Some Notes: I'm quite sorry this took so long. (As I've previously whinged about I'm two weeks from medical school finals. But also, I just keep changing my mind about the order of scenes. Anyway, this is a lengthy chapter, so I hope my wordiness makes up for the lag between updates. This one is mostly just a series of conversations that needed to happen, with one exception/twist. As I've mentioned before, I wrote this before Rise aired, but I did have the help of quite a few spoilers, so you can attribute any similarities to that. And for those that are sick of Beckett-in-the-hospital, I apologise. She will be discharged eventually, but unlike on TV, in my stories, people have to spend some time recovering from major heart surgery. Side note: I feel sorry for Josh at the end of this one. Sigh.
Chapter Six: We're driving through the desert wondering if the water will hold out.
The days passed far too slowly, each the same way that it had come. On the third day, when she was feeling stronger, she meant to phone him, the buttons were beneath her fingers, slowly pressing, entering his number, but somehow she never managed to make the call. The morning came and went, and the shadows of afternoon followed, the vertical blinds at the window casting patterns against the white walls, and then the light faded, and the nurses came back for the phone, pleased to have found it, thinking it misplaced. She surrendered it reluctantly.
Her father had been keeping her company since lunch time, and he saw it over the tops of his glasses. She met his observant gaze as the nurse left.
"Kate," he said, folding the newspaper he'd been reading.
She swallowed. "Don't."
"Okay." He knew when to retreat, but offered one simple piece of advice. "It's not as hard as you think it is."
(What Jim Beckett had noticed, the few times he'd met his daughter's partner, was how easy they were in each other's company, how unguarded she was, even if she didn't know it. It was what endeared Rick Castle to him most, that and his quiet, patient admiration. It was impossible to miss and he wondered how his otherwise extraordinarily perceptive child could be so myopic. Then again, he thought, maybe we all have our blind spots.)
He was probably right, Beckett thought, reaching with a sigh for one of Castle's earlier works, that he'd once called lesser, and turning the pages over with her hands without really absorbing the words. It felt hard though. Everything did. Breathing was painful. Anything beyond that seemed a world away, insurmountable. She wasn't used to resignation, didn't like it, felt she should fight it but didn't have the energy.
Tomorrow, she resolved silently. Tomorrow is another day.
.
But the next day she was undone, just as before.
Another Castle came to see her on Tuesday, nervously shifting the weight of her school books from one shoulder to the other. Beckett was perched on the edge of the bed when Alexis appeared in the doorway, hovering awkwardly on the verge of the room like she was unsure of the proper protocol.
She knocked, belatedly. "Can I come in?"
Beckett nodded. "Actually, you can walk with me. I'm allowed to."
They did a lap of the floor making small talk – the exertion made anything else impossible – until Beckett decided she'd pushed herself far enough past what was advised by her doctors for one day. When she was resting at the angle that was most comfortable, trying to ignore the pain in her ribs on each inspiration, she turned to her visitor and gave her an inquiring look. "I'll admit, you were so quiet the last time you were here that I hardly expected another visit."
"There's something I wanted to talk to you about," Alexis began, twisting her fingers in her lap, nervous. "It's about my dad." Beckett nodded for her to continue so she did. "I wanted to know, when you're back at work ... are you going to let him keep follow you around?" She finally blurted it out before she lost her nerve. "He's not a cop Detective Beckett. And it's dangerous."
Sucking in a breath, Beckett paused to consider her answer. "He's welcome back, of course. But I know, that it's a dangerous job, and I understand why you have reservations."
"He threw himself in front of a bullet," Alexis said quietly. For you was the silent end of the sentence. They both knew it was a kind of accusation. "I can't... I'm sorry, for you, I really am. And I'm glad that you're alive. But if it was him..."
"Alexis." It was imploring, and at her name, she looked up, met Beckett's eyes. "I know. If it were him, if it had happened differently, I wouldn't-" she inhaled, sharply and grimaced at the shooting pain in her chest. "I wouldn't know what to do and I'd probably never forgive myself."
"Then how? How can you let him... do that, put himself in danger?"
"If I'd had any say in it at all he would've stayed right where he was," she said, resolutely. Alexis believed it. "But you have to know, I would've done it for him in a second. And as much as you might want to protect the people you care about, love, you can't control them. I wish, sometimes, that you could."
"You really don't think he'd stop, if you asked him?" Alexis sat back in the chair, looked incredulous. "He would."
"You're probably right. But I couldn't do that to him. Not again." Beckett pressed her lips together, once again regretting what she'd said when they'd fought at her apartment. We're done, now get out. She couldn't end it again, not after everything that had happened. "I know he's not a cop, but he is my partner."
"And he's my dad." Alexis looked desperate. "And ... you make him reckless."
"I wish I didn't." She meant it too, with everything in her, because it was mutual. She didn't like feeling so completely out of control. "But I'd do anything to protect him."
"Even if it meant walking away?"
"If it came to that." The thought made intensified the tightness in her chest though. She'd falter, but she'd do it, if she had to. "But your father, he has good instincts Alexis. He knows how to handle himself. He's saved my life as many times as I've saved his."
"I know that." Fingers twisting in her lap, Alexis continued. "And I know that you do good work, and I know that things have always worked out until now, but I just can't stop thinking about what will happen when they don't. You must know what I mean. If he'd been a second faster, if that bullet had been a centimetre to the right, one of you could be dead."
