- What, Castle? You're about to rip a hole in me!
Beckett even held up her pen at the text, waiting for another writer's opus, but Castle was adamantly unmoved.
- Hmm... - and Beckett looked up perplexed: Castle sat in the same pose, like a statue, and the look past her, Kate, was absolutely absent.
- Castle, - she half-voiced exclaimed. - What's wrong?
Castle was silent, only his caddy jumped nervously.
- A misunderstanding with Alexis?
Ric shook his head negatively.
- Did Gina give him an ultimatum?
The negative gesture was repeated.
- The hard drive in the laptop went bad?
Castle wrinkled his nose unimaginatively.
- What was wrong then? What's wrong?
- Something... - he answered in a colorless voice and suddenly stood up abruptly. - Just in everything... everything... is to blame. Coffee!
Castle's movement was so loud and impulsive that the whole station paid attention to it, instantly becoming dumbfounded. And the guys at the next table, and other detectives nearby (and even Roy from his office!), in amazement, opened their mouths, looked at the writer, who, as if in a lunacy, mumbled something under his nose, then, making with his hands incomprehensible passes, made three steps toward the exit, moving away from Beckett. He shook his head like a wiggly parakeet, not focusing on anyone, slapped himself lightly on the forehead as if he'd forgotten something, and then suddenly, at a great trot, took off from his seat. Dozens of police eyes drilled his back as Castle hurried to the elevator, and when the doors closed, Esposito, specifically perplexed, instantly sat down to Kate.
- What was that about? - and Espo scratched his right temple meaningfully.
The question was asked head-on, but Beckett hesitated, frowning her thin eyebrows, and, without looking at her interlocutor, put line after line on the paper.
- What ... exactly? - And she didn't answer right away, either.
- Castle!
- Castle?!
- Yes! What winter fly has bitten him?!
- It's fall, Espo!
- So?! What does that have to do with what we just saw?
- How?! As far as I know Castle is a very volatile and impulsive character, and his emotional state, which changes a hundred times a day, is often influenced by a variety of factors. Some of them are quite obvious, the nature of others can be found out only by special 'medieval' methods,- she grinned enigmatically. - And as we already know, it happens so that Castle creates and says something logically and completely inexplicable ...
- And according to your logic, Castle is somehow a little off his rocker?!
- I wouldn't rule it out!
- I don't think your assessment of his behavior is superficial, and I don't believe that Castle is somehow insane. Why would that be? For all his abilities? And what does coffee have to do with it? Did someone spill it on themselves again?
- N-no. No one poured it on anyone. It's just another fad, that's all,- Kate said with an uncertain shrug, still staring at the papers. - He'll be fine, and then he'll go away!
- A quirk? - Javi narrowed his eyes suspiciously. - Don't you think it didn't start today or yesterday?
Beckett carefully put aside the pen and, leaning on the back of the chair, nonchalantly crossed her arms over her chest.
- It's Castle! - and a condescending grin flashed across her lips. - I'm not surprised by his sudden exertions.
- You could have been interested in what was going on, if only out of friendship. Since Castle's arrival, he's proven to the precinct time and time again.
- ...and his ability to piss people off, too, - Kate's facial expression indicated that she was almost unaffected by the reproach.
And without looking at Esposito, who was slumped back in his seat with a wry and disgruntled face, Kate went back to her paperwork-as long as she had fresh thoughts in her head, she'd finish this report. Just as she always did: thorough, well-reasoned, and succinct.
