Chapter 15

The volume of food on the table fell, but at least as many thoughts as calories were chewed.

O'Leary, having provided a huge amount of information, none of which changed Castle's view that Beckett had her head firmly wedged in her ass, had relapsed into consuming the equivalent of most small families' daily food intake; and Castle was considering Beckett's melt-down and what to do. He had a horrible feeling, based very firmly on her own comments that if things couldn't be fixed she simply ran away, that she was considering leaving.

"I wouldn't let her go back to Manhattan, iffen I was you."

"I can't stop her."

"Sure you can. Just kiss her."

"Uh?"

"Kiss her, dumbo."

"She'll shoot me."

"No gun. She'd've shot me."

"I don't go kissing women who don't want kissed."

"You tryin' to tell me Beckett don't wanna kiss you?"

Castle had an abrupt, crystal-clear flashback of the previous day's incident in the pool. "No-o," he said slowly. "But it's not a good idea."

O'Leary shrugged. "Up to you."

"I'm going to leave her for now, as you suggested. Maybe I'll try a bit later. Have you got any more of those stories from Central Park?"

"Waallll, there was the dog-walker with a Newfoundland who ended up like the Pied Piper with all the little kids following him..."

A short time passed in more stories of dubious lowlifes and amusing happenings, with neither man mentioning the Beckett elephant back in the house. However, as their feet took them back to the table outside the kitchen, they exchanged glances and mutually, wordlessly, decided that Beckett should be evicted from her misery-cave.

"I did a first-aid course once," O'Leary said, "so I'll patch you up after."

"Thanks," Castle answered sarcastically. "I didn't know first-aid cured death."

"Aw, it won't be that bad. Yell for help if you think she's gonna murder you."

He harrumphed, and left O'Leary picking at the remains of lunch.

When he tapped on the door to perdition and sudden, painful death, he didn't expect an invitation to enter and didn't get one. In fact, he didn't get any response at all. Naturally, he went in anyway. Beckett was asleep on top of the covers, in the ratty sleep tee and clutching his robe, face buried in it. That was astounding. It was also incredibly cute. Castle whipped out his phone, conveniently in his pocket, and took a photo. Only then did he sit down on the bed, next to her.

He patted her shoulder. She didn't wake, but reached up, asleep, and captured his hand, tugging it to her heart. That... wasn't a good idea, he swiftly found. It was only natural to settle his hand comfortably under hers, and then it was only natural to slip his other hand around her face, and then it was only natural to kiss her softly.

She purred a little in her sleep, and turned into him. He couldn't help it: he kissed her again, still softly. Her eyelids fluttered, and shut again.

"Beckett? Kate, time to wake up now."

There was a sleepy grumble, which was also adorable. "Don' wanna," she slurred. "Tired."

"C'mon. Coffee?"

"Coffee?"

"Yeah. Coffee, and there's a cinnamon bun waiting."

"'Kay."

"It'll be outside," Castle said quietly, and left before consciousness could dawn on her and interfere.

He bounced into the kitchen, quite delighted by her unconscious actions and even more delighted that there hadn't been any evidence of packing, and put on the coffee machine.

"Want another, O'Leary?" he called to the mountain, who was idly nibbling on a piece of pie.

"Iffen you're makin' it, sure."

Several minutes later Beckett sidled into the kitchen and out to the table, exuding a strange mixture of defiance, embarrassment, and unhappiness. Castle pushed coffee into her hand and put the final cinnamon bun, which had still eluded O'Leary's gaping maw, in front of her. There was a long, uncomfortable lack of speech. The coffee level dropped. The cinnamon bun remained untouched, as did the rest of the food on the table. It was beyond awkward.

"I'm just gonna go for a little stroll," O'Leary rumbled. "Gotta digest my lunch." That left Castle looking at Beckett, who was staring at the table, her whole body tense, white knuckles around the mug.

Castle declined words in favour of swapping sides of the table to sit next to Beckett and, tentatively, put an arm around her. Abruptly, she turned into him and buried her face in his shoulder. From afar, O'Leary glanced at them, gave Castle a thumbs-up, and wandered in the other direction. He simply held her, no petting, stroking or murmuring, and waited for her tension to ease. Or break, of course. Beckett had a breaking strain: everyone did. He'd just never found it before.

