The case turned out to be straightforward, and they were charging and processing the only suspect by mid-afternoon.
A quick close so early in the week was good for everyone's morale, and Gates was looking suitably pleased as she congratulated Beckett and the team, then returned to her office.
Castle took the opportunity to slip away to the break room while Beckett was assigning parts of the case's paperwork to Ryan and Esposito. He started the coffee machine brewing, grateful for a few moments alone.
You can do this, he told himself.
What happened this morning at her desk was just a slip. It was inevitable, really. This was day one. The important thing was that it wasn't going to happen again.
He automatically reached for two cups, set them onto the machine's drip tray, and then paused.
Coffee for two.
How many times had he stood here?
It had been more than three and a half years. Five or six days a week, most weeks. Five or more times per day. Even accounting for the Summers he'd missed, that was still a minimum of 3,500 times that he'd been in this very spot, making two cups of coffee. No wonder he barely had to think about it anymore. He wondered if there was anything else in his life that he'd practised more than three thousand times. Nothing came to mind.
And the reason he'd done it, of course, was that it wasn't just coffee. It was a message; rich, and warm, and invigorating. It was one of the most important ways that he told her–
Kate… I love you. I love you, Kate.
–how he felt about her, every day. It was their special thing.
How many times had he stood here, and thought about her? The answer was simple: every time.
He looked down at the two cups sitting there.
Now it's just coffee, he thought. Dark. Bitter. Burning.
He leaned his palms heavily against the countertop. The elaborate machine hissed and spat, as if it were furious with him.
Took you long enough! it seemed to say.
Maybe that's what it had been telling him all along, frustrated at his self-deception, and his mindless optimism. Maybe it was amused at first, then pitying, then irritated, and finally – as he visited it hundreds and then thousands of times – it just despised how willingly he was setting himself up to be destroyed.
Here comes the fool again, for another two cups.
One for her (I love you), and one for himself (I love her).
"Idiot," he muttered to himself, as he completed the familiar ritual. There would be no finishing touches now; no design artfully drawn across the foam. No fig leaf, or – on daring days – the barest suggestion of a heart, or even a simple smiley face.
Just coffee.
"Castle?"
He was startled by her voice from behind him, but this time he didn't flinch.
You can do this, he told himself, then he picked up his own cup and turned around.
"All done," he said, with what he hoped was a convincing smile, gesturing towards the cup that was waiting for her on the machine's drip tray.
She looked puzzled for a moment, then she crossed to pick up her cup. Castle moved out of her way as she approached, then he took a couple of steps towards the doorway.
"Thanks," she said, with a smile that was warm but tentative.
He just nodded, taking a sip of the dark liquid.
Beckett watched him carefully, ignoring the tension she was feeling. She'd been on edge since the incident at her desk this morning, and her heightened awareness of him made her notice a whole series of little changes in how he acted around her.
He stood further away from her, and often ended up standing nearer to Ryan or Esposito than to her. He looked at her when he was speaking to her, or when she was talking, but not once had she caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Not a single time – and that was absolutely unheard-of.
He's not kidding around as much either, she thought, again feeling a twist of alarm.
No crazy theories; no deliberately bad puns. And he wasn't flirting with her. She'd even given him an opportunity earlier, with a remark that could easily be interpreted as a double-entendre, but he just looked away. When he did look at her, his expression was blank.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fumbling for something to say, and she was aware that her pulse was a little too fast.
"Not a bad start to the week," she said, inwardly cringing at how inane it sounded.
"Mm," he replied, again giving her that half-smile that barely curled his lips before vanishing again.
What's going on with you?
She took a small step towards him, and he turned his head away just a fraction, covering the movement by taking another sip of his coffee. He paused for a moment, then gave her a quick nod before turning and walking back out into the bullpen.
Beckett watched him walk away.
It's me, she thought, shocked by the realisation. He… doesn't want to be near me.
Real panic rose up in her now, slamming into her chest and making her breath catch in her throat. It wasn't last week's case that was bothering him, or worrying about his daughter – somehow, it was her.
She frantically tried to think of anything she could have said or done, but nothing came to mind.
Why didn't I notice this sooner?
She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she was already afraid she knew what his response would be: that there was nothing wrong. That everything was fine. Maybe that he was just a little tired, or preoccupied.
Or a little jumpy this morning.
Then there was his text on Saturday, dismissing her until today. And the night before that, when he hadn't replied to her message. And he'd left the precinct quickly on Friday, after those occasional, strange, blank looks during the day. She still remembered how pale his face had looked in the elevator.
He went somewhere, she thought. He told Esposito there was someplace he needed to be.
That's when everything had changed. He came back, and he was different.
He said he was just clearing his head.
Faces flashed through her mind.
Gina. Possible, but there wasn't anything between them now besides business, was there?
Meredith. She was in California, wasn't she?
Kyra. She was married, and as far as Beckett knew, they didn't keep in touch.
Someone else? But… there was no indication of anything like that. They'd been fine. Better than fine; great. They'd been… on the brink of something.
Could he have just got tired of waiting, so suddenly?
You're reaching, her mind said, and she frowned. It was true. She had nothing to go on. The only one who could tell her what was going on was out there in the bullpen.
Her eyes found him standing near her desk just as he looked in her direction, and for just a moment, something passed across his face again. Then he turned his head away and took another sip of his coffee.
Castle almost flinched when he saw that she was looking at him from the break room. She had her I will solve this case look on her face, and his heart sank.
She's noticed something's wrong.
But of course she had. It was her job, and she knew him well. Far too well, in fact. But he couldn't immediately look away.
She was beautiful. Brown and gold curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face. Exquisite cheekbones below large, dark, captivating eyes. The smooth, pale skin of her elegant neck. The graceful, lithe line of her body. He even knew what she smelled like.
Cherries. Coconut. Vanilla. Coffee.
His heart lurched, and he felt the coldness settle deeper into his bones. He turned his head away, and took a sip of his coffee.
He wanted to sleep, even though he knew he was doing too much of that lately. He knew it was a warning sign. But it made the world go away for a while.
He glanced at his wristwatch, and it was still only mid afternoon. She would come back to her desk soon. He felt like he was standing in a minefield.
Maybe he could find some reason to work with Ryan and Esposito, just for the rest of the day.
Maybe he could say he had some writing to catch up on, and was heading home early.
Maybe–
He sighed, letting himself drop into the visitor's chair beside her desk.
Maybe I can't do this anymore, he thought.