Learn to Have Been
July 2014
X
Alexis shouldn't have sat down on top of the stairs. She shouldn't have pulled her feet up on the step to make herself smaller, shouldn't have tilted her head against the railing and held her breath so she could hear them better.
She should have let her father know she was here.
But she'd never heard Kate like this before.
So she had made herself small as she used to do when she was little and Meredith was being impossible, and she had listened.
She was listening.
It was the stairs where lessons had been taught. At ten years old, Alexis had learned that money didn't grow on trees. It had been shocking in its simplicity, in its raw real-ness, and the stairs had been the place where she'd overheard the whole story - poured out to her father by her best friend's mother - that Paige's dad had left them and they were going to lose the apartment and she couldn't even afford the lawyer.
And then other things had happened, which she hadn't understood, and the woman had left crying and apologizing and saying can we pretend this never happened?
Paige and her mom and little sister had been forced to move out, and then no more Marlowe Prep, and then Paige couldn't go bowling with them or get ice cream because she never had the money and she'd been angry whenever Alexis tried to let her borrow some, and it had gotten really ugly.
That had caused Alexis to worry about her own father because he was already a single parent, because she was already down to the last one who wanted her, and she'd had nightmares. So then her father had taken her into his study and shown her the check Black Pawn had sent for his latest contract. And that's just one, pumpkin. Do you want to count how many your dad's written so far?
That had been the day she'd learned that money did - actually - grow on trees. For her it did. Because her father was a best-selling novelist and every time a book of his was published, type and glue and a slick dust jacket, it was paper. It was paper and that was where the money came from and so yes, actually, money in her family did grow on trees.
And, shamefully, it hadn't been until she was thirteen and watching her father's soul drain away under the influence of his publisher and second wife that Alexis had realized that there was a price to be paid. Her father kept buying her things and putting her through an expensive private school and getting her a new laptop and phone and ipod and whatever she so much as squealed over, and it had all had a price.
It wasn't that money didn't grow on trees - it was happiness. Contentment. Joy and peace and all the holiday themes, those things were precious and rare and they couldn't be bought. Not by a thousand best-sellers or a hundred six-figure book deals; it was her father she loved and he'd been unhappy.
Alexis had been fourteen when her father fell into his second divorce, and it had been a relief and a failure both, and she'd wanted to help but she had never known how.
Beckett had helped. Beckett was all those things that didn't grow on trees, and so Alexis Castle was sitting on the top step of the staircase in the loft and she was listening in on their fight just as she'd listened to Gina's screaming rages and bitter under-the-breaths until that had been over, finally, and done.
Alexis wasn't ashamed of it, no matter that she wasn't fourteen any more. This was how she found out things, this was the only way sometimes to get the truth. These staircase stalkings, haunting the top step where the landing hid her from sight. She had always gotten more information in this position.
And she knew what her father was and what he wasn't any more, and she was going to find a way to protect his hard-won, rare, precious contentment. Even if it was from himself.
Her dad might not have forgotten his family or the precinct or Kate or herself, but clearly he'd forgotten something. Forgotten how to ache. When he'd divorced Gina, there'd been no ache any more, no hint of feeling, and he'd been numb to all of it.
Beckett had woken him up, a sharp shot to his nervous system, a jolt of electricity to the heart. And the years since, confusing and frustrating and dangerous as they were, her father had needed them. Needed to be more than a best-selling popular fiction writer, maybe even more than just her father. Alexis was okay with that; she'd found a way to reconcile herself to his newfound mission in life: justice and Kate Beckett.
Alexis knew that while her dad's memory was mostly intact, he had forgotten what it was to ache. He'd forgotten what pining was, what loving someone so much you'd do anything for them felt like.
He'd been the one to tell her to take a risk on love, and he'd been right about it. But this man with her father's voice and her dad's memories and Richard Castle's signature were not the same as the man who risked crazy things for love.
"Kate, will you just let it go?" he said from the kitchen. The sound traveled so well to her spot. Let it go had never been her father's m.o.
Kate, of course, didn't let it go. "It's been nearly two months," she said. She sounded calm, but it was a deadly calm. "Seven weeks, Rick."
"I'm still not strong enough. I want to stand up with you, not have to sit halfway through the ceremony." There was no sardonic note to his voice. He wasn't being sarcastic; he was being honest.
Alexis could practically see the twist of his mouth as he might have said something like that before, but that wasn't how he'd said it now. He never said anything with that sly cleverness any more, never came out with those self-satisfied retorts.
Kate murmured something, and then said clearly, "You're standing right now. We've been having this argument for the last twenty minutes, and you've been standing the whole time."
"And I'm exhausted," he insisted. There was a little bit of melodrama in it, and that at least sounded like her father. "Can you just let it go for now? Please?"
"No." Alexis heard movement and then maybe her father was making a point by settling heavily into one of the chairs at the bar, but Kate snorted. "Just explain the real reason. I'm a big girl, Castle. I can take it."