Death, though, was the ultimate breaking strain.

She was still, motionless against his chest, but in the quiet of his Hamptons home he thought he could hear a sub-vocalised murmur, born in misery. He listened very closely. It sounded like use you up and throw you away. He didn't reveal that he'd heard it. Just like I did before... Before what?

Oh. When she'd sent him away when he'd tried to make her stop – and failed, before Montgomery was shot. Thrown him away when he'd come to her hospital room, before she'd ditched Josh. Used him up...

So she thought.

He let go of her, and she drew away, still stiff and closed in.

"Talk to me," he said.

"What's the point? We both know how this ends. You try and give me whatever you think I need because that's what you always do and I take it, use it up, and push you away again. It doesn't ever change. I don't ever change. I haven't been able to love anyone like they deserve since my mother was murdered because all that happens is they're taken away. So why bother? I'll only fuck it up."

She stood, painfully, tears pooling but not falling, and stumbled away, around the corner to the pool area.

Castle watched her departure, and didn't move. Assurance, or reassurance, or reminder, wasn't going to help him here. Not yet. Later, maybe. It didn't stop him wishing it would.

Small tremors in the earth indicated the return of O'Leary, which was rather like watching continental drift in time-lapse action.

"Where's Beckett?" the bass vibrated.

"She..."

"Was she cryin'?"

"No."

"Aw, shit."

O'Leary definitely had Beckett's measure. That matched very nicely with Castle's feelings on the matter. If she'd burst into tears, wept into his shirt, simply let her feelings out – he would have been a lot, well, not happier, but certainly relieved.

"Where'd she go?"

"Round that corner. The pool's round there. Try not to throw her into it, she can't swim right now."

"I ain't gonna do that. We're both goin' round there."

"I don't think she wants to see anyone."

"So?" said O'Leary, unanswerably. "What's she gonna do to me?"

"I'm more worried what she'll do to me," Castle muttered.

"Nuthin'. You're goin' to cuddle her when she starts to cry, an' I'm goin' to make a sharp exit before she c'n think 'bout shootin' me. She don't have her gun, does she?"

"No."

"Good. Don't give her one, okay?"

"Wasn't planning on it. She might try to shoot me."

O'Leary's belly laugh wobbled the chairs. "C'mon, Castle. Let's go sort her out."

Castle had a nasty feeling that he knew what O'Leary was planning – and he really, really didn't like it. That was, of course, because he didn't think he could stand another round of Beckett crying, and he was pretty certain O'Leary was planning to force her feelings to the fore. Surely there was a better way? – but unfortunately, he really couldn't think of it.

"This is not a good plan," he muttered again.

"You got a better one?"

"No."

"Waalll then. Might not be good, but it's the only one we got."

They reluctantly trudged around the corner. O'Leary whistled softly. "Nice," was all he said, however, but then – "I thought you said she came this way."

"She did."

"So where is she?"

It was a fair point. There was no Beckett anywhere in evidence. Castle shrugged. "I don't know," he began, and then stopped. "Did you hear something?"

O'Leary stood very still, and listened carefully to the small noises of breeze and breaking waves on the beach below. After a moment, he began to turn – and stopped.

"Yeah. Somethin'." He took a few giant strides past the pool, stopped and listened again, and beckoned Castle on. "I reckon we've found your missing girl," he attempted to whisper. "An' it sounds like she is cryin'."

Castle didn't know how O'Leary had reached that conclusion. All he could hear was an occasional muffled breath.

"I've known her a lot longer'n you," came the non-whisper. "Seen this before." Castle blinked. "'Bout twice in eight, nine years?"

"Mhm?" Castle asked, very much more softly than O'Leary's gale-force attempt at quiet speech.

"Once was her Dad. Once that dumbass Fed. He was never right for her."

"That's what I thought," Castle agreed.

O'Leary quirked his eyebrows. "You met him?"