"There's something that I've learned," Beckett began cautiously, sensing that Alexis' concerns ran deeper than she was letting on. For Beckett, it had been a hard-learned truth. She imparted it quietly. "There are no guarantees, not in what we do, not in life. Alexis, we're all here one minute and gone the next. It's not easy. I know. Sometimes it hits me so hard that it makes me feel empty. But you have to forget it, or you'll spend your whole life waiting for something that's inevitable."
Alexis turned towards the window to hide her few tears. She'd always thought that she wasn't naive. She'd read a lot, and she'd seen things, she read the papers. She knew, intellectually, that the world was full of hurts. It was different when they were your own, real. They seemed all the more unbearable. When she looked back, she tried to smile, embarrassed. She wasn't used to being overcome by her feelings. Her family was demonstrative, but she'd always been quieter than her father, mother and grandmother. Maybe it was a silent rebellion against genetics. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. It seems to be going around lately. It's happened to me far too often ever since..."
"The shooting," Alexis supplied. "There's no point edging around the subject."
"No. I suppose there's not."
"If I ask him to stop, I'm afraid he'll resent me." Castle's daughter admitted it quickly, soft. She glanced up, a hint of anguish in her eyes. They were familiar, an echo of her father's.
Beckett suddenly felt at a loss. It had been a long time since Alexis had come to her, for advice, to talk, for anything. She suspected it might've had something to do with the stalemate in her relationship with Castle. When she thought about it from that point of view, what Alexis must've seen, she understood it. It wasn't as though they'd never hurt each other in the course of their partnership despite the best of intentions.
She knew one thing with certainty, "Alexis, he wouldn't. He loves you too much."
"But he loves you too."
Too many people were stating that like a fact lately.
"I know."
"Does he know, that you do?" The way she asked the question made it seem like she was asking a different one.
"He will," Beckett promised.
Alexis nodded. "Okay."
"Does he know you're here?"
She shook her head. "I thought we'd keep this conversation between us. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be impolite, and I know that I don't know you very well. But you always talk to me like an adult. And I had to know."
Beckett heard what she wasn't asking. "Well, if it's between us, then I can tell you that right now, it's complicated. This isn't the kind of thing you can just walk away from, and just because he's not the one physically wounded doesn't mean that's not true for him too. But I want it to be simple Alexis, I really do." She didn't add her last thought, I don't know if it ever can be. Her hopes were bigger than her doubts.
Alexis rewarded her with a reserved smile. "I should get home before there are questions asked about where I am. Dad's probably still tracking my cell, even if he says he isn't."
"For what it's worth, I told him that was a gross violation of privacy."
The teenager shrugged. "I was angry at first, but he does it out of love."
That was generous. "Then you should get going. Thank you, for visiting and for speaking your mind. I know it's ... awkward, sometimes."
"Thank you for hearing me."
"Alexis?"
The words made her pause at the door. She turned back to face Beckett and leaned against the door frame.
"Whatever else happens, what you said, about talking to you like an adult? I promise I always will."
Alexis shifted her backpack from one shoulder to the other, smiling. "I'm glad you're getting better Detective Beckett."
It was Wednesday afternoon when two monumental things happened in their lives. One was mutual and one became a secret unshared. The latter began when Castle opened the door of the loft to a knock to find the hallway empty and an envelope waiting.
Mystery delivery, he thought, mind still whirring with words after a few hours making headway on edits for Heat Rises, nice touch. But it was what was inside that was most curious – files, police files. An unaltered copy of the arrest reports that implicated Montgomery along with a series of dossiers on a few men he recognized – Dick Coonan, Hal Lockwood and a third – photos printed next to what he assumed was their real identities. And a third, thicker file filled with information on Johanna Beckett, things he knew and things he didn't, and a series of surveillance photos that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
At the back of the file was another wad of pictures, of Beckett herself. On the back of one with Alexis in the foreground was a message: don't tell her, I can help you, but they're watching her too closely. He dropped them all over the floor of his office and spent a minute breathing heavily before calling Esposito. That felt like a betrayal, but she'd asked for space and needed time to heal, and the photographs were recent. It couldn't wait.
They met (after some debate about the merits of each venue) at the Old Haunt instead of Remy's, take away burgers in their hands. The office beneath the floor boards was largely unaltered, and about as far away from the prying eyes of Gates as they could have managed. After the trapdoor was pulled down over their heads and they'd negotiated the stairs, Esposito installed himself on the sofa in the corner and held his hand out for the files. Castle passed them over and watched as Ryan crowded at his partner's side, both of them taking in the new information.
"Did you see who sent it?" Ryan asked, looking up. (He was a faster reader than Esposito, and kept having to pause at the end of pages.)
"Didn't have a chance. By the time I got to the door, the hall was clear."
"What about security footage?"
"I didn't think to ask to be honest. I called you straight away."
"Good move," Esposito interjected, holding up one of the more recent surveillance photographs. "They're watching her in the hospital. That's low."
"It makes you wonder though, doesn't it?" Castle posed the question, which was mostly rhetorical, because he expounded immediately. "If they're watching her so closely, why haven't they finished what they started?"
Esposito scowled. "Don't even say it bro."
"It's a valid point." Ryan said, in between mouthfuls of fries. "Why take a shot in the middle of the day in a public place and botch the job?"
