Learn to Have Been
February 2015
"I'm so tired of delays," he whines in her ear. They're about to step off the subway, it's slowing now, and it would only be a matter of switching to the train station to head for the Hamptons. One shift in direction, right instead of left. (And, okay, yes, a transfer, but that is still forward movement, towards every answer to every question he's had for the last ten months.)
But she's pushing him off the car and down the wrong way, towards the line that will take them to the loft.
"Come on, Beckett. Can't we just go?"
"You need a coat."
"But I'm fine. All warmed up."
"Car's faster," she says, sing-songing back to him as she threads through the crowds to the right platform.
"But going all the way back for a coat is stupid."
"Picking up the keys takes the same amount of steps as grabbing your coat, Castle. Besides, if we're gonna road trip, I'm gonna have to pee." She wriggles her eyebrows at him over her shoulder, and he laughs out loud - he said that once. And he remembers it. A memory that hasn't been altered or tainted, an early memory of them.
She snags his hand and forces him to follow, and he does. They're in-step now. Synced. It's been hit or miss when it's happened at all these days, he's missed that 'of one mind' thing that always bubbled under the surface of their conversation.
They used to finish each other's sentences, but at least they're getting there.
She pushes him onto the subway car and jumps in a second after him, grinning as her boots hit the floor and the doors clamp shut. She grabs him for balance as the car jerks away from the platform, and they do a coordinated half-step backwards and to the side, settling in for the ride. Kate doesn't let go of him.
"What do you want to bet that derelict boat is our key?" she says. She's practically giddy, on her toes.
"Bet?" he grins back, eyebrow lifting. "Pride or-"
"Clothes," she husks, her mouth at his ear as the car sways. He clutches her hip and a hand rail both, awareness racing under his skin.
"Double or nothing," he growls back. "And when I win, that's you in nothing."
"Except I'm right," she smirks. "You know I am. Which puts you in nothing, Rick Castle."
He nods thoughtfully, brow furrowing, really hamming it up. "Hm. Yes, I see. I'm at a distinct disadvantage here. Whatever shall I do?"
Kate laughs, a crystal thing, shining like a snowflake spiraling to the earth, and then, shockingly, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses his mouth - hard.
Feels pretty great, this close to the truth.
"No, no," she says, pushing the phone into her ear with her shoulder to hold it there. "We're coming to you, Chief Brady."
Castle is driving. She can't believe she let him drive. He's done an excessive amount over the speed limit, but she's kept that to herself. At least the snow doesn't seem to stick.
Brady gives a noise of delight. "I could meet you half-"
Castle pulls the car straight into the substation parking lot and Kate winces. "Actually, Chief, we're pulling up right outside evidence storage. I know it's late - and completely last minute - but I need a look at that boat. You have it in dry dock?"
"Boat. Wait, hold on. You're here?"
She hears it practically in stereo as she opens the car door, that high-end squeak of surprise from the Chief. "We're here. Where - where are you?"
The substation door pops open and Chief Brady pokes his head out.
His weapon is drawn.
"Whoa, whoa, just us, Chief Brady," Castle calls out, raising his hands. "Castle and Beckett."
Kate drops the phone. "What's going on?"
"You're here about the boat?"
"Why are you here?" she asks. Not polite, and she shakes her head, steps forward as Chief Brady lowers his weapon. "Your substation, you have a right to be here, of course. Look, can we-"
"Someone has been here," Brady says awkwardly. "Someone from your neck of the woods. Why I'm here."
For one breathless moment, Kate expects Jackson Hunt to walk out of that substation, his weathered, squinting, too-charming smile. She expects it so fiercely that when no one appears in the doorway, she hears distinctly the sharp, disappointed exhale from her husband.
Brady gives an awkward chuckle. "Okay, sorry, I should say - someone from your city."
Kate sighs, glancing over her shoulder at Castle. He gives her a tight smile back and comes around the front of the car to greet Chief Brady. Kate follows them inside the substation where it's warm, but she's unwilling to delay a moment longer.
"Chief, the boat. That derelict you were telling me about."
"You find the owner? Because-"
"No," Castle interrupts, frowning.
Kate shifts a quelling look to him. "In a manner of speaking," she hedges. "We think it's tied to our case."
Brady does that maddening head-scratch move where he stares at them both, trying to figure out the puzzle for himself.
"Chief," Castle interrupts. "The boat."
"Right. Well. The boat was - the reason I'm here?"
Oh, no.
"A team of Feds came and got it. Said it was a crime scene. They found blood splatter using those ALS wands."
"ALS?" Castle mutters.
"Alternative Light Source," Kate supplies quickly. "Feds came and took the whole boat? Just like that."
Chief Brady rubs the top of his head. "Yeah. They had chain of custody paperwork. Said it was drug smuggling, RICO Act stuff. I signed it over. They had an eighteen-wheeler haul it off - they brought the truck with them so they knew it was here. I didn't think it was important."
Feds have the body, so of course that gives them a huge headstart on discovery of the original crime scene. Which means Volkov was on that boat. She's right.
They are so close.
"Chief?" Castle asks, sinking down to the sheriff's desktop. "Which Feds?"
Brady looks happy to have an answer for them. "Oh, the CIA. I checked their references, called the number, did everything by the book. CIA. They said it was about one of their own."
Castle holds his tongue just right and the machine cooperates and the stars align and there it is.
The perfect cup of coffee.
He hopes.
He's learned that coffee makers are finicky and it's all about how strong to make it and just how little creamer to add. She deserves something to go right for once. They both do.
