Forty-Seven: Chapter 17
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 12:49 a.m. – Outside Cole Maddox's apartment in Lower Manhattan
Detective Javier Esposito steps out of the cab, pulling his coat tighter around his body. The brisk New York spring air – remnants from the winter – still carries it bite. Finding Cedric's apartment was easy enough with the address.
Everything Javier Esposito has told his friends is true. They do need to wait, because Marks is expecting them tonight. Strategically, this is the truth. But that's the key. Marks is expecting them. Not him. Not by himself. Alone. Unarmed.
He also knows, however, that something is off. You know how it is when something is just missing. Something is not right. He can't put his finger on it, but something about this screams to him that there is something important that he is missing. There is something critical that he doesn't see. He suspects it is about the now-deceased Mr. Smith. But he cannot place it right now. Not yet.
"I'll figure this out, though," he tells himself as he offers a glance upward, at the fourth floor where he knows his friend is currently living.
He knows that Cedric Mark could have – should have – killed him this evening. That he didn't allows Javier to take this small risk. He's going to visit his old friend. Right now. He mutters something unintelligible to the stars above, and then walks quickly to the building, and goes into the foyer on the first floor. Here he is greeted by Benny, the security guard on duty sitting at the desk.
"Cedric is living well," he thinks to himself, shaking the thoughts of exactly how Mr. Cedric Marks makes his living out of his mind.
Benny looks up in greeting with a raised eyebrow. It is – after all – almost one o'clock in the morning, not the time you want to see a strange man – a mean and tough looking man – walk into your residential establishment.
The 12th Precinct detective remembers – at the last minute before speaking – that the car license plate is registered to a 'Cole Maddox', not a Cedric Marks. That's the name he has to use.
"I'm here to see Cole Maddox," Javier begins, his tone friendly but not completely inviting. The stance works.
"Tell him Javi is here. Tell him I'm naked," he adds.
"What?"
"Just tell him," Esposito smiles, still friendly. He knows that Cedric will understand that Javier is telling him that he is unarmed.
Benny, fortunately, is a bit slow this morning. The hidden meaning of Esposito's statement is lost on the man, who simply wants seven a.m. to hurry up and get here. Benny picks up the phone and rings Cole Maddox's apartment.
"Mr. Maddox doesn't usually take many visitors," Benny begins, trying to remember if – in fact – he has ever seen anyone visit the intimidating man. After three rings, Marks answers.
"Mr. Maddox, this is Benny downstairs. There is a Javi here to see you."
Having expected 'that bitch Beckett' and her entire motley crew – Esposito excluded – Cedric Marks is surprised that it is his friend only – on his own – making this journey.
"Really? Alone?" Marks questions.
"Yes," Benny replies, confused. "Oh, and get this," Bennie adds, laughing. "He says he is naked. Only he's not. Must be some joke between you two."
"Yeah, it is some joke," Cedric muses aloud. "Send him up."
"Okay, Mr. Maddox," the security guard responds quickly. He has learned that it pays to be on Cole Maddox's good side. He is just about to hang up when Cedric stops him.
"Oh, and Benny," Marks begins.
"Yeah Mr. Maddox?"
"Tell him to put some clothes on."
'Sure thing, Mr. Maddox," Benny tells him, laughing as though this is some inside joke between the he and the tough guy upstairs, all the while knowing that he has no idea what either of these men are talking about. He turns to Javier Esposito and gives him the message.
"Go on up," he tells him, pointing the bank of elevators, then adds with a smile, "and Mr. Maddox says to put some clothes on."
Javier nods his head, realizing what his friend has just told him. Arm yourself. Don't assume this is a friendly visit. Well, that's not an option, as both of his weapons are with Captain Gates. It's the reason he turned the weapons – and his badge – in to his captain. What he plans on doing is so against police regulations.
He walks toward the elevators, offering a disgusted glance back at the smug security guard. Seconds later, he steps onto the second elevator car and punches floor four. As the door closes so do his eyes as he takes a few deep, calming breaths.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 1:03 a.m. – Back at the Hotel Sanctuary in Manhattan
Richard Castle stands in the doorway to the second bedroom in his suite on the top floor. Inside the bedroom, Alexis is drifting off, while in the double bed beside her, Martha is fast asleep. It's clearly been one of those You've Got to be Kidding Me nights. Satisfied that his baby girl is safe, Castle walks slowly to his bedroom – the master, with a king bed, decent size closet, 46 inch television – flat screen of course – and an elaborate bathroom, with marble floors, granite top around the sink, and a walk in glass shower.
