's ever seen. It may be. She leaves it in place, doesn't even touch it, but reads and rereads it. Her immediate reaction is to grab the pad, rush back to the hospital and sit by her friend's bed until she wakes up, at which time she will grill her like a steak. Gently, of course, since the woman is a wreck. She knew that Kate hadn't told the whole story to her and Dr. Field. Working her mother's case? That's hardly a new stressor. She's been doing that for ages. She'd stopped for a while, but she'd begun again after Castle found new evidence a year ago.
Clearly Kate has withdrawn from everything, including food, friends, and the entire outside world. Lanie would bet a paycheck that she hasn't left her apartment since she began her so-called vacation–a vacation that she'd never mentioned to anyone, certainly not to the boys or to her. She tries to recall the last time that Kate had taken any time off, other than a day here and there, and she can't. A couple of years, at least, and probably more. Huh. Is it possible that this isn't a real vacation? Not even a staycation, but an unwanted one? Montgomery might have made her: it's in his power. He sees her every day, and he's as good an observer as anyone Lanie has known. He might have realized just how precipitous her downward spiral was. Is.
And what kind of friend is she, that she hadn't stepped in? Why hadn't she forced Kate's hand when she dodged questions, especially over the last several days? Kate hadn't returned a single call, text, or email. She should have come over here and pounded on the freaking door until Kate had opened it. And if she hadn't opened it, used the key. Oh, she knows that Kate has a thing for Castle, a big thing, and vise versa. A corpse could have risen up from the heat those two generated just standing side by side asking questions over a body that had met a violent end. What she'd failed to realize was just how deep in her tight-lipped friend is.
The last thing that she's going to do is confront her, but she has to do something. If she presses the stubbornest woman alive–who if she keeps going like this won't be alive much longer–she'll admit to nothing and retreat even farther. No, doing something means one thing: getting in touch with Castle. Kate has broken-heart syndrome, and he's the one responsible. Yes, he'd done it unintentionally and unknowingy, but he's the only one who can get to her, so Lanie has to get to him. She puts her head in her hands for a moment, then pushes herself up from the desk and chooses a few pieces of clothing, a hairbrush, and some makeup, and puts them in a small bag for Kate. By the time she's back on the street and hailing a cab, it's almost time for her to return to the hospital.
She'd become a power napper in med school, and she can still do it. Half an hour of sleep, and she's reasonably refreshed. She'd called Perlmutter last night–the guy's a mensch, even if he pretends he's not–and asked him to take her shift today, and thank God he'd agreed. She'd intended to spend the day with Kate, but the little pink note has changed everything. She'll visit her, but that's not the only thing on her agenda. The nap, a shower, and coffee have reinvigorated her physically and mentally, and she has a plan.
On the way to the hospital, she texts Castle. It's early, so he's probably asleep–asleep with that witch Gina, since it's Saturday, and she must be out in the Hamptons with him. He'll read this when he wakes up, and if she hasn't heard from him by 10:00, she'll call him.
"Sorry to disturb you on a weekend, Castle, since you and Gina must have plans, but please text me when you get this. It's not life-or-death, but it's urgent. It's about Kate. Thanks. L."
That should do it, shouldn't it? Enough to alarm him without scaring the bejeezus out of him. As she approaches the hospital lobby, she briefly considers stopping at Starbucks for something gooey to tempt Kate with, but no. She's on an IV. The really good stuff should wait.
"Hi," she says when she gets to Kate's door, relieved to see that the patient look marginally better than she had in the middle of the night.
"I want to go home."
"Well, good morning to you, too, Little Miss Sunshine. You do know you got me in the middle of a really good date, don't you? Lucky for you my clothes and my phone were still on."
Kate plucks at the edge of the sheet, and looks down. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize, honey." As she moves the chair next to the bed, Kate turns her head away. "Hey. Hey, look at me, okay?"
It takes a while for her to answer, and Lanie has to ask her to repeat what she said.
"I said, I'm embarrassed."
"Embarrassed? What the hell for?"
"You know what for." She's still not making eye contact.
"No, I don't. So why don't you fill me in. Medical training doesn't include mind reading. Except maybe for psychiatrists."
"I'm embarrassed that I had them call you."
"Who, the ER?"
"Yeah."
"I'm glad they did. You shouldn't have been here alone. How could that possibly be embarrassing, huh? You're my best friend."
"It was stupid. I'm not really sick."
That's a cue to make physical contact, and Lanie takes her hand. "Listen. Listen to me, Kate. You are sick. Stress cardiomyopathy is a real thing, not some made-up hooey. It's very treatable, quickly treatable, but I'm siding with Doctor Field. It's not just that. You are way, way, too skinny, girl, and you have to"–. Shit. It's her phone. She lets it go to voicemail. "You have to start eating, and I don't mean fast-food Chinese or half a cookie. I mean protein, green vegetables, fruit. Are you"–. The phone again.
"Answer it, Lane."
"You're avoiding me."
"Answer it."
She looks at the screen. Castle. She hits accept just before the call ends. "Hi, Mamma. What's up?"
"Mamma?"
"Yeah, I bet you're calling about Daddy's birthday. Look, I'm visiting someone in the hospital and"–
"The hospital? Is Beckett in the hospital?"
"Nothing serious, no. Uh huh. I'll call you back in" –. Kate is gesturing wildly. "Hold on, Mamma." She puts the phone face down on her lap.
"Talk to your mother, Lanie, please."