"This sniper was no Hal Lockwood," Esposito spoke from military experience. He flipped open the file and corrected himself, "Or should I say, Jacob Lysinger. I'll give you that."
"Luckily," Ryan commented.
They all took a breath.
"Yeah." Castle was mostly disinterested in the food in front of him, pondering all the evidence. He kept coming back to the surveillance shots. "This must be across the road from the hospital, right?"
He pulled the shot of Beckett with Alexis in the foreground out and lay it between them.
"No doubt," Esposito agreed. "I'd say five, six stories. The angle's from above."
"Do you think you could check it out? If they were watching, what's to say they're not still?"
"We can't on Gates' watch," Ryan reminded them both. "But there's always after hours."
"Nah, not worth it," Esposito argued. "A surveillance guy's not going to be watching a hospital at night. What would be the point? Unless they're waiting for someone specific to visit, but Beckett's seen all of us at least once."
Castle managed to suppress a grimace at that. He wasn't sure he liked being the only one who wasn't free to visit her.
"We could stop by this afternoon," Ryan hedged. "We'll just tell her we've got a lead on the case. It's a residential building. We can always say it didn't pan out."
"You taking up story-telling in Castle's absence?" Esposito raised an eyebrow.
"It could work," Ryan said, defensive.
"As long as you do all the talking bro. That woman does not like me."
Ryan smirked. "I'm not sure she likes anyone."
It was settled.
"If you find anything, you'll call?" Castle asked, needlessly. They nodded.
"Of course." Ryan began ordering the files. "But speaking of the boss, we have to get back."
Castle nodded. "I'm going to look over these again. I'll let you know if I think of anything.."
When they ascended to street level, Castle's cell trilled. He pulled it out and saw one new message, from Beckett: come save me from boredom?
Understated, as usual, and nowhere near as much as he wanted to hear, but at least she'd contacted him, and sooner than he'd expected.
Upon realising he wasn't following, Ryan and Esposito turned back and looked at him, expectantly. He caught up. "Message," he explained. "From Beckett."
They all exchanged glances.
"You going to tell her what we're up to?" Esposito asked.
"Should we?" Ryan countered. "Who knows how closely they're watching her? And the message did say ..." He trailed off.
Esposito looked skeptical. "You're getting paranoid bro."
Ryan waved the manila folder containing all their new leads to punctuate his protest. "I think we have a pretty good reason to be."
Castle was silent, thinking it over. They turned to him to settle their debate.
"She'll kill us if she finds out we kept it from her," Esposito stated what they all knew was a fact.
"But it nearly killed her." His words were still thoughtful. Castle continued, "And Ryan's right; the instructions were clear. I'll tell her, eventually, just not yet. We might as well see if it comes to anything first."
"Because that worked so well for you the last time," Esposito muttered under his breath.
It was true, and he knew it, but it didn't sway him. She needed to rest, to heal, to forget about murders and conspiracies, and there was no way Kate Beckett would do any of that if she caught even the hint of a lead in her mother's case. She thought he didn't know her, but he did, at least, enough to know that in a way that was almost physical.
"I'm going to go see her." He held out a hand for the files.
Ryan stared at it for a moment before realising what he was hinting at. "You might want to drop those off at home first," he said as he handed them over.
Esposito was quiet, but as they exchanged the appropriate pleasantries he softened. "Tell her we say hi."
"Sure."
They parted ways in the street outside the bar, with plans to meet again that night and discuss strategy.
When he got to Brooklyn, he stalled. At first it was taking his time in the street, stopping for their usual coffee order at an unusual place along the way.
(He ordered her decaf and resolved never to tell her. He could imagine her face at the thought, but if he was going to smuggle her prohibited beverages, they were going to have a neutral impact on her heart rate and blood pressure.)
Then it was purposefully taking the long way up to the ICU where he was met with a real delay. The nurses recognised him, even though he'd only been there for a few hours, and informed him that Beckett had been stable long enough to move to the Coronary Care unit (Fifth floor, South block, Ward 5b, he repeated in his head as he jabbed the call button for the elevator, so he didn't forget). Still, when he found the new location, he lingered outside the door.
Lately, it had been hard not to share things with her. Perhaps he'd shared too much. Still, this new secret was more malignant than the others. He pre-emptively prayed she would forgive him, schooled his features and, balancing the tray carrying his peace offering with one hand, manoeuvred through the door.
Her face lit up above the eyes when she saw him, though her lips bore only a reserved smile. Her eyes had always been her tell; he'd learned it after hours of watching her, at the precinct and playing poker.
"Hi," she murmured. "I didn't think you'd come."
"Why wouldn't I?"
She held up her cell, which was probably forbidden, and he briefly wondered who she'd sweet talked into returning it to her possession. (Josh, most likely. But then again, the doctor might've been a stickler for the rules. Castle could see it aligning with everything else he knew about him.)
"You didn't answer," she explained.
"I'm sorry." He blinked, realising she was right. "I came straight here when I got the message. Didn't think to respond."
She sounded unsure of herself when she said it, like she shouldn't have been asking the silent question. (And part of her knew that was true, knew she had no right to demand an explanation. He was free to do as he liked, and if she wanted to change that, there were other things to change first.) "That can't be true. I sent it ages ago."
"I was-" he paused, mentally chiding himself and hoping she hadn't noticed, "- writing."
