Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.
A/N: Italic sections in this chapter denote excerpts from the surveillance tape. More notes below.
"Thank you for waiting, Mr. Castle," Gates says as she steps into her office and moves to close the door. Before she can complete the motion, Tory approaches with hand extended. The ladies talk briefly and quietly, so that Castle can only hear low mumbles of their whispered conversation. Within moments, Tory is on her way and Gates is closing the door before stepping around to sit behind her desk.
"Ms. Ellis just delivered the surveillance film from the elevator," Gates says to open the conversation. "Before we view it, however, I'd like to hear your description of what happened. I'll have those comments transcribed and written up as a statement that you can review tomorrow or whenever you're next in the precinct."
Castle looks at her in surprise – it sounds like her hedging about when he'll be back might be motivated by compassion rather than her usual disdain for his presence.
With trepidation spurred by her uncharacteristic demeanor, Castle describes what happened, from the conversation with Dixon (which failed to specify what they discussed), to catching Hastings, to being drawn into the elevator, and to the confrontation that followed.
It's a surprisingly factual recitation that impresses Gates, even if "I just fought them in the elevator on the way down" seems a bit of a vague and insufficient explanation. She attributes his candor and restraint to the existence of the video, which she'd mentioned in advance to minimize any of the author's more fanciful theories or turns of phrase.
He's just finished his description when he slaps himself in the forehead, grimaces for further abusing his own head, gives it a gentle shake, and asks a question of Gates. "Randall – the getaway guy – did you get him? Is everyone alright?"
Gates suppresses a smile at this inquiry, though she's pleased. She's been surprised by the consideration Mr. Castle has shown to others involved in this fiasco. Hasting's statement lauded him for assisting her and his concern regarding the officers who approached the van seems genuine.
"The fourth suspect seems to have been relegated to driving due to his cautious and non-confrontational demeanor," she explains diplomatically. "He did not offer any resistance. The bomb squad is inspecting his vehicle now."
"Good," Castle sighs, relaxing with this news and the conclusion of his statement.
Gates takes an opportunity to scribble a few more notes about Castle's statement, drawing two harsh horizontal lines on her legal pad to partition those notes from what's to follow. "Now, Mr. Castle," she says as she loads the video and spins her laptop so that it faces him, "let's watch the video," she finishes as she stands and walks around to take the guest chair next to him so they can watch what follows together.
The Captain has a difficult time retaining her impassive expression while they watch the tape. Castle's uncharacteristically quiet, though he raises a hand and rubs his head in sympathy after the melee begins. He's paled anew by the time it's done and is wondering if the aftereffects of the fracas will overwhelm him again.
When the video reaches the point of officers swarming the elevator, Gates pauses the replay. Standing, she walks to her wastebasket and relocates it next to Castle, who blushes in reply even though nothing is said. After that, Gates returns to the seat behind her desk and turns her computer to rewatch the scene. Again, Castle can't tell if her actions signal disappointment, disdain, or compassion.
"Hear that tapping?" Ryan asks while all three detectives lean toward his computer. "Sounds like Gates is typing. I'd bet she watched the video again, maybe a couple times."
"Castle's quiet," Esposito notices. "Didn't think that was possible."
"He's struggling," Beckett answers, tone low as she recognizes the distress in her partner's voice, even if no one else does. "And he knows the inquisition's coming. He skated through his explanation of the fight but Gates won't move on until she knows what happened."
"I must confess, Mr. Castle," Gates says after watching the video three more times, "I wouldn't have believed what happened had I not seen this video with my own eyes. Before we proceed, I need to ask: did watching the video refresh your recollection on any details of what occurred?"
"No," Castle answers, still looking a little pale. "I don't think I'll forget what happened today anytime soon."
"They say that about trauma," Gates offers in an attempt to be kind. "The incredible stress of the event indelibly etches the events into memory. It'll fade," she offers optimistically, "but I doubt you'll ever forget it."
Sitting in Esposito's apartment and listening to the recording, Beckett fidgets in response to Gates' comments. If either Ryan or Esposito notice, they're smart enough to let it go without discussion. But she's not sure about Castle. She doesn't need him thinking about other examples of Gates' statement.
Making a show of flipping the legal pad closed and moving it into a desk drawer, Gates closes her laptop and leans forward to focus on Castle. "I have what I need for your statement," she concludes. "Now, I need to understand exactly what happened and what it means for the future of Detective Beckett's team."
