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.
Castle's challenge seems to quiet the room again. Beckett's thinking furiously about what she's heard. She seemed to ignore his attempt at levity, but she looks less closed-off, less severe. It's enough of an improvement to encourage Dr. Burke to hold his tongue while she thinks. Which might be a mistake.
"This isn't working," Beckett finally asserts, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We're supposed to be talking about you, not my mess."
"Okay," Castle agrees, though he looks queasy about submitting himself to examination by both Beckett and her therapist. "Fire away."
"No," Beckett replies, just as Dr. Burke was preparing to ask a question. "This isn't the right way, not the right place. I should've seen that," Beckett says while chastising herself.
"What would you like to change?" Dr. Burke asks, curious about the conclusions his patient seems to have reached. "I'm happy to reschedule and to consider alternate locations if you think…"
"No," Beckett interjects, again interrupting her therapist. "I need to think," she says vaguely, making it clear she's already lost in thought. Moving from her place by the window, she starts to drift toward the door. Both men watch her warily, not sure what she's thinking about.
Her hand's just reached the doorknob when she turns in place. "Castle?" she calls out tentatively. "Will you meet me at the precinct tonight at 9:00?"
"Of course," he replies immediately, so happy with her brief effort to engage that he doesn't really care to what he's agreed. "9:00 sharp."
Beckett gives a small nod then ghosts from the room, closing the door behind her.
Both Castle and Dr. Burke stare at the door for several long moments following her departure, wondering about this turn of events. It's Castle who finally breaks the silence by turning back to the therapist.
"I'm new to this kind of therapy," he prefaces, "but what the hell just happened? Was that a good session?" he asks in quiet confusion. "Because it sure didn't feel like it."
Dr. Burke remains quiet for a brief interval, pondering the same question himself.
"I'm sure you know, Rick, I can't share any details of Kate's sessions with you," he begins, pulling a resigned nod from his patient's partner. "Regardless of how important you are to her," he adds in slight encouragement, "my ethical requirements are inviolable."
"I suppose that's a good thing," Castle allows, scrubbing a hand through his hair and missing Burke's quirked head in reply. "I'm glad she's got a professional to help her."
Dr. Burke nods at the compliment, feeling more pleased than he knows he should. But Mr. Castle's been obviously uncomfortable with the idea of therapy, so any praise from him is welcomed.
"However," the therapist offers, "I am able to talk about the reason you were invited to join us today."
Castle looks longingly at the door before steeling himself and turning back to face Dr. Burke. "Will it help Beckett?" he asks, still wary. Then, in reply to the therapist's nod, he capitulates. "Then I'm in. Do your worst," he challenges weakly, raising his arms to signal his surrender.
"It's nothing onerous, I promise," Dr. Burke replies with a smile. He might think it's his open manner that causes Castle to relax by a degree, but it's really how similarly his words match Darlene's that eases Castle's concerns. "Surely you know Detective Beckett is a very accomplished detective."
"Accomplished enough to know my name's not Shirley," Castle mumbles in reply, wearing a small smirk. "Sorry," he adds at Dr. Burke's look of confusion, "old joke. Beckett's the best. That's all you need to say."
"So it shouldn't surprise you to learn," the therapist continues, "she observed things about you. The bruises, which were obvious, but the changes in your demeanor, which were less so."
"Changes in my demeanor?"
"Anger, aggressiveness," Dr. Burke states, though his tone sounds like a question. "Perhaps even acquiescence to an authority figure during a time of physical struggle?" he suggests, recalling Detective Beckett's description of how quickly Mr. Castle released the suspect he'd pinned.
Surprised, Castle nods, admitting the accuracy of the insights.
"I suspect you presented Detective Beckett with what she wanted most," Dr. Burke postulates, schooling his features to avoid reacting to Castle's look of sad disbelief. "A mystery. She had something different, something outside herself, on which to focus. Such a development can be useful," the therapist suggests. "Patients can benefit from external considerations – they provide a welcomed respite and a contextualizing device, something that allows them a barometer against which to compare their own efforts and progress."
"You're picking your words very carefully," Castle observes, looking appraisingly at the therapist. "The conditionality of your syntax suggests this could also be a bad thing for Bec… patients," he corrects himself, trying to keep the discussion to general concepts.
Dr. Burke nods in reply, acknowledging the point. "True," he admits freely, smiling slightly at the novelty of speaking with an author. "An external development can also prove troublesome. It can become a crutch or even fully displace the matter that should be receiving more consideration."
"A procrastination device," Castle suggests, following this line of thought. "I'm kind of familiar with those," he admits in an attempt to be humorous before clamping his mouth shut after realizing he confessed something personal to a therapist.
"Don't be alarmed, Rick," Dr. Burke offers with another small smile. "We'll remain focused on our current objective, though my door's always open if you'd like to explore other topics," he says with a nod, grinning at Castle's quick head-shake.
"We'll leave my Peter Pan complex for another day," Castle offers quickly. "I've got more pressing concerns."
"As have I," Dr. Burke agrees, the smile dropping from his face. "Returning to the topic of our discussion, there is a further speculation that might render the situation even more volatile," he offers speculatively before pausing to consider how to broach this topic. "Imagine that a patient focused on an external consideration, a problem that's deeply affecting a close friend."
Dr. Burke trails off, waiting for Castle's nod before continuing.
"Now imagine the problem appears to be physical – the close friend is being harmed while saying nothing, perhaps in deference to the challenges already facing the patient."
Castle nods again, looking increasingly concerned.