He walks immediately to the bathroom, grabbing the toothbrush he has already unpacked, and begins brushing his teeth. It's an elaborate exercise to busy himself, as he has already brushed his teeth twice in the past two hours. He smiles at the reflection in the mirror, recognizing the game he is playing. He rinses his mouth out and slowly walks back out into the living area, and plops down on the sofa.
The room is dark and quiet – just the way he wants it. He doesn't even get his head back on the cushion before he hears the light rapping on the front door to the suite.
"How did he find us?" Castle whistles suddenly, his heart racing wildly.
That's his first thought. That Esposito was right. Maddox is expecting them. But not only expecting them, but he's bringing the fight to them – doing exactly what Esposito said – attacking when the enemy least expects it. He can't help but tremble as the fears begin to overtake him. Luckily, logic intervenes.
No, Maddox isn't going to show up here and knock politely on the door. He's a sniper. He'd be across the street, scoping out their lair in true sniper form. He'd be next door, overcoming the client – in this case, Kevin and Jenny Ryan, and laying an ambush for Castle.
No, that doesn't work either. This isn't about Castle. First and foremost, Maddox is after Kate Beckett. She'd be his first target.
He walks stealthily to the front door – as if that's actually going to help – and peeps through the viewing hole. The beautiful image of Kate Beckett neither thrills nor repels him. That's when he realizes that this really is one crappy day.
Opening the door, he puts his best – and genuine – smile on his face in greeting.
"Hello Beckett," he offers, opening the door wide.
"Hi Castle," she returns, walking in quickly. He shuts the door behind her, and in his most comical form, remembering the thought just seconds ago about snipers and Beckett, he runs to the large floor-to-ceiling window and pulls the curtains closed.
"Castle?" Kate inquires.
"Don't ask," Castle replies, quickly adding, "And don't even think about turning any lights on."
"What – are you trying to seduce me?" she asks with a smirk – not a smile – but that devilish smirk that both infuriates and infatuates him.
"Tonight? Absolutely not," he offers her truthfully. "I was just surprised by . . . wait a minute . . . are you asking me to seduce you?"
"What? No! No," she offers just a little too quickly, bringing a victorious smile to his face.
"So why are you here, Kate?" he asks, offering her first name as an olive branch.
"I . . . I came here to . . . I just wanted to . . . oh hell, Castle!"
She finds the sofa in the dark, and plops down backwards, mimicking to the last detail the movement he had made not sixty seconds earlier."
"Tough day," he gives her with a small smile.
"I've had tougher," she replies, smiling herself.
"I know you have," he agrees. He sits beside her, facing her. She faces him, and their knees touch. Both are far too tired to make a game of this.
"Still," he continues, "today has definitely been one of those –"
"I'm so sorry, Castle," she suddenly whispers – literally – as her head moves forward, touching his forehead. For a few seconds, neither of them move. Both are surprised.
She has surprised herself with such a familiar and intimate move, initiated completely on her own. He is stunned into silence by such a move that he has all but accepted would ever come.
"I'm so sorry, Rick," she says again, still barely above a whisper.
"Kate?" he begins to ask, but she cuts him off.
"I shouldn't have lied," she begins. There are no tears. There is no fire in her voice. There is no begging or pleading. Somewhere today, in the past twelve or so hours, Kate Beckett stepped out into that fork in the road. And she has made her decision as to which path the rest of her journey will take. Now she simply needs to convince him to take the journey with her.
"I have no excuse," she continues. "Oh, believe me, I've got plenty of excuses, but I have no real excuse for what I've done. I lied to you. And kept the lie alive. Castle, I've done so many things to keep that lie alive. And it grew, Castle – it grew so big, that I lost control of it."
"Lies tend to do that, Kate," he says softly. She withdraws her forehead from his, and looks deeply into his eyes. Again – no tears, no pride, no arrogance, no sadness – just a resignation, instead.
"I wasn't exactly honest with you either, Kate," he tells her, easily offering her a peace branch that she knows she doesn't deserve. Yes, he withheld information from her – but not for his own benefit. He did it to save her.
Her withholding, on the other hand, had purely selfish motives.
"Wait till you're ready."
"This is your life."
"If he is really the right one, he will wait."
"Who the hell makes cemetery confessions, anyway?"
Yeah, she's had excuses galore, and – like any excuse - this excuse was spoken and acted out and believed for too long, until it became reality. Her reality.
"You didn't lie to me Rick," she offers finally. "We both withheld information for the same purpose. To protect me. You tried to protect me. And I tried to protect me. That's selfish on so many levels."
