Chapter 12

Two days after Gina had told him to call Roy, Castle still hasn't picked up the phone. He hasn't dared try to call Kate, either. He knows what she'll do. Cut the call. Every single time. It's what she's already done. He can't keep putting it off, because like it or not Gina is going to be on his back about it just as soon as he doesn't turn in the edits. Not that she's sent him any edits yet, but he can feel them looming ominously, and he just knows that they will require him to check details which he can only glean if he is actually at the precinct.

He steels himself. He has to do this. Apart from anything else, he's utterly miserable, he can't sleep, and all he wants is to go back in time and have a do-over. Since time travel isn't possible, he's got to find a way to fix it. He hasn't so much as opened Word since she threw him out. There's nothing there: he has no words. None. His book – the book that started all of this – is no help.

He picks up his phone, finds Roy's number, and dials.

"Roy? It's Rick Castle."

"Hey, Rick. This about the next game? It's your turn to host. Been waiting for you to call and set a date. This time, I'm gonna whup your writer's ass and win back every cent you've fleeced me for." Roy sounds distinctly cheerful about that.

"That wasn't why I called."

"Oh?" Roy asks inquisitively. "What d'you want, then? Surely you haven't been arrested. I can't help you with that."

"No." Castle stops.

"So what is it?"

"Look, let me buy you a drink and explain."

"Sounds interesting. Okay. Old Town Bar, around six-thirty. Gotta go. Sounds like we closed another case."

Castle puts his phone down with a depressed thud. He is quite certain that the voice he'd heard in the background was Kate's.

Beckett has thrown herself into work in order to forget about Rick. Anyway, he hasn't called, so it must simply have been a game. As soon as she'd worked it out, he'd dropped it without a single thought. Just another stupid, blind, unknowing fangirl. She doesn't need to remember that, or anything about him. And fortunately, there are still plenty of murders needing to be solved. She retires into the haven of her job, the bullpen, and her team. She's good at that. She's comfortable there. And she need never think about what had been, and what might have been.

Early in the afternoon, with considerable satisfaction, she approaches Montgomery's office to report that they have discovered, apprehended, and brought in the latest in a series of dumb-and-dumber lowlifes.

"Sir," she starts, "we got" –

Montgomery waves her to silence, and she realises that he is on the phone, arranging his evening. She slides off, and returns only when she's sure that he's done.

"Detective Beckett," he smiles. "More closures?"

"Yes, sir. Got the Palermo perp. Safely in Holding, ready for the DA." She grins back. Montgomery notices that it's a little forced, and his indefatigable detective appears a little tired.

"Good work. Finish up and then get out of here. I don't want to see you at your desk after shift end. Go see a pal, have a drink, relax." He continues to smile, but now it has a very Captainly flavour. "Take a break. It's been a busy few days."

Beckett sags, but says only, "Yes, sir."

Montgomery watches her departing back, and smirks. Beckett might think he doesn't pay attention, but he does. When she's clearing cases at this rate, she's spending too much time in the precinct, which always means that something has gone wrong in her personal life. Last time, it was that lantern-jawed Fed. Doesn't know what he's given up, in Montgomery's opinion. He's no idea what or who it was this time, but there's something up. He surveys the bullpen, and notices without appearing to take any notice that Ryan and Esposito are regarding Beckett with caution.

It would, of course, be beneath his dignity as Captain to inquire. It would also be unnecessary. Troubles in Beckett's life raise the solve rate, they don't damage it. He need not interfere. Yet. If he catches her sleeping in the break room, though, he will. That's not on if a case isn't hot. Anyway, he's made sure she'll go home, or at least out of the precinct. His duty is done.

Beckett returns to her desk, gloomily, finishes off the paperwork, and wonders what to do with her evening. Lanie's busy. Probably with some nice, normal, truthful guy. And if he's not, Lanie can poison him untraceably and dispose of the body, she thinks bitterly. She doesn't want a beer with the boys. Maddie is busy with her chef job, and is never available evenings. O'Leary is out of town. Pete has apparently dragged him on a vacation. Quite how Pete managed that she has no idea, since moving O'Leary is like moving Mount Rushmore. She investigates the movies, and finds that there is nothing which she would willingly watch. She has no good books (she winces at the thought of books). She's still not hungry, and anyway she's avoiding Remy's. So far, her minimal eating and complete lack of appetite hasn't made a difference. It won't make a difference to her for some time.