Castle gulps, but offers no other reaction. Gates is surprised; she was sure the author would need little prompting to talk. Instead, she turns to questions. "Let's start with this. How is it that you, a writer, managed so well when you 'just fought them?'" she asks, using his vague explanation in her question and accenting them with air quotes.
Castle's quiet for a few long moments, still taking measured breaths to deal with his nausea. Finally, after a deep breath, he answers Gates' question with one of his own.
"What would've happened," he asks, leaning forward himself to compensate for his low tone, "if I was a cop back when Beckett was shot, if I was actually her partner?" When Gates furrows her brows, he takes it as a signal to continue. "Mandatory counseling, right? Because the Department knows that something like that affects both partners."
"True," Gates replies, nodding slowly. "When both partners are NYPD members," she allows, perhaps sounding somewhat sympathetic, "both receive counseling."
"No one said anything to me," Castle continues. "She disappeared, you kicked me out, and all I could think about is how I could let this happen."
"You were not the shooter, Mr. Castle," Gates feels obliged to remind him.
"No, but I restarted her on the path that put her in a sniper's sights," he argues, quietly. "And I was the only one – in a group full of law enforcement personnel! – who saw the glint from that scope. But I was too slow," he laments in a broken voice, clearly reliving the day again in his mind. "Too slow to realize what it meant, too slow to react, and too slow to protect my partner."
Castle sounds broken, the words tumbling from him harkening back to the harrowing depression that set in after the shooting.
"I promised myself," he vows again loudly, forestalling what looked like an interjection from Gates, "that I'd be able to protect her if she survived. And since the Department wasn't providing help, I went somewhere else."
"What does that mean?" Gates asks, thrown by his last comment. She'd intended to address his guilt, but his reference to outside help has her intrigued and concerned.
"Rather than psychological therapy," he answers, "I turned to physical therapy instead. I've been working on self-defense and some other stuff," he explains, offering no clarification when Gates' raised brows call him on his hedging. "I've been working on losing weight, too – kind of hard to enjoy a cheeseburger when fewer pounds would've made all the difference in reaching Beckett in time."
Gates remains quiet for a few long moments, wondering which of many topics she should pursue. She decides, ultimately, on the most important. "You've identified a significant oversight in our policies and procedures, Mr. Castle, one that requires immediate correction," she offers to his surprise. "Your lack of standing as a member of the precinct is no excuse for us not sharing our hard-earned lessons about loss and grieving with you. After what happened to Detective Beckett, you should have been pointed to a therapist at the very least. Perhaps then," she continues in a pointed tone, "you would've recognized that you are not to blame for what happened to your partner, that torturing yourself cannot assuage any misplaced guilt and might actually harm your partnership."
"I would *never* harm my partnership with Beckett," Castle objects immediately, seizing on this one bit to the avoidance of all others and missing Gates' good advice in the process.
Gates again pauses, uncertain about how she'd prefer to proceed.
"I've come to understand and appreciate your devotion to your partner," she starts carefully. "I'm growing concerned about your motivations. It sounds like your actions are determined by emotions, which is a good way to get compromised in the field. It's the reason the Department discourages – heavily – relationships between partners."
"I am compromised," Castle admits brazenly. "But you don't need to worry. Beckett knows how I feel and is letting me down gently. She's known since the funeral. As soon as she's back to full strength she'll send me on my way. Or I'll leave so she doesn't have to."
Beckett's up and moving before she realizes it, before she consciously decides she needs space to process what she's heard. What the boys heard, too! And Gates! And Castle! Feeling the leading edge of a panic attack, Beckett darts into the restroom and locks the door behind her. Sliding to the floor with her back pressed against the door, she fights the dark waves that threaten to crest over her. Focusing on her breathing, she pulls out her phone and flips it over so it rests face-down in her palm. With her other hand, she traces the circumference of the phone, finger pausing at each corner. It's a technique Dr. Burke suggested, one she preferred to tracing her hand or running her finger over the ridges and valleys of her knuckles. The mindless, repetitive motion helps her clear her mind and allows her to slowly fight the rising tide of panic. Minute by slow, horrible minute, she fights to calm herself.