"Oh." She moved carefully, but swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Well, I'm sorry to tear you away from it."
"No." He nearly laughed. "Beckett, if you'd let me I would've been here the entire time."
She looked up at that, hands bracing some of her weight against the mattress, ready to push her to standing, and paused. Too much, he thought. It wasn't quite a deer-in-the-headlights moment, but it was close enough.
Beckett recovered almost as quickly as he had from his slip up; the difference was, Castle noticed hers. She knew it, so talked to distract him. "I know. Look, I learned a new trick." She stood and held out her hands in a gesture that said voilà.
He grinned. "Giving them hell?"
"I don't think they'll be sad to see me go."
"I don't think they're meant to be."
She laughed, really, actually, in a way he had almost forgotten since the shooting. And for the first time since his hands had been covered in her blood on a day that was far too bright, he actually believed she would be okay; that things could be normal again, or at least, some approximation of it. Grinning himself, he stepped forward and set down the coffees on the shelf behind her. He tugged at her sleeve, holding out one arm in invitation. She rolled her eyes, but let him fold it around her, barely resting its weight against her shoulders. Reaching out, she braced her hand against his chest, pushing back to keep them apart enough to spare her ribs.
"It's okay," she said. "This way you won't hurt me."
It was far too practiced.
"You're becoming expert."
"You learn to adapt pretty quickly." She let her head fall forward until it rested beneath his chin, fingers sliding along the gap between his buttons. "How are you?"
"Better, now," he said, quietly.
(But there was some part of him that knew it was wrong, that he should tell her, that she wouldn't let him close like this if she knew he was hiding it from her. Maybe that was why he didn't.)
She nodded once and sighed it out. "Me too."
"I can see that." His hands came to rest on her shoulders as she stepped back. "You've got far fewer tubes in you."
She smiled and braced her ribs with one hand in a way that would become familiar to him. She held out the other and he steadied her.
"It's getting easier," she said as he helped her back into the bed. She shuffled to one side and patted the space beside her. "Come on, sit here. I'm getting sick of towering down at people sitting in the chairs."
"Speaking of, where's your father?"
She waved her hand. "In some meeting with his accountant. Finding some way to make his money make money probably."
"In this market?" He reached out and procured their coffees, handing one to her.
"He has a talent for it." She hummed her appreciation and murmured her thanks as his fingers glanced hers against the paper cup. It was warm beneath her hand.
"I'll have to consult his expertise."
She smirked. "Somehow I don't think you've got anything to worry about there."
"No," he agreed. "It's sick, but this has actually improved sales. Gina's probably twisting around in a desk chair stroking a Persian cat and trying to contain her joy."
"I thought the split was amicable?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, it was. But I've always seen her as a criminal mastermind. Don't get me wrong, it's a compliment. She's shrewd. And she goes for the jugular when she has to, which is actually an underrated quality in a publisher."
"Less underrated in an ex-wife?"
He smirked. "Definitely."
It was subject matter they usually avoided. He was surprised to find that it lacked the awkwardness of their initial, stilted conversation. "In many respects, she brings out the best in me. Marriage was not one of them."
Beckett smiled, a wide stretch of her lips that didn't show teeth but was incredibly genuine. "You know, I have a hard time picturing it, you, married."
"Believe me, sometimes I wish I did too. It was ... you know, when there's a moment that you want to prolong, draw out, preserve forever, but you know you shouldn't, because stretching it would break it? It was that."
She quirked her head. "I think I know what you mean."
They were quiet for a moment, until she told him about her unexpected visitor. "Did Alexis tell you she came to see me?"
"No." He was surprised. "Maybe she knew I would've pressed her for details. What did you say to her?"
"A few things that I should have said a long time ago," Beckett responded, cryptically. The mystery of course piqued his curiosity, but he didn't have time to press her. She continued, "How's she doing?"
He sighed. "How would I know? She barely speaks to me."
She left a hand resting on his arm. "She's sixteen. Believe me, it's a miracle you made it this long without receiving the silent treatment."
"It's a little more than your run-of-the-mill teenage angst," he pointed out. "You know, in her defence."
"I know that." She squeezed his arm. "She's right you know. This job is dangerous, and you didn't choose that. Don't deny it." She was amused by the way he jumped to defend himself, but cut him off before he could get a word in. "At first, you were just … playing."
"I know that what you do isn't a game Kate," he protested, weakly. "Especially now."
"I know you do." She rewarded him with a smile. "Which is why I didn't say I agreed with her. I … I trust you Castle. For a long time I didn't, I'll admit, but now? I wouldn't let you out there with us if I didn't think you could handle yourself. But it doesn't always go the way we'd like " she gestured to her torso " if you needed evidence, and you can't blame her for worrying after what she saw."
He sighed. "I know."
"But I think I understand your side of it as well. You know, my dad wasn't thrilled when I decided to become a cop."
"Well that I understand." He paled slightly, imagining his own daughter regularly putting herself between criminals with guns. "I'd much prefer it if Alexis became a bored trophy wife or a corporate lawyer with a desk job or, God forbid, an actress or almost anything else."
"Well," she said. "Do you want to know what I told him?"
"That somebody had to do it? That nothing he could say could make you change your mind?"
She smiled. "Probably all of those things, and a lot less eloquently, but no, I told him that I was an adult and I could make my own choices and that he didn't have to like them, but he was my family, and that meant he had to accept them and accept me for what I was."