Her neat apartment is entirely tedious. It has nothing to recommend it whatsoever. She decides, for the thousandth time, that she should take a class in something interesting. The only problem is that any time she tries to join a regular class, corpses drop in and she has to drop out.

She'd like to join something creative, but Stitch-n-Bitch only left her with bleeding fingers where she'd stabbed herself with the needle, knitting left her with a twenty foot scarf that was unwearable owing to the dropped stitches and consequent holes, and art was never her subject. One concept of art is for the sketch to attain a resemblance to the subject of one's drawing, and since she couldn't manage that, and can't claim to be either Picasso or Pollock, art is off the menu. She can sing, but she's not keen on the histrionics of amateur dramatists, and imposing calm with her gun is generally not well received. Also, her innate dislike of chaos tends to lead her to impose order, which upsets the ostensible director. All in all, joining an am-dram group is not a good plan.

None of which helps her in what to do with her blank, empty evening. She reluctantly accepts that she has nothing to do and no-one to see, and unhappily curls up on her couch with bubblegum TV and nothing but misery as a companion.

Some time after eight, her door is firmly rapped.

"So what's up, Rick?" Roy asks as he strides cheerily into the bar. "You didn't say much on the phone. Not like you." He notices first the two glasses of whisky on the table, and then takes a good look at Castle's face. "You look like shit," he says. "What's really up?"

Castle squirms uncomfortably. "You know I was looking for a new character?"

"You might have mentioned it a couple of times," Roy says very dryly, "a minute." Castle scowls at him, and then downs half his Scotch in one go. Roy raises an eyebrow. "What've you got yourself into this time?"

"I found one."

"Thank God for that. Does that mean I don't have to listen to you yowling about your writer's block any more?" he says unsympathetically.

"There's a problem."

"Yes?" Roy is suddenly thoroughly suspicious. Many years of cop work have honed his instincts to sharpness. Rick Castle is hiding something major.

"She…um…"

"She?"

"Yeah. You think women can't be the main character?" Castle snaps.

"No. My best detective's female." Much to Roy's astonishment, Castle winces. "Best clear up stats I've ever had. Bit tightly wrapped, but she's with a couple of good guys and it works."

"Yeah. Well. Um. About that."

"You want to have a chat with Beckett to inform your character? I guess I can try to arrange it, but she's not likely to say much. She doesn't really talk much." Maybe his suspicions were misplaced.

"Er…"

"She probably won't shoot you, if you don't play the big celebrity. She likes your books," Roy continues happily. "She thinks I don't know that. She doesn't know I know you." Castle downs the rest of his whisky. "Want another?"

"Yes. Please."

Roy wanders to the bar, and shortly wanders back with another couple of drinks. Castle clutches his.

"So do you want me to let you into my bullpen to meet Beckett and her team?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you want, then? You haven't told me a thing, and you're the one wanted to talk. You're not getting to follow me around, so don't ask."

"Um…"

"Rick, stop messing around and just spit it out."

"She's my new character."

"What?" Roy grabs his drink and downs it in one gulp. "How did you meet Beckett?"

"Not the point. The point is, I wrote the whole book. But my agent wants it to be a series."

"So what's the problem? And how come I never saw you in the bullpen? Don't tell me you didn't want to be in and out the bullpen. And if you've written the whole book, when did you meet her? Where did you meet her? Don't say you've been listening in on a scanner and interfering with crime scenes – actually, no, you can't have done that because she'd have arrested you. Or possibly shot you."

"I met her in a bar. About six weeks ago. I was blocked and she was moping about shooting some lowlife."

"Oh, yeah. That. She was in the right." Roy's mind works. "Okay, so…. Oh. You dumbassed bastard. What did you do to upset her? She's been off form for the last three days and it's your fault, isn't it? What the hell have you done, Rick? Because there is no way I'm going to save your ass this time. Beckett's my people and you don't get to mess with my people."

