The afternoon was dragging. Beckett had almost finished her share of the paperwork for the case, and it was nearly time to head home.
She glanced to her left, looking at the empty visitor's chair for what must have been the fiftieth time since he'd left earlier.
I have some writing to catch up on, he said. Nothing about calling him if there was another case. Nothing about seeing her tomorrow. She'd asked if he was OK, and he said he was fine.
Just… fine.
Everything about him was off; strange, and wrong. He hadn't even said goodbye. He just stood up, stepped around the chair, and vanished. She was pretty sure he'd taken the stairs, too, as if he didn't want to wait around for the elevator.
She finished her report, but her mind was elsewhere. Her instinct was to go to the loft and confront him, but she knew that he'd just stonewall her. A less direct approach was needed.
Beckett took her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it, and tapped his name in the Phone app. The fingers of her free hand drummed nervously on the worn surface of her desk.
The call connected, and began to ring. Once, twice, three times.
Five. Ten.
Fifteen.
She waited until it had rung a full thirty times before hanging up in defeat.
"Damn it," she muttered to herself, feeling her heart fluttering in her chest.
Castle sat on the small leather sofa in his office, with the door closed. His laptop was perched on his thighs, and his thumbs tapped rhythmically on its aluminium surface.
The document he was staring at was entitled Ways to kill off Rook.
There were six paragraphs of text, each of them a brief summary of a different scenario. Of the six, two were viable plot lines. In each of those two, he'd set Nikki up with a new male partner; one was a former private investigator, and the other was an inspector from Scotland Yard, on permanent assignment in New York.
In either case, Rook would die – valiantly – and then Nikki would work through her grief by pursuing his murderers, with the help of her new partner. She'd take down the culprits, and she'd move on with her life.
Easier said than done, he thought.
It was childish, really. Petulant. Killing off the character that was his own avatar in the world of Nikki Heat. He'd been pushing the boundaries when he created a version of himself as a partner and love interest for the fictional personification of Beckett, but she'd never given him much pushback on that aspect of the books.
They were love letters, of course.
Paeans and tributes, yes, but mostly they were his way of letting her see how it could be between them. In order to show her a few moments, he'd created an entire world.
In that world, at least, he still had control.
He sighed, and then closed the lid of the laptop. His phone sat on the desk, silenced and forgotten.
I should start dinner, he thought. Alexis would be home soon, and he enjoyed the increasingly rare occasions when he could have a meal waiting for her.
He dragged himself out of his chair with considerable effort, and walked slowly through towards the kitchen.
It was a few hours later when Beckett finally gave up pretending to watch TV in her apartment, and set out to go and confront Castle at the loft.
She arrived within twenty minutes, and fidgeted nervously as the elevator ascended.
Just… go easy, she counselled herself. He's already hiding himself away.
Once again the panic swirled inside her. She had no idea what could have happened to make him suddenly not want to be near her, and his refusal to even acknowledge that there was anything wrong scared her.
He usually made it very clear when he was upset about something. He'd be vocal about it, or at least moody or sarcastic. He never just shut down like this.
He's the one who communicates for both of us.
That was the heart of it, and her pulse fluttered at the realisation. He was the one who reached out, who brought things up, and who made her face possibilities that she shied away from. He was the one who wanted her to believe in wonders – whether it was aliens and ninjas, or the idea that she could have a life beyond her own quest.
But now the communicator had stopped talking, and she was lost. And they had been so close. They were finally going somewhere. She was finally letting it happen. But now this.
She despaired at the unfairness of it, and again wracked her mind trying to work out what could have gone wrong. She was no closer to an answer when the elevator doors finally slid open, so she took a deep breath and walked out into the hallway, and towards the familiar steel and red door.
She knocked, bracing herself for that blank expression he was wearing lately, but when the door swung open it was Martha's smiling face that she saw instead.
"Detective Beckett; what a pleasant surprise. Do come in," the older woman said, stepping aside to allow Beckett to enter. Martha's dress was a riot of colour, as usual, and she seemed to carry light and life around her like an aura.