It's been a fruitless night. No boat, no body, the CIA holds all the cards here. Castle and Beckett have spent the last hour on the phone, trying to get someone to answer their questions, but closed-mouthed doesn't even begin to describe the stonewall going on here.
Castle glances up and catches sight of his wife through the wide window. She's on the phone with another 'contact' - he's got a feeling this time it's Sorenson who's trying to put her through to someone higher. Not like the FBI plays nicely with the CIA; Sorenson is totally a last-ditch effort.
Kate catches his gaze, all the way from the break room to the sheriff's office, and she gives him a weak smile. He smiles back, holds up the coffee mug.
Interest stirs in her eyes and he cradles the mug in both hands, being extra careful as he steps through the doorway.
"Coffee?" he suggests.
She bites her bottom lip and reaches out a rather tentative hand. He puts the mug against her palm and wraps her fingers around it, and Kate leans in, takes a closed-eyed sniff.
Oh man, the suspense is killing him.
"Thanks," she murmurs. She lifts the mug to her lips and takes a slow slip, still on hold with the agency.
But the groan that falls out of her mouth is entirely indecent.
"Castle," she hums, eyes opening to him.
Wow. That should be illegal.
"This is - perfect," she husks, her gaze dark, absorbing, like she's drinking him in.
Chief Brady knuckle-knocks at exactly that moment, shuffling inside the sheriff's office, clearing his throat. Castle shifts discreetly and steps behind the desk next to his wife. Kate grunts and jabs her thumb at the glowing red disc on her phone, ending the call. She scrapes a hand back through her hair, scratching at her scalp, and Chief Brady pauses as if in fear of Kate's response.
"Sorry to bother you, Detective Beckett. Mr Castle."
"Not a bother, I just got disconnected," Kate growls. "After being on hold for fifteen minutes."
"I - uh - I'm supposed to make dinner for... uh, you know, a - well - a lady friend-"
"A woman, Chief Brady?" Castle gasps, clasping his hands together in rapt attention. "Do tell."
Chief Brady flushes absolutely scarlet and Kate thwacks Castle's shoulder, shaking her head. "Ignore him, Chief. He loves gossip."
"It's not gossip if I'm getting it straight from the source," he protests.
Chief Brady rubs the back of his neck, still mostly red, and he gives Castle a half-shrug. "Well, she's - a lady. And a friend. And a woman, yes. Pretty. I think so, anyway. And smart. Wow, she's smart. But I'm supposed to be making dinner after my shift and-"
"That was hours ago," Kate supplies. Her brow furrows and her shoulders drop. "I'm sorry we've taken up so much of your time. And for phone calls we could make from home. You should have kicked us out."
Castle feels sorry for her, that momentary line of defeat across her forehead, the slump of her spine. "Kate's right," he tells Brady. "We'll put ourselves up at Casa de Castle for the night. We appreciate your doing all this, giving us copies of the report."
Kate nods tightly. "You've been a help," she says, extending her hand to Chief Brady. He takes it and does a half-feint hug, pulls back in a blush, and starts to usher them out. Castle gathers the case folder, but Kate grabs the mug and takes a healthy chug, her eyes flitting to his, and then sets it down on the desk again, a longing look.
Brady locks up and Castle gets back in their car, urging Kate on by starting the ignition. She slides into the passenger seat, rolling her eyes at him, and Castle lifts a hand and waves at Chief Brady.
The drive to his Hamptons home is in silence, two entities orbiting each other, thinking their separate but parallel thoughts, and then Kate reaches over and takes his hand, fingers scratching at his thigh to do so. He understands it as a prelude to a conversation she wants to have, so he waits for it.
Doesn't take long. "I haven't been back here since..."
Oh. "The wedding that wasn't?" he comments. "Me either."
She sighs.
And there it is, rising above the winter-bare trees at the highest point of the rolling hill. They'll have to uncover furniture and turn on the electricity from the system in the basement just to make it livable for tonight.
Castle steers his car to the gate at the end of the drive, the window sliding down smoothly so that a blast of cold air gusts inside. He leans out and presses his finger against the keypad, withdrawing at the crusted film over the keys.
"Ew," he mutters. "It's rusted."
Castle enters the code, rubs his fingers together to get rid of the crunchy feel against his skin. The gate swings back and he rolls up his window, sees Kate shiver in the passenger seat.
"What's up?" he asks.
"Someone walked over my grave," she mutters back, her eyes straight ahead.
Maybe coming here was a bad idea - too many memories. But Castle angles the car up the drive and through the gate, watching in the rearview mirror until he sees the gate begin to close automatically. He tries not to get his fingers on the leather of the steering wheel, still rubbing at the substance.
"Rust?" she says suddenly, leaning over to peer at his hand.
"What?" Castle glances down, sees the top of her head. Rather distracting.
"What's on your hand?"
"The keypad was rusted. Like you said, we haven't been back. Salt air."
She's got his hand now in her own lap, and he's perfectly content with that, her nails lightly scratching to get rid of the flakes that seem to stick to his skin. He pulls to a stop in front of the attached garage, decides to park it inside - out of the weather in case the snow gets any thicker. Digging out the car would be annoying in the morning.
He has to shake off her grip to punch the garage door opener, and as the door raises, his headlights hit the wide interior.
"Oh God," she gasps. "Castle."
Sprawled just inside the connecting door, slumped at the single step down into the garage, is Jackson Hunt.
"Castle, that wasn't rust. That was blood."
He's dead.