After nearly ten minutes, she's able to stand and step to the sink. Splashing some cold water on her face helps her refocus, at least until she realizes Espo has no towels in his bathroom. And, based on the general lack of cleanliness, she'd worry about pressing her face to any she found. With the three remaining squares of toilet paper dangling forlornly from the roll as her only alternative, she's forced to lift her shirt to dry her face. Men.
But her dismay with Espo's housekeeping actually brings her all the way back. Looking at herself in the mirror, she realizes that Castle knows. Somehow he knows she heard him, that she remembers what he said at Montgomery's funeral. And despite assuming the worst reason for her silence, he's still by her side, working to keep her safe while he thinks she's gathering strength to cast him off. It's so beautifully tragic she's not sure if she wants to kiss him, slap him, or dissolve into tears.
But not here. She's given the boys more than enough insight into her partnership without going on to seem frail in their presence. Flushing the toilet in case they're listening, she runs the faucet again to simulate washing her hands, then returns to the couch. From their painfully careful silence, she suspects they've not said a word in her absence, nor moved. She's a primed grenade, apparently, a characterization she'll accept if it keeps them quiet.
"Play the tape."
"Your comment hardly makes me feel better, Mr. Castle," Gates declares in an ominous tone. "It sounds like you're suggesting Detective Beckett isn't ready to be back on active duty."
"Of course I'm not," he replies immediately, starting to sound more like his normal self. Apparently, arguing with Gates brings out the best in him. "At half-speed Beckett's better than anyone else in the NYPD and she's already about 70 percent now," he promises in a tone of admiration. "She'll blow you out of your chair, or find herself sitting in it, when she's back to full strength."
Gates greets Castle's comment about Beckett replacing her with a sour look, which makes him look even cockier in response. Deciding this topic takes them away from the core issues, she shifts to his earlier comment to push him a little. "This isn't just about Detective Beckett. Her team seems to have accepted you."
"They tolerate me," he clarifies, his earlier bravado evaporating as the fatigue of the day and her interrogation has him confiding in the captain.
"If so, that means they defer to her," Gates nods. "Are you sure she'll want you to leave? Perhaps you've misinterpreted the dynamics of your partnership. Or perhaps they can change."
If this comment, coming from someone who'd fought his presence in the precinct, seems odd, Castle doesn't visibly react. "Even if I've misunderstood things she'll still ask me to leave. I'm working on something I'll turn over when she's ready. Once she sees it, any reluctance on her part will evaporate immediately."
"Something case-related?" Gates seizes on the topic. "That should be done officially and by professionals following proper channels. I would've thought you'd understand that by now."
"Sorry," Castle replies without sounding at all contrite, "but I don't trust anyone but Beckett with this. Anything I find goes to her and her alone. There's too much chance of something going wrong or being compromised otherwise. Coming from IA, I would've thought you'd understand that by now," he finishes, smiling pointedly at reusing her words.
"It's better to volunteer what you know than be compelled to produce it," Gates replies ominously. Curiously, her threat only makes Castle laugh.
"You can try," he offers magnanimously. "But you won't succeed. I've got legal and political resources like you wouldn't believe. Well, *you* might," he allows with a grin, "since they're the ones who cleared the way for me to return to the precinct."
"And yet now you're talking about leaving," Gates follows, deciding to drop the confrontational aspect of their discussion, at least for now. "If you're correct and Detective Beckett demands your departure again, what will you do?"
"Again?" Castle asks in an odd tone of voice.
"Oh, shit," Beckett groans, dropping her head into her hands. Not this. Not now.
"Again?" Ryan prompts, looking at Beckett.
"Again," Beckett confirms, feeling sick. "It was back with Montgomery, just before we found out about what he did, just before…," she trails off, getting sad nods from Ryan and Esposito in reply.
"I… that is…," Gates stumbles uncharacteristically. Pausing to take a breath and reset, she gathers herself and starts over. "When I began my tenure at the Twelfth," she explains with more composure, "one of my first tasks was to go through the notes and files left by Roy Montgomery. Included among them," she says, sounding like a doctor revealing a terminal condition to a patient, "was his record of Detective Beckett's request to bar you from the precinct. It was a contributing factor to my later actions."
"I'm not surprised," Castle replies, though he looks disappointed. "We were in a bad place right before Roy died. Someone asked me to pull her back. I knew she wouldn't react well."
"Who?" Gates asks, surprised by these revelations.