"Fine. I'll go out in the hall. It'll just take a minute or two. Maybe three, knowing my mother. And if you try to get out of the bed while I'm gone I'll kick your skinny butt to the Bronx."
She picks the phone up again. "Mamma?" she chirps. "I'm going to call you right back, okay? Just going out into the hallway."
But the hallway is not where she goes, because there is no way she'll risk anyone hearing what she she's going to say to him. She ducks into a small doctors' lounge, correctly figuring that it will be empty at this time of morning because there's just been a shift change. She presses Castle's number and he answers on the first ring.
"Lanie? What the hell?"
"Didn't want Kate to know that you were calling."
"Yeah, yeah, got that. What happened?"
She can hear that he's on the sharp edge of full-blown panic. "Calm down, Castle. She's all right. Or she will be. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon, though. It's only eight."
"I was just about to eat my first breakfast when I read your text. Lost my appetite."
"Your first breakfast? What's that?"
There's a cough on his end. "Um. I. I sort of eat two breakfasts. Or three. Sort of eat all day."
Hmm. That doesn't sound like a man who is happily living with his X-ray of an ex-wife/publisher. She might as well ask flat-out, as she usually does. "Really? I can't see Gina grazing all day. Always figured her for a black-coffee-for-breakfast, lettuce-leaf-for-lunch, skinless-roast-chicken-breast-for-dinner type."
Another cough, followed by silence, followed by shuffling, followed by another cough. "She's not here."
"She's not? Why not? Beautiful summer weekend like this."
"Because. Well, she hasn't been here since June first."
"It's August."
"I know. We broke up the morning after Memorial Day. I'm out here by myself."
"Sounds like you're eating for two, Castle."
"I guess. Just–what's going on with Beckett?"
"She collapsed late last night at home, but managed to call 911. She was having trouble breathing, and stabbing pain in her chest. EMTs thought it was a heart atta"–
He's screaming now, so loud that she has to pull the phone away from her ear. "A heart attack? She had a heart attack? Jesus, Lanie! She can't–. Where was Demming? Why the fuck didn't he get her to the ER?"
"Ssh, ssh, Castle. First of all, it wasn't a heart attack. Second, she was alone because she broke up with Demming."
"What? When?"
"The morning you left the precinct."
"Oh, God. Oh, God. Shit."
There's a crash, something shattering. "Castle? What was that? Are you all right?"
"Fine, I'm fine. I just threw my mug across the room. Broke the window. Hang on. Gotta catch my breath." A few seconds later he's talking again. "What's wrong with her?"
"It's stress." She won't violate patient confidentiality by giving him the exact diagnosis, but she can outline it, paint a few broad strokes. "Plus she's very thin."
"I know."
"Not thin like this thin. Look, I really want to talk to you about this, as much as I can. Would you be willing to come into the city?"
"Right now, I'll leave right now. What hospital is she in? What room? Does she have a private room? I can get her a private room."
Oh, he sounds almost as bad off as Beckett, and for the same reason. "She's probably going to be released tomorrow morning. She really doesn't want to see anyone, at least for now. Can you meet me for lunch?"
They settle on a diner, at noon, and she tries to settle his nerves a little before she ends the call and returns to Kate's room. "Sorry, honey," she says. "Planning a big party for my dad's seventieth." She prays silently to God not to strike her dead right there for the lie. It's a lie for a good reason. She needs to help save her friend's life. Both her friends. Castle's her friend, too.
The two of them talk softly, off and on, for the next couple of hours. She helps her change from the hospital-issue gown to a soft jersey top that she'd chosen because it won't interfere with the IV, and then she puts a little make-up on Kate, some blusher and mascara and lipstick. All very light. "Good," she says, surveying her handiwork. "If an orderly comes in now he won't mistake you for someone dead and take you to the wrong place."
"Geez, thanks, Lanie, " Kate says gloomily. "Way to make me feel better."
"What'll make you feel better, honey, is a nap. Now, I have to go out and meet someone from out of town for a little shop talk." Please, God, forgive me. That's not a complete lie. "I'll be back in the early afternoon. Don't give the nurses any crap while I'm gone."
"Sure. Okay." She gestures vaguely, waving a hand over her chest. "Thanks, really, for this."
"You're welcome." After a gentle hug, she makes her way through the hospital labyrinth and out into the late-morning sun, and decides to walk to the diner. From half a block away, she can see Castle's profile in the window. His hair is shaggy.
When she taps him on the shoulder, he jumps. "Hi, Castle." He looks awful. Puffy and frantic and sad. He's on his feet and crushes her in a hug. "Thanks for coming." When he lets go, she slides across the padded bench opposite him.
"Thanks for calling. I ordered us coffee, okay?" he points to a mug at her place. "The waitress just poured it. It's hot."
"Castle? Stop worrying. Things are going to work out."
"I don't get it, Lanie. Stress? Why is she so sick from stress? Is there some hideous case I haven't heard about? Some of them get under her skin, pull her down. Especially if there's a kid left behind. You know? She always puts herself in the kid's place."
"I know. I know." She stirs sugar into her coffee and hopes she's doing the right thing, saying the right thing. What she's about to do. These two will never work it out, and she has to be the catalyst. The little pink note urged her into it. "The stress? Okay, no particularly awful homicides. No open cases, even."
He looks confused and sad, as if he's been struck. "So then what's causing this debilitating stress?"
"Honestly? I think it's you."
TBC
A/N Huge thanks to all readers, reviewers (guests very much included), followers, and favoriters.