He raised an eyebrow. "And that's what you want me to tell me teenage daughter?"
She shrugged. "She's not a kid anymore Castle. She's going to be frustrated if you want one rule for yourself and another one for her."
He sighed. "You're right, on so many levels. She's still talking about starting college in the fall."
"You have one of the brightest, most mature kids I've met," she tried to reassure him. "And by some miracle, she's turned out sensible even with you for a father. If you want her to trust you not to make mistakes when it comes to shadowing me, you're going to have to extend her the same courtesy. I'm not saying you stop being her parent. God knows, you think you know more than you really do at that age – but you need to start letting her figure out how to be an adult."
"Stop being so wise." He looked at her sideways. "I've done this for a lot longer than you and you're still better at it than I am."
"It's a lot easier at arm's length," she promised. "But I speak from some experience."
"And I've always valued your perspective and input." He reached out and touched her arm. "I'll be sure to thank you in my father of the year acceptance speech."
That brought up a whole new set of anxieties. She pushed them aside and forced herself to enjoy the moment of wordless appreciation. Beckett reached up and peeled his fingers from her arm, twisting hers around them as she did, and letting their hands fall against the sheets. She held on for a moment too long and forced some levity into her tone, even as her thoughts remained serious."Speaking of your family, I know you'll want to lurk around here all evening, but you do need to go home."
"I've been home for days," he protested, "Showered and slept and everything, as per your request, which is more than I can say for you."
"They won't let me get the wounds wet yet." She made a face.
"Does this mean that when they kick me out the nurses are giving you sponge baths?"
Beckett gave him the usual eye roll. "No, they make me do it myself. And no, I don't need your assistance. Which brings me back to my original point: you can't just sit around here all day."
"Why not? That's what I do remember? I follow you around, pull your pigtails, solve crimes single-handedly –" (it drew the snort he was aiming for) "– write novels based on my observations."
"Well this is about as interesting as watching paint dry."
"Disagree."
"I'm fine. Well, except for the omnipresent boredom slowly driving me crazy."
"Slowly?"
"Watch yourself writer."
"I'd rather watch you." He chanced it.
She didn't answer, except to curl her fingers around his wrist where it rested against his thigh. They'd never been overly physical and he was more accustomed to just-barely-not-touching than this. It sent an unexpected current through him that skittered across his skin when she let her thumb traverse his forearm. He stared down at her hand even after it stilled.
"Don't you need to keep writing?" she asked.
It was true. There was a deadline looming if the book was going to be released by the end of the summer, but somehow he'd made more headway than he'd expected. "I could do that here. You could read it, first pass."
She pursed her lips but her eyes widened a little. He noticed, saw that she was really considering the implications of the offer, but let her scold him. It was habit when everything else was unfamiliar.
"Richard Castle, are you bribingme?"
"Well. I know you're a fan."
"Gina'd have your head."
"You're trustworthy."
"Not to mention that it might hurt Alexis' feelings."
"She's making it no secret that she's not my biggest fan right now. Besides, she's far too busy trying to finish high school early to edit. And an extra set of eyes never hurt."
"You're serious." She realised it suddenly and her teeth sank into her lip for a pause. Her hand unfurled from around his arm and she pulled it across her body, hugging herself.
The as a heart attack that could have followed seemed tasteless, so he just nodded.
"You don't have to do that," she said, at length. "Invent some excuse to be here or at the precinct anymore, or at least, I didn't think you did."
(There was a reason and they both knew it, but it went unvoiced.)
"Besides, I thought you were helping Ryan and Epsosito with a case."
"Closed it days ago, and you know how I feel about paperwork. I think they're working something else at the moment, but they know I've been writing and it's open-shut so they're working solo."
She smirked. "So you're only in it for the interesting ones now?"
"Beckett." He paused on the verge of continuing, wondering how much it was advisable to say. "It's not as fun without you," he admitted, finally.
"You might have to get used to that, at least, for a little while."
"I know."
"Thank you," she said quietly, "For not pushing. I know it's not really in your nature."
He shrugged out his answer, unsure of what to say. Finally he settled on, "If it's what you needed, then I'm happy to have done it."
"Still. I'm sorry if it wasn't easy for you." She was getting good at telling the time of day by the light from the window and she suddenly realised they'd been talking for a lot longer than she'd thought. "You should get going."
He nodded. "Okay."
He didn't move though, except to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing against her cheek a little as he did. "It's good to see you."
She nodded. "You too."
He made it most of the way to the door before she stopped him with his name. "Castle." She waited until he was facing her to continue."I'll see you tomorrow."
Her quite smile drew an answering one from him and he carried it all the way back to Manhattan. It wasn't until he was traversing the long shadows of the towering buildings that he remembered the cryptic clue someone, somewhere had added to their puzzle. It sobered him. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd still be smiling if she knew.
Josh's pager loudly and persistently interrupted their conversation. He scrambled for where it lay on her abandoned dinner tray, but it clattered to the floor, sending a triple A battery rolling under the stand beside the bed. The pager fell silent immediately.
"Well that's one way to shut the damn thing up," she teased.
"Effective, but crude," he muttered. Cursing, he knelt on the floor and fished for it ineffectually. She looked on, silently amused. "Was it important?"