"Yeah. Year or so back. He tried to get back with her."

"Mm. Don't look like it worked."

"Nope," Castle said smugly.

O'Leary merely grinned. "Anyways, I c'n hear her, but I still can't see her."

"Follow me. There's a path down to the beach."

They got to the top of the path and halted there, scanning the sand below. There, perched on a largish rock, was the hunched figure of Beckett.

"How come we heard her from all that way down?"

"Weird acoustics down on the beach." Castle put an arm in front of O'Leary, who was about to start downward. "Wait a minute."

"Huh? Thought we were doing this?"

"Not yet."

"Huh?"

Castle was staring at Beckett's still, strained form. "She's pulling herself back together. That's not a good sign."

"Naw. So get out of the way, an' let me do my work."

O'Leary's massive frame brushed past Castle as if he was a blade of grass and started down the path. Perforce, Castle followed.

He caught up just about soon enough to hear the start of the conversation, or, more accurately, argument.

"I need to go back home," Beckett was saying. "Will you give me a ride to the station?" She sounded defeated and broken, and she couldn't look O'Leary in the face.

"No. An' I'm not givin' you a ride to Manhattan either, so don't ask."

"Why not? I can't stay here."

"Why not?" O'Leary batted straight back. "You're comfy an' it's a nice place an' you got Castle there to look after you. You don't wanna go back to the city."

"I have to go back," she bit.

"Nah." O'Leary squared his barn-door shoulders. "You're runnin' away." His tone changed. "Never took you for a coward, Beckett, but you're changin' my mind right now."

"So I'm a coward," she said flatly, which neither man, from O'Leary's shocked startlement, had expected. "Fine. Goes along with everything else. I'll call a cab, if you won't take me." Her face was cold, eyes dead. "Guess I used you up too."

She slid off the rock and started to walk back to the path.

"You can't use me up," Castle said, standing squarely in her way. When she tried to move around him, he caught her. "People are infinite. I don't run out, just because you think so." He dropped his hands from her.

O'Leary took a pace and came up beside Castle, twisting to face Beckett.

"You don't get to tell me iffen I'm done with you or not. You might have your head up your ass, but that don't stop me bein' your oldest pal and I ain't lettin' you talk this crap."

"I don't need you picking me up."

"You don't get to tell me I can't," O'Leary said sternly. "Now you stay right there an' listen to me rather'n blockin' yourself out."

"I don't need to hear it. Let me past."

"No," Castle weighed in. "We won't." He caught a sidelong look of approval. "Running isn't going to work. You're not running away because of us, no matter what you tell yourself" – he managed not to add in your dumb head – "you're trying to run away from yourself and wherever you run, you can't leave yourself behind."

She stared at both of them, shocked still by the co-ordinated effort. "I..." She swallowed, and tried to turn away. Castle could see welling up in her eyes. "I want to go home," she gulped.

"You are home." Castle took one step and gathered her in, murmuring into her hair. "You are home."

She fell apart, sobbing hopelessly into his shoulder. O'Leary tactfully retreated up the path back to the house.

"There, there," he cosseted. "It's okay."

"It's not okay. It's never okay. I wanted to do it myself and be strong enough and I can't be. I don't have anything to give anyone." She was still sobbing. "I thought it was better but I can't do anything right so why even bother trying. I'm tired of trying and being wrong." She gulped again, and Castle held her closer, attempting to soothe her. " I couldn't sleep so I went out so I didn't disturb you and that was wrong, and I wanted to fix myself and that was wrong, and... everything I touch goes wrong," she finished, almost inaudibly.

"You're here. That's not wrong."

"It is wrong. Every time it starts to go right I fuck it up again. Look at me. Can't sleep, can't eat, can't use my arms, can't give anything" –

"Bullshit. Complete bullshit. You give the victims' families everything" –

"Yeah? And what good is that when I can't give anything to the people I love" – she crashed to a halt and wrenched herself away. She'd got ten steps before Castle, much faster than she while she was still recovering, caught up.

