Author's note: We're coming to the point where Beckett has to start pushing back, but these situations aren't resolved overnight. Those who want a quick resolution should look elsewhere.
Beckett stood outside the main door of the loft once again, just as she had the previous evening.
It was earlier this time – just before 6PM, and she'd texted Alexis to say she was coming over to see Castle. The girl had responded that they'd be having dinner soon, and she'd be most welcome to join them.
I doubt your father will feel that way, she thought.
Her message to him a few hours before was simple:
I'll drop by later to see how you are.
There had been no reply, but at least she knew he wouldn't be asleep this time. She took a calming breath, then knocked twice on the door. Barely ten seconds later, it swung open to reveal Alexis.
"Hi, Detective Beckett," the girl said brightly, ushering her inside, and Beckett smiled at her.
"Hey, Alexis. How are you?" she replied, noticing how the girl looked away from a brief moment before meeting her eyes again.
"I'm fine," Alexis replied. She paused, then continued in a quieter voice. "He's in his office."
Beckett nodded, feeling that fluttering sensation in her chest again. "OK. I should go and say hi."
"Are you staying for dinner?" Alexis asked quickly, and Becket sighed.
"I guess… that depends," she replied honestly. "Let's wait and see."
Alexis nodded, and Beckett reached out to lay her hand on the girl's shoulder briefly, giving her another small smile. Then she turned and walked carefully across to the closed door in the partition wall that separated Castle's office from the rest of the loft's main floor.
There was faint music playing from within – soft jazz – and the occasional soft click of a laptop keyboard. She relaxed her posture as best she could, put a smile on her face despite the uneasiness she was feeling, and knocked lightly on the door.
She heard him say "Come in," and so she turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside, letting the door swing mostly closed again behind her.
He was sitting at his desk, his attention focused on the screen of his laptop. After a moment, he briefly glanced up, then froze. Something that was almost a wince passed across his face like a shadow, then his expression became completely blank.
Her smile faltered, and the feeling of panic surged through her. They looked at each other for a couple of seconds that felt like minutes, then she watched as he sat up straighter in his chair, pulling his hands back from the keyboard.
"Beckett," he said.
His voice was even, and his tone was unremarkable. It was a simple acknowledgement, as if they were in the bullpen and she'd walked over to join him at the murder board. It was businesslike. Courteous and polite.
The way you'd greet a colleague, she thought.
She swallowed, willing away the dread she was feeling. This wasn't the man she knew at all. This wasn't them. Everything was wrong.
"Hi," she said cautiously, in a small voice. She wanted to approach him, but if she saw that wince on his face again, she thought she might… what? Cry? Shrivel up inside?
He was still looking at her, clearly waiting for her to say something else. She clenched and unclenched her hands in her coat pockets.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, and she saw his eyes flick away for a moment, and then back.
"Still a little under the weather," he replied. "I'm going to take a few days off."
Her gaze moved briefly to the laptop.
"From the precinct," he added.
From me, she thought, giving the barest nod and then looking around the expansive room. Maybe thirty seconds of silence passed before he spoke again.
"Was there something else?"
"That's what I've been trying to figure out," she replied softly, not looking at him at first, and then slowly turning her head back around to face him. "Something's… changed. With you."
His eyes widened, and the blank expression she'd become so used to seeing lately slipped, just for a moment. She almost gasped at the bleak, miserable look that flickered across his face – and then, just as quickly, his brow creased and his eyes narrowed in an utterly unfamiliar flash of what looked like contempt. A fraction of a second later, the blank look was back.
She was suddenly aware of the tension radiating from him. How had she missed that? It was everywhere in his body language. He was fighting to maintain control.
But of what?
She instinctively took a couple of steps towards the desk, and his hands drew further back towards his body.
"Nothing's changed," he said. "Everything's fine."
His tone was even, of course - oh so perfectly even, as if he'd been practising – but everything about his posture said go away.
Her pulse quickened again. Just a few weeks ago, he'd have sprung up from his chair, delighted at a visit from her. Now he could barely stand to be in the same room.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
She looked at him, imploring him to answer her, and now she noticed his pulse at his neck. She could faintly hear his breathing, as it almost whistled through his nose.
"Castle, what… what did I do?"
He flinched. Again, the mask slipped for a moment, then again he hauled it back up. It was clearly costing him more and more each time.
"I'm not sure what you mean," he said, his words now audibly strained. A single horizontal crease was visible on his forehead. "Nothing's happened. Everything's–"
"–Not fine," she interrupted. "Your mother and daughter are both worried about you. I'm worried about you." She paused, trying to rein in the increasing pitch of her voice. "Just… please, help me to understand."
She took another step towards his desk, now within arm's reach of it.
"We can figure out how to fix this. Together."
There was a moment of stillness, then he just seemed to deflate in front of her. He slumped ever so slightly in his chair, and his hands loosened on the desk. His gaze lowered to an empty area of the wooden surface without seeing it.
She could almost swear that his face paled.
"I'm tired," he said, and he did indeed suddenly sound exhausted.
Beckett felt the worry rise up inside her again, and she was about to speak when he abruptly lifted himself out of his chair.
"I'm just… coming down with something," he said. "I need to rest. I'll call you in a few days."
He hadn't looked at her at all while speaking, and now he took a few heavy steps off towards the door that she knew led to his bedroom. She quickly rounded the edge of the desk, and reached out towards him.
His arm came up instantly, his palm towards her in the universal gesture for stop.
"Don't," he said, his voice rough. "Please… don't."
Beckett stood there, shocked. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She allowed her outstretched arm to fall slowly to her side, and she felt a tear spill out from the corner of her eye.
He looked up at her, and his expression crumpled for the briefest moment, as if he'd been physically struck. It wasn't a flinch, or a recoil, but real pain she saw there.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, then suddenly he was half striding and half lurching across the office towards his bedroom door, and then he was gone.