"I don't know," he scowled, clipping the battery back into place and pressing a button until the screen lit up. "You lose the page if the battery falls out. I'll have to call them." He sighed and fished his cell from the pocket of his jeans. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head, "No, no... at least one of us can still do the job that they love."
He smirked. "Is a bullet the only way to convince to you take a vacation?"
She rolled her eyes but didn't respond; he was already listening to the line ring. The call was on the shorter side - an intern needing advice about a deteriorating elderly patient - and ended with a curt, "Call me again if she doesn't improve. I'll stop by and check on her in half an hour."
Kate had started to pick up on 'hospital time'. Most medical jargon remained a mystery she had no intention of solving (Castle, on the other hand, was probably making notes), but she was beginning to understand the way people used words that outside the hospital walls meant something else entirely. For example, if Josh said he'd be there in half an hour, that meant it could be fifteen minutes and or it could be sixty. If he was going into surgery, 'tonight' meant 'the early hours of tomorrow morning'. When Einstein said time was relative, he'd probably been spending a lot of time around doctors. (She never held it against him, because she sympathised; she had a bad habit of losing track of the clock when she was working too.)
He ended the call and sat back down beside her, noting her expression. "What?"
"You can go now, if you have to."
"No, it's fine. It's his first term out of medical school. He's nervous. It's just upstairs, if I need to run."
The pager once again announced its presence. He stared at the screen. "God I hatethese things. That was one of the best things about working in Africa." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, "No interruptions. This one, I do have to take. But fingers crossed for all involved it's a quickie. I'll be back in ..."
"Forty five minutes?" Her eyebrow tracked upwards in wry amusement before she could stop it.
"Half an hour, tops."
She smirked and held up her fingers in a small wave. He was gone soon after, which gave her time to think, something she definitely did not need more of. She was processing what had happened in her own, Beckett way. That involved putting in a box with a tightly fastened lid and stacking it somewhere deep down, beside all her other past hurts. This one went right next to her mother's murder and immediately began collecting dust. She flexed her hands against the hospital blankets absently. Perhaps it wasn't the most strictly effectivemethod of dealing with violence and loss, but it kept her together, and that was what was important.
She was just about to pick up the magazine she'd discarded earlier, offended by the intellectual insult that comprised the content, because something was better than nothing, when a delicious aroma found her from outside the door. She perked up, slightly.
"Hello?" Lanie entered the room with her eyes pinched closed dramatically and peered at her from between her fingers. "Oh good, you're alone. I never know what I might witness if I barge in uninvited and unannounced."
She gave her friend a look, "Trust me, that is not on the cards any time soon. I still have trouble properly gesturing when I talk."
"But I see your oculomotor function has been perfectly retained," the ME observed in the face of the trademark Beckett eye-roll. "Save that one for Castle; I brought you dinner."
A paper bag was promptly deposited atop the sheets. She peered inside with barely contained eagerness. "Oh Lanie." She fished out the flimsy takeout chopsticks and snapped them apart. "You shouldn't have."
"Oh I know I shouldn't have. Tell the nurses on me and I'll kill you. But I've seen what they try to pass up as food in this place and it does not cut it. Pass me the kung pao chicken; that's mine."
She held the containers a little closer to her chest, "Only if I can have a piece first."
"Are you holding my dinner hostage?" Lanie's words did not match her actions. She lounged lazily in the chair Josh had vacated and stretched while her friend procured several pieces of kung pao chicken from a cardboard carton.
Beckett held it out as well as she could manage when she was done. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
"I can't just stop by unannounced on my way home from work to see how you're doing?" Lanie teased.
"Way home from work? You must have a case."
"Castle didn't tell you? I thought he'd be right over to talk it over with you, like always, and you'd have solved it by morning."
"He ah... he's been busy," she said, with an egg roll poised halfway to her mouth. "Family stuff."
"Hmm, yeah, and he's not the only one that smells a story. So what is it?"
"Alexis isn't too pleased that he wants to keep following me around now that my day job involves close calls with bullets," she tried to keep the tone light, but she knew it was a rational concern. If it wasn't for her own, selfish reasons, she'd agree with the teenager.
And Esposito had updated her earlier: the FBI hadn't made any headway in tracking down Lockwood's boss, and because Montgomery and Lockwood had shot each other, there was very little need to keep the case open. Lockwood had been smart; without revealing Montgomery's involvement in the shooting of Bob Armond, there wasn't a lot to suggest that it had been a targeted killing, merely an arrest gone wrong.
To her team, who knew better, it all reeked of spring cleaning. Her own life was one thing, but she wasn't ready to risk the lives of her people... or Castle. She scowled into her takeout at the complex tug-of-war of feelings he'd always instigated that had only grown worse since the shooting. Swallowing all that down with a mouthful of food, she chewed, contemplating her next words, anything to get Lanie off thatscent. "She's probably right, but the point is moot. I'm looking at desk duty for the next few months, at least."
"And Gates won't go easy on you like Montgomery might've," Lanie assured her. "Javier has been bitching like a thirteen year old girl about how much she's a stickler for protocol."
"Hey, with me out, someone's gotta be." She was grinning at her own unnecessary jibe. Ryan and Esposito were more than capable of running the unit by themselves, and it was probably about time they had a chance to prove it to the higher ups. "What else have you heard about the new boss?"
"Eye on the political prize," she shrugged. "But you gotta admire a driven woman. There'll be growing pains, for sure. That kind of thing never makes you popular with the lifers. There is one thing you should know," Lanie hesitated.