"She didn't know I was me."

Roy stares gape-mouthed at him. "How the hell could she not know it was you?"

"Um…I told her I was Rick Rodgers."

The table and Roy's head make noticeable contact. "You did what? Are you crazy?" His head hits the table again.

"Roy, I need your help. I wanna fix it."

"Fix what?"

"She found out I was Richard Castle before I got the chance to tell her." Castle's wide shoulders slump. "Roy, I wanna fix it. I gotta fix it. But she won't talk to me."

"Have you tried?"

There is a mutter.

"Have you?"

"I tried to apologise for being Richard Castle at her. She wouldn't listen. Told me – well, Rick Rodgers me" – Roy boggles, and tries to follow Rick's schizophrenic behaviour and unusually ungrammatical language – "how much she disliked me, and wouldn't take any of my calls."

"Hang on. You pretended to be Rick Rodgers, ordinary guy, and she didn't notice?"

"I looked a bit different as Rick Castle. Rich. Show-off. I acted different, too."

Roy shakes his head. "You are in deep shit, Rick."

"You have no idea," Castle mutters.

"What are you expecting me to do?"

"I didn't know she was your detective. You can let me in."

"Why?"

"So I can fix it."

"Why should I care? You've written enough books and made enough money that you don't need this. Why should I upset my best detective just to help you make more money?"

"It's not that," Castle emits miserably. "It's not about the books."

"Really? That's all you've told me so far."

Castle produces a miserable, embarrassed mutter that eventually becomes, "It's her." Roy raises very interested eyebrows and looks very hard at Castle, clearly assessing his sincerity.

"You dumbass," he says, without heat. "Why'd you have to complicate it?"

Castle shrugs, because truthfully, the only answer he's got is one he doesn't want to give. Because I wanted not to be wanted for being a celebrity is both incoherent and arrogant; and it's also completely no longer the truth. Because I'm totally in love with her and I can't write without her is the truth, but he balks at the bald admission.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he drags out. "I want to fix it. C'mon, Roy. You can help me by letting me in."

"I could, but I don't run a precinct for the dramatic value. I run it to solve crime."

"I need to fix it."

"So go try to fix it outside my bullpen. I'm guessing you know where Beckett lives." He looks sternly at Castle. "I'm guessing she didn't know where you lived. Till she found out who you were."

"But…"

"No buts. You try to fix it outside the bullpen before I'm getting involved. You might be my pal, but I'm not screwing up my team for you."

Castle stares at his drink. There isn't enough alcohol in the glass to make Roy's words palatable. He'd hoped Roy would give him an easy in, but instead he's reminded Castle that he's ducking the confrontation.

"Okay," he says. But he knits his fingers around the whisky glass and doesn't make a single move to leave.

Roy regards him with a mixture of sympathy and irritation. "It won't improve with keeping," he points out. "Didn't think you were yellow-bellied."

"I'm not," Castle flashes back. "But I don't want shot."

Roy shrugs. "Up to you." He drains his glass. "But I wouldn't leave it too long. Beckett's pretty quick to move past problems. Anyways, time I went home. Let me know when the next game is."

Without further ado, Roy leaves. Castle regards his departing back with unhappy annoyance, and acquires another whisky to soften the sting of his commentary. When he's finished it, in which pursuit he doesn't hurry, he girds up his courage, summons all his nerve, and departs for Beckett's apartment. Now or never.

He just wishes that the quote in his head wasn't 'Death or Glory'.

"You?" she says, in tones of loathing. "What are you doing here?" She makes to shut the door, but Castle, having found his courage, shoves his foot in the way, and then the rest of his body.

"I want to talk to you." She looks entirely unwelcoming. "I need to apologise."

"Why bother? I don't want to hear it, and I don't want to see you."

She tries to shut the door again. Castle being considerably bigger and stronger than Kate, it doesn't work. He pushes inside and shuts the door with himself on the inside. It doesn't improve anything.

"Well, I want to see you. I want to talk to you."