"Kate."
"I know you love me. It's impossible for you to be subtle. You keep saying you want to be over this, you want to forget it ever happened and go on with our lives. But you won't-"
"Maybe it's just not our time. You ever think of that? After all this - just not our time."
"We make our own time. We make it. Do you remember reassuring me? How you had to convince me that this was right no matter what the universe seemed to be telling us."
"Maybe we should have listened to the universe."
There was silence, and Alexis was holding her breath, but her heart was beating too hard against her ribs so that she thought the sound carried down to them.
Her father couldn't possibly mean that how he'd said it.
When he spoke again, the apology in his tone made it hurt all the more. "Maybe, Kate, I shouldn't have to convince you. And you shouldn't have to convince me."
She heard Kate's sharp breath and the noisy sounds of two people staring at each other in shame and disbelief and hurt and anger. It was loud. It was so loud, all the things rushing in the silence like that.
And then heels clicked through the living room and Alexis was too late to duck, because Kate was at the front door and flipping the lock, and she saw Alexis there.
Kate saw her at the top of the stairs. But her face only shuttered and she walked out the door.
But Alexis saw that at least she had her keys.
Alexis stood from her hiding spot at the top of the stairs, but she didn't know what she could possible say to fix things. She had been the one to see her father suffering for Kate, pining for Kate, aching for Kate, and if he couldn't remember it, feel it, then Alexis didn't know what happened next.
But Kate still had her keys. Kate was coming back.
X
Sara El-Masri sat awkwardly on the edge of her friend's bed and watched Alexis pace the floor in front of her. She really wished Alexis would move back to the dorms, or at least move into Sara's apartment - it was big enough, and definitely secure - because this 'staying at home' crap put a serious damper on fun. But she was here to support Alexis, and so she let the girl rant, half-listening because she was supposed to.
And then her eyes caught the shadow at the door.
"Hey, Alexis, shhh, stop, stop," she hissed.
Yes, she was jumpy and paranoid, but a kidnapping could do that to you. And she really had seen someone at her friend's bedroom door. Alexis spun around and marched towards the door and yanked it open with more guts than Sara had anymore.
It was the grandmother.
"Gram!"
"Oh, darling, Alexis, I didn't want to interrupt. But I couldn't help overhearing your impressive tirade."
Sara sat up a little straighter, arched a cool eyebrow. "Helps that you were crouched at the door, listening in."
Alexis shot her a horrified look but the older woman laughed and waved it off. "You are adorable, darling. Listen, Alexis, I know that you're upset about your father. It was actually Kate's idea that I talk to you-"
"Was it Kate's idea that you snoop?" Sara shot back. Seriously, Alexis needed to get out of here.
Martha looked less like she found her delightful, but that was fine. Sara had been hearing it for weeks now, about this whole crazy family drama, and she'd even been approached by reporters for her story. But she'd been keeping their secrets and she'd been screwed by the press before, so she wasn't interested.
Plus she was paranoid. Kidnapping was a bitch.
She should probably leave. She wasn't up for family drama. "Alexis, I should go-"
"No, please stay," Alexis begged. "It's - awkward down there with just us."
"Kate has made dinner," Martha said. "And you are welcome to join."
"Dad didn't make dinner?" Alexis asked, but she looked like she knew the answer already.
"No, darling. You know he can't-"
"I know," she said quietly. She bit her bottom lip as she turned her face away and if Alexis hadn't been the one person who had gotten Sara through their kidnapping two years ago, she'd have rolled her eyes and walked out.
But Alexis had been calm under pressure, the one who hadn't succumbed to PTSD and spent an hour a day for six weeks at a therapist's office. Alexis had been the one to fight back, make a plan.
She'd been a friend. She was still her friend.
"I'll stay," Sara sighed.
Alexis lifted a grateful smile and reached out, took her hand with a squeeze. Martha did the same, all of them squeezing and silently being grateful, and seriously, what was with the drama of this family?
Sara liked Detective Beckett though. She was steady and quiet and didn't do this kind of thing - the wide, soulful blue eyes and the innocent routine.
And it had sounded like Kate had just gotten socked hard by a fight she'd had with Mr Castle, so maybe she wanted to force out a kind of normal family dinner. Sara didn't mind going along with that. Mr Castle was sweet and kinda funny sometimes, so it wouldn't even be that awkward for her. Everyone would be trying, right?
As they trouped down the steps and came into the living room, Sara was greeted by Alexis's father, a short smile that almost reached his eyes as he said he was so glad she could join them. She knew he remembered - the kidnapping and the stories after - and she tried to set them all at ease from the start.
"You don't have to worry, Mr Castle, Detective Beckett. I still see a therapist. She helps a lot. Hardly any nightmares." It was her usual opening. People wanted to know.
"Oh. Well. That's good," he said back, looking like he meant it.
And then because she was like that, because she'd been a spoiled-rich princess to a Middle Eastern businessman and she was used to saying whatever she felt like and having people do what she told them to, she gave them her own advice. "Maybe you should see a therapist too. Might help all this... drama."