"What?"
"She's not too fond of Castle. At least, I was told first impressions were not good."
Beckett smiled faintly. "Well, he tends to grow on you."
Lanie raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Like a fungus," she confirmed, "Or a cancer."
That last one was a hell of a lot more accurate, she thought. Everything was going fine until something shifted and suddenly, it began growing out of control until it replaced all the normalcy you used to enjoy. "Tell me about the case."
"Oh no," Lanie shook her head, "You are meant to be resting, healing. I tell you about one murder and then all of a sudden you've got Ryan and Esposito in here building theory with you until all hours and bringing you files to look over and you're ignoring your doctors and pushing yourself too hard."
"Lanie, they're my colleagues, not my dealers."
"May as well be." She crossed her arms and took a swig of soda. "Besides, wehave more important things to talk about."
Beckett closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the pillow. "Please tell me this isn't going where I think it is."
"He said it right in front of me." Lanie jabbed her leg through the blankets with her chopsticks, in a move that was probably inadvisable for hygiene reasons and also very, very annoying. "You didn't think it would escape mention forever did you?"
"I was hoping," she muttered.
"Have you talked about it? With him, I mean."
She opened one eye and huffed, moving her hair off her face. It settled, feather light, against her cheeks. "Not in as many words."
"Katherine Beckett." Lanie really could scold like no other. Johanna Beckett would have been proud. "Do not sweep this under the rug."
She sighed. "It's complicated."
"It always is. But this isn't something you can ignore."
"I know, and I'm not, but ... there are bigger things Lanie. It'll keep."
"For how long?"
She pressed her lips together and folded her arms across her body, thumbs brushing her elbows. "Long enough, I hope."
"And your good doctor?"
Beckett tried to stop herself from sighing. Too much movement in the chest wall was still acutely painful. She'd grown to tolerate it, but it wasn't pleasant. "That's the problem isn't it? He is good, too good for me probably."
"Don't sell yourself short," Lanie raised an eyebrow. Self-doubts, at least the vocalised kind, were uncharacteristic of Katherine Beckett. "What's gotten into you?"
"High speed projectile," she joked.
Lanie covered her smile with her hand. "Too soon for jokes like that," she told Beckett, seriously. "I still haven't forgiven you for trying to die on me."
"You've got to laugh Lanie." She raised a palm to the ceiling. "What's the alternative?"
"Seriously though, this newfound insecurity about Josh, lack of deflection about Castle," Lanie chewed her lip. "Anyone else feel like we've stepped into a world where everything has turned on its head?"
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," she quipped in monotone.
"Did your whole life flash before your eyes? Did you code for long enough to do yourself a hypoxic brain injury? Is this one of those facing your mortality makes everything so much clearer things?"
"And you scolded my tasteless humour."
"Oh shush. I'm a little bit serious."
"My brain is just fine thanks, there was no montage, the movies are wrong and nothing is clearer. If anything, it's all the more confused. And we most certainly have all stepped into a world where everything is turned on its head. The real question is how do we go back to how it was?"
"Normal isn't something you find," Lanie waxed philosophical. "It's when change becomes routine. And you're going to have to deal with a lot of changes, physically."
Beckett didn't sound thrilled at the prospect. "I'm sick of it already."
"I looked at your chart on the way in." Lanie reached over and patted her hand, awkwardly. They'd never been particularly physical with each other. That was probably her fault, Beckett thought; Lanie was definitely a natural hugger. "They'll be letting you out at the end of the week - would've booted you already if... well, never mind."
"What aren't you telling me?" Her eyes narrowed, detective instincts screaming.
"Well your insurance is good but it's not that good," Lanie answered cryptically.
"That little," the sentence trailed off when she couldn't think of a suitable curse to christen him with. "Castle paid for it, didn't he?"
"Well, Josh pulled a few favours too."
Great. Just great. She raised her arm far too quickly to tangle in her air and made a face at the pain of it. "Don't defend them Lanie. I'm feeling too kept right now to see reason."
"They just want ... you nearly died."
"I know that," she frowned. "Believe me, I know."
"So, when you say nothing is clearer, tell me, how are things more confused?"
"I already knew Lanie." She pushed the food away, suddenly completely devoid of appetite. "He didn't have to say it for me to know."
"So it doesn't change anything?"
"Well, no, of course it does. Now we're in a fishbowl." She gave her friend a pointed look. "But that aside, there's no telling what it really means."
"Oh, I think he meant it in the big black and white movie way."
"That doesn't mean a thing. We could be anywhere from Casablanca to The Philadelphia Story."
"Your choices are telling."
"Coincidence."
"I'm sure Castle does an impressive Humphrey Bogart."
She sniffed. "You tell him that and I'm sure we'll both live to regret it."
"Probably. And what about you?"
"Well I don't intend to tell him."
"No. It's one thing to know it, it's a different thing to hear it."
"You want to know how I feel," Beckett realised. She sighed. "Lanie."
The look was probably enough to convey it all anyway.
"Well we all knew you were in love with him a year ago. I just didn't know if you knew it yet," Lanie said, ostensibly to lighten the mood, but if anything it made the conversation settle heavier in Beckett's chest.
"You want my advice?" Lanie asked.
"In this condition, I'm powerless to resist it."
"They're both good men Kate."