Kate turns her back on him, which would be childish if she weren't so furiously, glacially angry. He is perfectly certain that the only reason she hasn't gone into her bedroom and shut the door in his face is because she knows he'll follow her and she really, really doesn't want him in her bedroom again.

"Kate, I'm sorry." Silence, and her rigid spine, are all the reply he receives. "I just…"

"What? What bullshit excuse are you going to come out with this time?"

"I didn't make any excuses."

"Nah," she drawls sarcastically. "Just told a whole bunch of lies."

"I didn't lie."

"By omission," she states. That's wholly true.

"I didn't…"

"You didn't. Sure you didn't. Didn't tell the truth, didn't think it mattered, didn't care what I might think. Didn't care about what damage you did. Didn't care."

"I did care. Do. Why'd you think I'm here?"

"Why are you here?" she asks acidly. "Because you wrote a book and now you need to finish it."

"No!" She simply looks at him. "I" – her icy stare stabs through him – "didn't want to spoil it. I…" He searches for the right words. "You didn't want anything. You didn't care who I might be. You just treated me like I was Everyman. It was…"He falls back on the entirely inadequate "nice."

"Nice for you, maybe."

"I could just be me," he tries to explain.

"Except you weren't, were you?" she bites straight back.

"You weren't – it wasn't – I didn't want someone who only wanted celebrity Richard Castle, okay? You were the first person who hadn't" –

"Is that supposed to be a compliment? You didn't tell me who you were so how do you know?" she fires in incredulous fury. "You didn't even take the time to find out. You thought I'd be star struck and then even when you knew I wasn't you didn't have the guts to tell the truth."

"You'd already decided you hated me," he strikes back. "You wouldn't have listened. You didn't listen, every time I tried to apologise. Just like you're not listening now."

"Why should I listen to a liar? You made this mess. You're the one who hid who you are and pretended you were an ordinary guy. You're the one who behaved like an arrogant jackass. Not me. I lo-" – she stops hard, takes a breath and restarts – "liked Rick Rodgers. Shame he doesn't exist. You're no substitute."

Castle folds as if punched. "He is real. He's me."

"You're no more real than he was. Neither of you are real. You're both fake."

"I'm as real as you are," he yells, and takes the few strides that bring him to her, spins her round and – stops. He drops his hands and steps back. "Rick Rodgers is real. He's who I am. Richard Castle is the PR invention."

"No," she says, almost sadly. "Whoever you are, you're not Rick Rodgers. There is no Rick Rodgers." She turns back to the window, away from him, shutting him out.

"Rick Rodgers is the guy who went to Remy's with you. The guy who listened to you when you were upset. The guy" –

"The guy who ruined my last connection to my mother," she cries. "You knew that, and you just kept right on lying to me." He steps back from her fury.

"I didn't know till after you'd" –

"Met you," she bites. "Richard Castle. Author, womaniser, jackass. Just go. There's nothing more to say." She's still turned away from him.

"If I'd known, I'd have done that evening completely differently. But since I didn't know, I couldn't. And how exactly was I supposed to know you didn't want the celebrity writer? Everyone else does. So you got the author, and you hated him, and then the next day you told me why. If I'd known, I'd never have done anything to hurt your memories."

"But you did."

He can hear something, just at the very edge of her voice, almost not there at all – and it falls into place and he steps back to her and, taking his life in his hands because surely she could kill him with her bare palms, turns her and finds expected, but still shocking, tears; gathers her against him as Rick Rodgers wouldn't hesitate to do – hadn't hesitated to do. He can't bear to see her so unhappy and not wrap her up, protect her from the world.

"Don't touch me," she cries, and tries to push him away.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Um... I have a confession. I miscounted my chapters, and in fact there are 16 not 15. I managed to name ch12 twice over. Sorry. This is the first ch12. I suppose that's why it's got time to get to a satisfying ending. To answer the unspoken question, no, you do not get two chapters tonight to make up for my inability to count.

To answer one guest (and plenty of others) question: this is a pre-series AU and therefore Lanie has never met Castle - so she can't be on his side at all as she doesn't know him.