"Now," Dr. Burke says gravely, "imagine the patient learns this isn't an external consideration after all, that the harm befalling the friend results from the same issues the patient was already attempting to overcome."
Heartbroken and scared, Castle can't manage a nod.
"That is my fear," Dr. Burke confides. "In such a situation, what had been a coping device instead becomes an instrument of guilt, something that magnifies the underlying, original concerns."
"A weight," Castle infers miserably, "instead of a raft. Tossed to someone who was already fighting to keep her head above water."
"This is only a fear, Rick, a possibility," Dr. Burke tries to remind him. "Patients face myriad challenges. But they are often strong, often resilient. Many times, my job is simply to help them on a path they've already identified. Even in those cases, though, it's important to protect against additional challenges."
"How?" Castle asks immediately, his desperation to help his partner obvious in his plea. "What do I do?"
"You have an appointment tonight at 9:00," Dr. Burke reminds him, glancing at the clock to reinforce the point. "Without her consent, I cannot address specific concerns that might arise during your discussion, though I am at your disposal. Failing that," he says as he turns to his desk to withdraw a notepad before breaking one of his professional rules and jotting his personal cell-phone number on a piece he hands to Castle, "you are welcome to call me at home should you need any assistance this evening. And in any event," he continues, his own concern for this situation apparent in his tone despite his years of practice, "I hope Kate will consent to trying another joint session. As soon as possible."
Castle stares at the paper in his hand, his suspicions about how significant a diversion this is from standard protocol already apparent. He mulls his options for several long minutes before finally mustering a sigh. Standing, he extends a hand. "Thank you, Dr. Burke. For your counsel today and your willingness to help," he says gratefully. "And especially for helping Beckett. It's good to know she's got someone to help her."
"I'm not the only one," Dr. Burke replies, shaking Castle's hand warmly as he tries to convey his best wishes and hopes for tonight's meeting.
"You heading to the gym tonight?" Alexis asks from the door to Castle's office. She startled him, drifting in when he was lost in thought about how to talk to Beckett tonight. In the moment it takes to collect himself, he thinks about lying to his daughter. After all, his gym bag's right here next to his desk. She's used to seeing him head out for sessions with his new personal trainer. A simple 'yes' and he could avoid the conflict he's sure is brewing.
He's ashamed at the impulse. He knows better. This is his daughter, the young woman he's worked so hard to raise well. She deserves the truth about what's going on, even if it's uncomfortable. Besides, he tells himself as he prepares to explain, starting this evening with craven, expedient lies wouldn't exactly put him in a good place for his talk with Beckett.
"Maybe afterwards," he answers. Standing, he steps around his desk and reaches out for her hand before leading her to the couch. She follows wordlessly, well aware that her father is preparing for a serious discussion.
"I'm going to the precinct to talk with Beckett," he answers. Watching her eyes saddens him, as he's able to track through the hardening of her gaze and the flexing of her jaw muscles his daughter's thoughts on this plan.
"Talk?" she asks pointedly. "So, this isn't about a case?"
"No," he answers, remaining honest. "We need to talk about our partnership. Figure out what's going on," he tries to explain, though his shrug makes his confusion plain.
"What does that mean?" Alexis asks, seizing on his uncertainty. "Are you fighting?"
"We're still trying to recover from what happened this summer…," he begins to answer before his daughter interrupts him.
"When she got shot or when she ran away and abandoned you?"
"Both," Castle answers, defusing the question with more raw honesty. "Things have changed. We need to figure out how to make things work as she recovers."
"What does she want?" Alexis asks, continuing her interrogation.
"We both want the same thing," Castle answers, amending her question. "For Beckett to heal."
"That's not all you want," his daughter replies with a sad, knowing look.
"It's all that matters," he answers with a shrug.
Alexis looks like she's ready to fire off another question until she pauses to study her father. It's an odd moment of realization for her. His love for his partner is obvious, has been for a while. It's the reason she can't forgive the detective. One call, one text, one letter. That's all it would've taken to put him out of his misery. Instead, Beckett was weak and cruel, disappearing without a word and consigning Castle to a limbo of depression and guilt.
She's ashamed to realize she'd let Beckett's cowardice taint her view of her father. He's got horrible taste in women, that can't be denied after yet another object of his affection treated him miserably. She's disheartened to realize she'd let her opinion of him fall by faulting him for his depression, his inability to just get over the detective. But, sitting here now, she can hear the truth in his words. He really just wants her to be well. Whatever else he wants – wanted – it's forgotten in his desire to see her heal.
"You're a good man, Dad," Alexis proclaims, eyes glassy as she stretches to hug him. "I will be a very lucky girl if I can find someone who loves half as purely as you."
"You will, Pumpkin," he assures, voice thick with tears as he wraps her tight. "You make it so easy."
They sit in silent communion for several minutes before Alexis set them on track. "Take your gym bag," she suggests, wiping her eyes. "Working out helped you this summer, right? Maybe it'll help tonight," she suggests, feeling a little silly. "But wake me up if you want to talk, okay?" she asks, lowering her hand to grasp his. "Promise?"
"You're not doing much for my confidence here, kid," he grumbles, pulling a small laugh from his girl. "Tonight's not necessarily going to be a disaster. But how about this – ice cream tonight or waffles in the morning. I'll wake you for one or the other."
"Perfect," she answers, standing and pulling on her father's hands to help him rise. Dropping his hands, she smooths the shoulders and lapels of his jacket before leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Be well, Daddy. I love you."