"Kate –"
"Stop, Rick," she counters. "Don't let me off the hook. Not after I have pushed you away, held you at bay, all because I wanted things to be perfect. All because I wanted things in my life to line up just perfectly before I –"
"There's no such thing, Kate," he interrupts.
"I know that, now, Rick," she agrees. "There is always some challenge, some obstacle. Sometimes they are miniscule. Other times they are monstrously huge."
"And in your line of work, Kate," he agrees as well, "they are usually the size of Mount Everest."
"See – how can I ask you to join this?" she asks. "How can I ask you to step into this huge –"
"You don't ask," he interrupts. "You simply find someone who doesn't need the invitation. You find someone who sees the challenge and embraces it. Revels in it. Volunteers for it. Not for the thrill. Not for the ride. No – just because of you. For you. You are worth it."
She doesn't know what to say. As usual, he has – with his vast expanse of words – captured what she feels and hopes, but has no words to articulate.
He lowers his head to hers yet again – touching foreheads. He can feel her breath on his face. It's a simple thing, but it's everything.
"We can do this Kate."
She raises her eyes to him again, and sees something entirely different. Not just love – but love wound around a small fire, a commitment. He knows what kind of storm he is signing up for. And he embraces it. She lowers her eyes, opening her mouth to ask the question. She doesn't get the chance.
"We can do this Kate," he repeats. "But it has to be we, not me – I can't do it on my own. Not anymore. In some fairy tale story I'd say 'Sure – I can wait forever'- But this is no fairy tale . . . Okay, so you're a princess, I will give you that," he smiles, "and of course, I'm the ruggedly handsome, dashing prince, so perhaps –"
The punch in the arm she gives him is light-hearted and heavy with intentions. He smiles, as he cups her hands into his.
"I can't do this -" he says, pointing back and forth between the two of them, "– whatever this is, without you in it as well anymore," he tells her softly. "But I can do it with you. And together, I'm guessing that we could do this really, really well."
He moves back, leaning into the cushions of the sofa, his back swallowed by their plushness. He crosses his leg, and watches her pull her legs up underneath her and lean towards him. His arm raises naturally to allow her entrance, cradling her head against his shoulder. For a few minutes they don't speak. He simply listens to the sound of her breathing in the quiet room.
Minutes later – they are fast asleep.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 12:49 a.m. – Outside Cole Maddox's apartment in Lower Manhattan
Detective Javier Esposito steps off the elevator, and quickly gets his bearings. Walking toward apartment 4A, he is ready to knock on the door when he notices that it is already open, just slightly cracked. He nods absently, and opens the door slowly.
"Just me, C-Mark," he calls out, holding his hands up as a sign of surrender. He sees his friend approaching from the shadows. It is dark, as Maddox has all of the lights out in the apartment. The only inside light is from the microwave, and the external lighting from the windows offers nothing more than a dim glow. He turns to allow Marks to pat him down.
"Not necessary, Javi," Marks/Maddox tells him. "If you say you're not packing, I know you're not. You have never lied to me."
"And you have never lied to me," Javi tells him with a sad face as he turns back around to face his friend. "So tell me, what in the hell are you doing?" What has happened to you? And what is it about the Smith's that I don't know . . . that my partners don't know?"
"That's a lot of questions, Javi," Marks smiles. It's not a friendly smile, nor a menacing smile. Both men seem to dread the coming conversation. Marks is about to begin to answer when Javier asks one more question.
"Did you shoot Beckett last summer?" Esposito asks. He has to know. It makes a difference. It shouldn't. Not after what he has just seen hours ago. But it does.
"Yes," is the single-word reply. Marks eyes the detective coldly. It was a job. Nothing more. Esposito can't understand. But these two men were once very close. They don't lie to one another, even when the truth is awful. They find themselves on polar opposite sides of the playing field now, after being side by side for so long. Regardless, the foundation of their friendship remains intact.
"Why?" Esposito wonders, and now there is almost a pleading tone in his voice.
"Orders, Javi."
"You follow those kind orders?" Javier asks. "That's just too simple. Someone gives you an order to kill an innocent human being and you just –"
You and I took an oath to follow those kind of orders, Javier," Marks says evenly, eyes darkening.
"Those were orders from our government," Javi thunders.
"Javi . . . my orders are still from our government."
Detective Javier Esposito feels the blood rushing from his face. He is light-headed, and manages to slump backwards into the nearby sofa.
"Yeah . . . I told you to stay out of this, Javi."