"I know that. I don't exactly feel good about it, but it's not like anyone planned it."
"Ten years from now, who do you think will still be around?"
"That's not really the question Lanie." She picked at the covers, absently. "Maybe it was, a few months ago, but now? I think it's more about who'll still be happy to be around."
"Oh?"
"I don't know if I can ask someone to sacrifice the work that they love for me," she admitted finally, "I wouldn't give it up for him, and I can tell he wants to ask, seeing me like this. But Africa, Haiti ... I think that's who he is."
"And can you accept that?"
"Part of me wants to." She looked up and met Lanie's eyes. "And I think I could. But not for the right reasons."
"You think you could have your cake and eat it too if Josh was taking off for another developing country every six months."
"I'm not proud of it."
"Something tells me Richard Castle doesn't like to share his toys."
"I've never felt more objectified."
"You take my point. Besides, deep down you're more of a traditionalist than you like to admit. You're no Emma Bovary."
She raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you read?"
"High school English."
"Oh. Anyway, I know you're right."
"It'll come to you."
"What?"
"The answer, the way forward, whatever. You'll know."
"I was hoping you had a cheat sheet."
"Oh no. On this one, I have no opinion."
"Really?"
"I provide an impartial ear and sealed lips."
"Speaking of, not a word to Esposito."
"Please, you mention feelings and his eyes glaze over."
"Despite the obvious lie because that man gossips like a pre-teen that has an air of truth about it."
Lanie waved her off. "Another time. I should get going. Finish your dinner."
"Doctor's orders?"
"The one and only time you'll receive medical advice in favour of greasy Chinese food." Lanie stood, grinning. She hovered beside the bed and then on impulse bent and grasped Beckett in a gentle, one-armed hug. "I know we're not normally the sappy friends," she said, quietly. "But I am glad you're alive."
"Me too Lanie," she whispered. "Thank you."
"I'd say anytime, but God, I hope I never have to do it again." She straightened up and brushed Beckett's hair from her forehead with a critical eye. "This is why I work with dead people."
"I thought it was the charm of their conversation."
"That too." Lanie winked and ducked into the hall, waving behind her.
Beckett wrung her hands and slumped against the pillows. Lanie was right of course; just because a choice was difficult didn't mean that not making it was the solution, or even an option. It was simply one more thing that was going to have to change, one way or the other, and she'd had enough of her life being upset.
There had been a quiet comfort to the slow lull of progress she'd enjoyed until a week ago. Leaps in evolution were always unnatural. She didn't like it. She picked up the stupid gossip magazine and flicked through it, determined to at least think about nothing for a moment more. Equal parts of her were decided and undecided already.
She must've fallen asleep (and really, the highs and lows of Hollywood romance could do that to anyone), because when Josh appeared at her side several hours after she had last seen him, she was dozing. She startled awake though, and scoffed at his apologies. "It's not like I haven't slept all day," she told him.
"Still, it's good for you to rest whenever you get a chance in this place." He looked harrowed and wiped a hand across his face. "Sorry it took so long."
She reached out for his hand, profiling him slowly in her mind. Something had happened. "I'm not going anywhere; I've got the time. What's wrong?"
He let his thumb brush along the side of her hand. "Nothing. Just... itchy feet. It happens sometimes after a tough admission."
"If it was a rough admission why aren't you in surgery?" She watched his face closely and came to the obvious realisation. "Oh."
"Dead on arrival." He squeezed her fingers. "It happens sometimes. I mean, you know that going in. Eventually everybody dies, in the end you can't win."
The echo of Montgomery's words caught her by surprise. She mumbled an affirmative and looked away to hide the tears that stung like pinpricks in her eyes. It was only a moment. She blinked twice and they were gone. Luckily, he seemed to need her to listen more than he needed conversation.
"It's what I hate about working in the city though," he continued, "You just see so many people kill themselves with wealth. It can be ... suffocating. That's why I liked doing the charity work. It puts things in perspective."
That made something sink inside of her, but even as it did she realised one thing with astonishing clarity something she found she'd known all the while she couldn't ask him to change, to make a sacrifice that would chip away at who he was and turn him into a different person, not when it was so much a part of the one she had come to love. And she had been completely honest with Castle when they were waiting for the all clear from the bomb squad in the storage facility, she did want someone who would be there, with her, a partner. Maybe that was turning thirty and no longer being blind to the follies of her youth, maybe it was just coming out of what felt like a long winter, and realising she could still feel like part of a family.
But it wasn't the time for it. He was, physically, a tall man, and there was a largeness about his personality as well that often seemed catching. It was hard, to see him look so small.
He was usually a little bit reckless, and had a lot of passion for almost anything new and exciting. At first she'd thought that would translate to a brief affair he seemed to flirt with most things in his life transiently but she'd been surprised by his loyalty. In the summer, without Castle, it had been easy to turn to that old distraction of the case. Josh had saved her from the depths of that rabbit hole. And he'd reminded her of who she had been before her mother's death at a time she'd really needed it. So whatever else, she owed him a dignified end. She wanted that for something that had been better to her than she had been to it.
The silence had stretched. She pulled his large hands to her lips with her small ones.
"Josh." She said it simply, and her chest achedwith it, "I have loved you. Never forget that."
The wording was awkward, but he wasn't paying attention to the specifics and let his forehead fall forward, onto the covers.
She let her fingers forge trails through his hair.