"Doesn't matter," Castle demurs, gesturing with his hand to wave the topic aside. "It was the right thing to do and I would've done it anyway."
Beckett's slow head turn pins her team members with an inquisitive look.
"Wasn't me," Espo volunteers readily, turning to look at his partner to escape Beckett's attention.
"It wasn't me, either," Ryan replies slowly. "But maybe it should've been."
"I'll confess," Gates continues, "you're not what I expected when I started. I'm beginning to appreciate that your contributions may have benefited the precinct. You know you have options for your next act, right, if you do need to leave?" she asks as she pulls open a desk drawer and extracts a folder that she places atop her closed laptop.
Castle's nodding even before she opens the file. "I get the same letters you do, maybe more. A few of them even mentioned hearing about me from you," he nudges, his intonation suggesting a question rather than a statement.
"I owe you an apology for that," Gates confesses. "When I started, my opinions about you were not particularly flattering. And having you forced on me in direct contravention of my authority hardly endeared you to me. I might've shared my views on the situation a little too loudly at a law enforcement conference," she admits with a rare blush.
Chuckling in response, Castle absolves her of any guilt. "I can imagine. Don't suppose there's a recording of the conference?"
"I didn't say it during my presentation!" Gates replies, scandalized. "It came up between sessions and seemed to spread. People were interested and I thought you'd flit off to another opportunity, so it became a popular topic of discussion." With a slight shrug, Gates swallows her pride. "I'm sorry about that. You and I might not see eye to eye, Mr. Castle, but you're not quite the menace to my precinct I expected you to be."
"Nah, you were right," he denies with another chuckle. "I am a pain in the ass. But I think I've learned some things over the years. Though I doubt Beckett would agree, at least for form's sake."
"I disagree," Gates replies seriously, ignoring Castle's frivolity. "She's already defended your presence several times."
Looking happier than he had when Gates spoke of Beckett wanting him gone, Castle gives a fond smile. "Just because she gives me trouble doesn't mean she'll let other people do the same thing. I learned long ago that Beckett doesn't respect people who can't take their shots. My head and ego were already pretty thick, so it worked out," he summarizes with another laugh. "And don't think I'm some helpless babe in the woods. I push, too, sometimes too hard."
Gates nods but says nothing. She's still forming her opinion about Detective Beckett, but it seems like she's someone who performs better when someone's pushing against her. Though perhaps not on all subjects, if Mr. Castle is to be believed about her imminent desire for his departure.
"So, if you received the same letters I did, you know you have other opportunities," she encourages, for his sake rather than the peace of her precinct. "Did any appear to provide the inspiration you'd need for your writing aspirations?"
"No," Castle answers firmly and immediately. "There's only one Nikki Heat because there's only one Kate Beckett. When it's time for me to leave, I don't think I could stand doing this somewhere else," he finishes sadly, contemplating the end.
"What will you do?" Gates asks, moved by the sorrow in his tone.
"Honestly? I have no idea," he answers with a grim huff and a bewildered tone. "This has become a central part of my life, much to my daughter's displeasure," he confesses, lacing his tone with what sounds like regret from the home front. "I might travel, I suppose, once Alexis leaves for college. Maybe see where the wind blows me."
"Based on what I've read, it might be to your benefit to have friends in law enforcement in that event," Gates offers, straining to look impassive.
Laughing delightedly, Castle accepts the olive branch of her jest. "True. I tend to get into trouble with too much time on my hands. Maybe I'll take my instructor's offer."
"Instructor?" Gates asks. "You mean your 'physical therapy' instructor?"
"Yeah," Castle confirms, smirking again at the air quotes Gates added to 'physical therapy.' "He's an older guy, recommended by some people I shadowed for Derrick Storm. He pushes me hard, has taught me some hard, painful lessons," he chuckles, rubbing his head again. "He's made some comments about bringing me into his group, which might be interesting. He's a good guy, but a little lonely," Castle comments as if recognizing a kindred spirit. "He kind of treats me like a son."
A/N2: Many, many thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites. I really enjoy hearing from people (or even noting that they're following), so those email notifications are great incentive. Thanks also to GeekMom, who slogged through these last two chapters (actually, all of the chapters) and provided valuable advice.
Two chapters left, I think, one of which is written. I hope to post them together and sometime soon.
Finally, if you're not reading Skeletons by ABettis41319, you're missing out on some delicious intrigue.