Forty-Seven: Chapter 2
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Still March 27, 2012 - at the 12th Precinct in the viewing room adjacent to an Interrogation Room
"All this time. You remembered."
Richard Castle places his hands on the window, fighting the dizziness that threatens to floor him. No, he can't drop - not here, not now. Right now, the only thing that has won the internal battle currently waging in his mind is the notion of flight. As in, get the hell out of here, right now.
She lied to him. She has been lying to him. All of this time, all of these months. She willingly, deliberately lied – and continued to lie – to him. She looked in him the face, over meals, over coffee, across the desk, riding to crime scenes.
He gazes at her, watching her look at him from her side of the mirrored window in the adjacent interrogation room. He knows that she knows he is there. Even though she can't see him, she is looking at him. He feels her eyes boring into his. He recognizes that she has just realized – at this very instant – that her lie is a secret no more.
"What an utter fool I have been," he tells himself, the hurt now slowly fading, replaced by a pure, unchecked fury.
It is a surreal moment, one of life's parallel moments that you can almost watch as an outside observer, even though the moment is about you, all around you. And he knows in this parallel moment, yeah, she sees him. He feels her continuing to stare at him before she glances away, back at her perp. It strikes him that, even through a window she can't see through, she knows him so well that she still knows exactly where he is standing in this viewing room. Her mind knows exactly where he is.
She's been lying to him all this time.
For some reason, he is thinking about Martha's earlier words to him.
"You realize your children are going to make choices you don't like. Just a fact of life."
Only it doesn't always apply to just children. Adults can play also. He recalls his mother's next words, which have just become all the more relevant given what he has just witnessed. He was trying to tell Martha how complicated the relationship with Detective Kate Beckett is. She was having none of it, however, and her words play back in his mind like a hi-definition movie on his blue-ray DVD.
"It's complicated, so you say. Only it's not. It's not. Nobody's tomorrows are guaranteed."
"What if she isn't ready?" he had asked his mother, still not ready to simplify things. Still clinging to the comfortable 'complicated' he and his detective have created together.
"Then she never will be," was Martha's simple but eloquent response. "And you move on."
Yeah, you move on, he thinks. And his feet are doing just that. Moving, before his brain finishes registering the conversation occurring in his mind. One foot in front of the other, step by step he heads toward the elevator.
"Hey Castle," Detective Esposito remarks, wondering why Castle is giving up a chance to watch his muse in action. Castle brushes by Esposito, half knocking his shoulder as he passes, which immediately tells the detective that his friend doesn't even see him.
"What the . . . "
Esposito's eyes follow his friend, who pauses at the elevator for less than a single 'one Mississippi' before opting for the stairs. The door closes, and he's gone.
Castle is completely on auto-pilot now, his steps sprinting much faster down the stairs than safety would dictate, but he is zoned in. The 'flight' mechanism is fully engaged now, as he holds on to the railing to balance himself as he flies down the stairs. Less than half a minute later, he raises his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden onslaught of the sunlight beating down on him as he exits the precinct. Fortunately, a cab approaches at this very moment, and his arm immediately rises, waving the taxi to the curb.
"Just drive," he tells the cabbie as he slides in, shutting the door and allowing his head to fall back into the cushion of the seat, closing his eyes.
Rudy Garza has been driving cabs in New York City for almost twelve years now. Normally, picking up strangers who tell him to 'just drive' is an easy red flag. You don't move the car – you tell that passenger to get out. Far too dangerous. However, when said stranger is walking out of a police precinct? Well, that's come to be a fairly common 'destination' for those leaving a police station. Translated – 'get me the hell outta here'.
"No problem, buddy," Rudy tells his newest fare, and pulls away from the curb.
Castle takes a couple of deep breaths, willing his racing heartbeat to slow down. He wonders briefly if he is having a heart attack, as the pressure on his chest continues to build, as her words, her lips, her eyes replay the scene in his mind.
"Do you want to know trauma? I was shot in the chest, and I remember every second of it . . . and so do you."
He blinks the thought away, the fury continuing to bubble inside him, his hands forming shaking fists. Another scene replaces the interrogation room in his mind. He is back with Alexis – geesh, was it only yesterday? Or even today? Everything is rushing together now. Over a plate of 'emergency cheer-up pancakes', he had told his daughter that he just wanted her to keep the rose color on her glasses for as long as possible. As it turns out, the greater truth is that all of this time, he is the one who has been walking around with rose-colored glasses of his own.
He's not a cop, he's a writer. A damn good one.
He's not a love interest for Kate Beckett. He's a work partner. That's it.
Eliminate the rose coloring, and see life as it really is. It's not always pretty. It's not always easy. But it's honest, and true.
He remembers Alexis' response to the carnage from the plaza, to the new temporary visitors of the morgue, and his concerns about what she is seeing. She told him that she's gotten straight A's, and awards, and more trophies than she can count. But despite the awards and the successes, it is this job that is the first thing she's done that has made her feel valuable, and important.
"Isn't that why you do it?" she had asked him.
Damn good question, and honestly, he had felt a bit guilty – okay, more than a bit guilty – as he considered her question. Why did he continue to do this? Was it really because he felt for the victims? Was it really because he felt he was doing something that mattered? Or was it just because of her?
Was the only reason he did this, showing up at the precinct day after day, simply for her? To see her? Was he really that shallow?
"Well, no more," he thinks to himself, his anger now bubbling over as he slams his fist against the empty seat beside him. Fortunately, Rudy has seen this reaction also from passengers leaving a police station, and he ignores his rider. Instead, he does exactly what Castle has asked him to do.
He drives.