"You don't get to say that and run away from me," he gritted out. "You don't get to blurt out how you feel and leave me." He brought her back into him. "You stay right here with me and just fucking lean on someone else." He breathed out, in again. "You don't have to do it all yourself."

She began to sob again. Out of the mess emerged, "Who else can?"

Castle was brought up short. Who else, indeed? Only Beckett could fix Beckett – oh. But that didn't mean she didn't need support or comfort – or love – along the way. He stood there, holding her, and gradually another realisation appeared: that no-one else had been there for her to lean on. Her mother was dead, her father had been, and was again, a drunk. She clearly hadn't been close enough to anyone else to let them in – even Lanie, even this O'Leary giant who'd shown up today.

"No-one else can fix you," he said heavily, honestly. She shrank into herself. "But that doesn't mean you can't let them help. Hold you up when it's all too much. It's not using, or failing, or weak. It's being human, Kate. It's just being human." He paused. "I know this cop," he said, forcing his tone to lightness. "Thinks she can leap tall buildings in a single bound. She's pretty much bulletproof, since she got shot in the heart and she's still alive. But she's still human." He took a deep, deep breath. "And I still love her."

"How can you?" she whispered sadly.

"Because she just said she loved me," Castle murmured, "so how could I not?" He stopped. "You're not supposed to cry like that. Stop crying, Kate. Anyone would think you didn't want me to love you. Which is really silly, you know." He forced a smirk, and a teasing note. "Everyone wants me to love them. Including you."

Her tear-stained face emerged from his shirt with an effort at an eyeroll.

"And now you've come out. That's better," he soothed, and kissed her very gently. She only leaned against him, white and exhausted. "Let's go back to the house. You didn't even eat your cinnamon bun."

"O'Leary'll have eaten it by now," she replied, trying for some normality, and utterly failing. "I'm not hungry."

Unlike O'Leary, Castle didn't push the point. He'd gained considerable ground in the last half hour, and pushing would lose it. "Okay," he agreed. "How about coffee, or a soda?"

"Coffee, please."

They walked up the path with Castle's arm still around Beckett. He wasn't entirely sure that she wouldn't simply fall apart again, and the last thing any of them needed was yet another injury. His worry wasn't mitigated when he noticed that she was, ever so slightly, trembling. Don't push, he reminded himself, and heard again O'Leary's words: she'll come to you, iffen you let her be.

O'Leary was, they found, sitting by the pool with a soda.

"Found it in the fridge," he said, a touch apologetically.

"That's okay." Castle put Beckett on the couch next to her enormous pal. "I'll get one myself. Beckett wants coffee. Want another?"

"Naw. I'm good, thanks."

Beckett stared emptily after Castle's retreating back. O'Leary raised a huge paw, and patted her on the shoulder in a comradely fashion.

"You'll be okay, butterfly. He'll treat you right." There was a monstrous grin. "An' if he don't, I'll have a word."

"Not required," but it didn't come with any bite.

"Let him look after you for a while. 'S no shame. Pete looks after me when things ain't so great."

"I know."

O'Leary picked her up from her seat, carefully, and hugged her briefly. "Ev'ryone knows you c'n do it yourself. Mebbe it's 'cause you always had to. But why take all the hassle on your own shoulders when you don't need to? You got friends. An' looks to me like your boy's happy to be more."

"Yeah," Beckett breathed. O'Leary smiled. "He just keeps coming back."

"So? If you didn't want him to, you'd shoot him. If you'd wanted him to be gone, he'd've been gone long ago. Let him in, butterfly. You deserve it."

O'Leary had entirely dropped his hayseed persona, which always meant it was more important than normal.

"I like him," he added. "He fits you. An' he's got guts enough to face you down if he has to." He smiled. "Don't screw it up for no good reason." Smile turned to grin. "Now go kiss the man. Likely he's hidin' round the corner eavesdroppin'."

Castle emerged, ears pink. O'Leary hoisted Beckett up, turned her round, and very gently shoved her in Castle's approaching direction. She hesitated, half-spun back, turned again and took the half-step that was all that was required to end up in his arms, stretched up, and planted a kiss on his lips.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.