It was Mr Castle who laughed first, and it broke open his face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and then he turned and shared it with Kate Beckett, and it made that woman's whole entire being almost radiant with relief.
"We're already on that," Mr. Castle said. "But thanks."
X
When Chief Brady got the call from Detective Beckett, he wasn't surprised. He'd been expecting it; so far, she had called once a week since they'd picked up her partner on the side of the road.
He agreed to meet her halfway - it was his idea, because he was sure she wanted to stick close - and when he pulled his police cruiser up to the diner just off the interstate, she was already there waiting for him.
"Detective Beckett," he said easily, smiling at her. He held out his hand and she shook, still that firm grip that said she would take care of business. "How can I help?"
She scraped that hand through her hair and held it back off her face. He saw her chest expand with the long breath in, and she turned her head away. They were still in the parking lot of the diner, and while Brady had assumed she would want to do this quickly, he thought now that maybe she needed time to talk. Decompress.
"Let's go inside, Detective. I'll buy you some coffee."
She dropped her hand; she looked like she was going to refuse. But then her eyes turned back to him and she gave a tired smile. "Thanks, Chief. I'd - coffee would be nice."
He led the way to the diner, threading between a truck and a Saab parked too closely together, and then inside the restaurant. Beckett went immediately for the stools at the lunch counter and Brady followed her, not questioning.
Usually she called him and asked if there were any updates and he said no and she hung up. But he had the sense on the phone this time that she had been pushed beyond her limit, and so he'd agreed to meeting her.
Not like he wouldn't have met her anyway. If she'd asked to meet with him face-to-face during any of those other conversations, he would have headed straight to his car.
They sat side by side until they'd been served bad coffee, and then Chief Brady figured he'd have to be the one to get this underway.
"What did you want to talk about, Detective?"
She gave a noise that sounded a little hopeless and shook her head. "You have nothing new? Nothing at all?"
"I'd have called," he reminded her.
She scraped that hand through her hair again, but this time she pressed her forehead into the heel of her hand and closed her eyes. "I've got nothing," she whispered.
The case had stalled out, she meant. Brady would normally lay a hand on a shoulder, try to comfort, but she didn't look open to that. "Well, you've got him."
She straightened up, eyebrows furrowed now, and he saw that had been the wrong thing to say. Too moralistic maybe, too judgmental of him. He didn't know how to fix it, so he rushed on with information.
"I've had my guys out asking at convenience stores, diners like this one, places along the interstate where someone might have seen anything. But I'm juggling overtime - which we can't afford to pay - and a new union president, plus a couple of cases that landed in my lap recently, and on top of it, Detective, the vacationers are in and out. You know that."
"The vacationers are in and out?" she echoed.
"The people here now weren't here in May when this happened. The accident might have been witnessed, the kidnapping, but those witnesses are probably back home in Ohio or North Carolina or wherever they live year-round. We're tracking them down, one by one, as best we can, making phone calls to their homes."
"Vacationers," she said. Detective Beckett clasped her fingers around the mug and sipped at her coffee, winced at the taste. "I've brought you all the way for nothing. I'm sorry."
"Not all the way - only halfway," he said weakly.
She shook her head, turned to look at him. "I'm desperate for leads. For anything. But - you're right. You're doing what you can - you're even thinking of things I hadn't. And now you've taken time away from all that to meet me. For nothing."
"It's okay," he said. "I owe you both. You helped me, so I'm helping you. And I like you both. There's that too."
She did smile then, a faint thing, soon gone. He didn't ask how she and Richard Castle were doing, how their personal relationship was faring. They were supposed to have been married, and Chief Brady was smart enough to know that could be a sensitive subject since there was still no wedding band on her finger.
She shook herself then, rousing, and plastered a wide smile on her face. "Well, this was entirely worthless to you. Let me make it up somehow. How can I help you, Chief Brady? What have you got on your plate that the NYPD can help with?"
He smiled back; he nearly shook his head in negation, he nearly told her no, it's okay, but then he thought maybe she needed it. A chance to not think about the accident.
"Well, we had a derelict show up in the harbor. Strangest thing."
"Oh?" Detective Beckett shrugged. "Boats aren't my area of expertise."
"Oh, no," he laughed. "I was just sharing. That's about as interesting as my jurisdiction ever gets. Except when you two were there last, of course."
She smiled back, and she looked better, he thought. He hoped. "Hopefully no more homicides."
"No. Other than the boat showing up, it's just missing dogs and bar fights, Detective."
Detective Beckett already looked like she was no longer listening, probably miles away from here, wondering about Richard Castle.
That was okay; he understood. So he talked a little about the derelict - no registration, no name, the mystery of it - just filling the silence until she had collected herself again and moved to leave.
He paid for their coffees, and she shook his hand, and then Chief Brady watched the most beautiful, intelligent, determined woman drive away.
Still with nothing.