"Hi, Martha," Beckett said, with a warm smile that was part affection and part relief. At least she was still in favour with his mother.
"Now, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Martha asked, after closing the door and taking Beckett's coat, but before she could reply, Alexis called across from the living room area.
"Hi, Detective Beckett!"
"Hey, Alexis," she replied. "It's nice to see you."
The girl smiled at her. "Nice to see you too."
Beckett returned the smile, feeling a little calmer again.
Two out of three, she thought, and then her smile faded. She turned to Martha.
"Is Castle here?" she asked, and her brow creased in concern as the two redheads exchanged a look.
Martha put an arm around her shoulders and led her over to the couch where Alexis was already sitting.
"Yes, but he's not available at the moment," the older woman said. "He's asleep."
Beckett's gaze moved from Martha to Alexis and back again, and both wore the same expression: concern.
"At…" – she checked her wristwatch, raising an eyebrow when she saw the time – "…eight thirty?"
Alexis sighed and looked down at her hands folded in her lap, and Martha tilted her head as if to acknowledge that it was unusual.
"He's been sleeping a lot lately," the girl said, not looking up.
Beckett glanced at her, and then at Martha, who nodded slowly. "He said he wasn't feeling well," Martha added.
Beckett frowned, considering this new information. Could be just be sick? But he seemed physically fine.
Martha sensed the question before Beckett had a chance to ask it, and she waved her hand dismissively. "I don't believe he's ill," she said quietly. "But…"
She tailed off, and Beckett frowned again. "Martha?" she prompted, and the other woman sighed.
"But there's certainly something wrong."
Alexis looked up at last, and Beckett could see the worry in the girl's striking eyes. She felt a surge of protectiveness towards her, and she also sighed before speaking.
"I know," she said, unconsciously lowering her voice even though Castle's bedroom was all the way across the expansive main floor. "I've noticed it too. That's why I came over, to ask him about it. He just keeps telling me he's fine."
"That's what he told me, too," Alexis said. "But he's not."
"You're right," Beckett replied, sitting down beside the girl and laying a hand on her forearm. Martha joined them, glancing over towards the darkened office area briefly.
The three women sat in pensive silence for a few moments before Beckett spoke again.
"Do either of you have any idea what's going on with him?"
Martha and Alexis shook their heads, and Beckett pursed her lips.
"I'm worried about him," she said, then she paused for a moment before continuing. "I think… it's something to do with me."
"Why ever would you think that?" Martha asked, with surprise written all over her face, and Beckett averted her gaze for a moment before briefly recounting the various moments over the last few days when he'd clearly been uncomfortable in her presence.
"I wondered if… maybe he was, you know, … seeing somebody," she said at last, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. Martha and Alexis exchanged another look, and Beckett's pulse accelerated.
Oh god, she thought. That's it, isn't it? He's seeing someone.
"He most certainly is not," Martha said, and Alexis nodded in agreement. "I know my son, and…"
She tailed off again, and Beckett simply willed herself to wait, her breath whistling slightly in her nose.
"Well, it's been some time since he's even considering dating… anyone else," Martha finished delicately, and Alexis once again looked down at her hands, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.
Beckett felt a surge of embarrassment, and shame. She didn't often think about how it wasn't just Castle she was keeping waiting. His mother and daughter must know how he feels too, and it would be only natural if they resented her for it.
She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, then she felt Martha's hand on her shoulder again.
"In any case, he spent the entire weekend here, in his office," she said. "Or in bed, come to think of it."
"There's something else, too," Alexis said reluctantly, and the other two women looked at her. The girl wrung her hands together, then sighed and looked up at them.
"I found him here on Saturday morning," she said. "It was early. Earlier than I've ever seen him up, actually. He was just sitting here looking over at the window."
Beckett frowned, waiting for Alexis to continue. After a moment, she did.
"He said he was fine, but he was a little out of it. He was quiet, like he was thinking about something. And–"
She paused, quickly looking between her grandmother and Beckett, with concern plainly visible on her face.
"And?" Beckett asked gently, laying a hand on the girl's forearm again. Alexis sighed.
"And it looked like… he'd been crying."