...it was getting dark. It had been more than three hours since Castle had left, but what had caused it was still a mystery to Beckett. And, having been forced to take a coffee break, Kate, full mug in hand, returned to her seat to sip it leisurely. Sometimes the detective was asked something, and she answered, sometimes mechanically, sometimes meaningfully, but her thoughts kept returning to her partner's eccentricities. Maybe Javi was right, and there was something really wrong with Castle. And if she was honest with herself, for a week, no - even more, Rick came to the station in some unbalanced, exhausted state, but she deliberately did not pay attention to it and did not ask her partner about anything. Especially since Castle, although sometimes slowed down when addressing him, but then with passion entered into the taste of the investigation, and theories from him fell like gifts from a Christmas bag. And then, after a bright burst of authorial intelligence was followed by no less clear decline in writing activity and solid answers out of order. Even to his favorite coffee Castle reacted strangely: long, long stared at the smoky-brown surface in his cup, as if trying to find there unknown answers, and then, burning and wrinkling, swallowed the drink in several large gulps. As if, having changed his taste preferences, he was disappointed in it, and he frowned and sighed inexplicably at his partner's restrained gratitude for the pleasure of his soul. Then suddenly grabbed from her desk a piece of paper and a pencil (not his dapper gilded pen!) and began to scribble on the sheet of some scribbles: he drew thoughtfully and long, tightly closed his eyebrows, but "art" his carefully covered his hand, and no matter how much Beckett did not try to cautiously peek, her attempts remained in vain. Moreover, Castle, having put aside his pencil, was hiding the drawing in his pocket, and his face, except for obvious dissatisfaction (with himself or something else), expressed nothing else. And the developing situation seemed to hint at a sudden mistrust, and in other conditions, and at other times, this statement of the question, of course, would have hurt Kate, but detective and life experience told Beckett that, sooner or later, but Castle would reveal himself. And maybe even ask for her help. And there's no way she's gonna say no to him. If only because she can't...
And Kate wasn't wrong: barely had she dragged her weary feet over her threshold when the phone suddenly rang.
- Beckett... - she mumbled languidly into the receiver, not focusing on the caller's identity. - Speaking...
It turned out to be Castle.
- Beckett... Kate...
- What, Castle?!
- I'm sorry if I distracted you from anything important... or woke you up, - Rick spoke so quietly that Kate could barely hear him, - I'm sorry. Maybe... this is a bad time. Maybe, uh... I shouldn't have pissed you off.
- It's okay, Castle, - Kate bent over to unzip her zippers and, toe by toe, kicked off the alternately shabby shoes. Searching for the coffee maker, right in her jacket, she wandered off, staggering with fatigue. - The girl could still think and even do something. Especially since no late calls would cancel the doping, in the form of a small cup of coffee...
- Oh, Gods! - there was a whispered moan in the phone. - And there's coffee... Again... Again!
Castle, who had suddenly shrieked, was suddenly silent, and the perplexed Kate stared at the extinguished display for a long time, her thoughts galloping wildly. Sadly, of course, Esposito had somehow turned out to be more astute than her, and now she would have no peace until her partner returned to himself. And she could be tormented by her conscience indefinitely, but she wouldn't be an inch closer to solving the current issue with Castle. So, enough with the hasty, superficial judgments, as only coffee and sleep would save her from unnecessary anxiety and hasty conclusions. Because tomorrow would be tomorrow...
He showed up at the station after lunch, looking visibly tired, depressed and disgruntled. And when Ryan, who didn't have a handle on the situation, offered to have a cup of coffee, Castle, with such a fright, with such a face contorted with horror, recoiled from him that Kate, discreetly, but closely monitoring every step of her partner, inwardly crossed herself: no, she would definitely intervene, so that Castle did not cross the line. Whatever the root cause. But in order not to seem intrusive or tactless, to act carefully, diplomatically - the obvious, you know, things in the lack of information.
- ...what do you think, Castle - how do you evaluate the prospects of a case given the amount of circumstantial evidence? - and jabbed a finger at the crime board.
Following the movement, Castle turned nervously to his partner, but his face smoothed slightly.
- I would... probably dig around some more... - Castle slumped heavily in his seat and immediately stared up at the ceiling. - I would've questioned the Ferretsches again, and then, uh, wander around with a body detector... in their garden - it's so thick in there, it could hide a body. More than one.
- I've got the latest photos from the experts. Yesterday, after you, - Beckett's nonchalant facial expression said nothing. - I think you'll be interested.
Castle only squinted his eyes wistfully, hiding his gaze.
- I'm sorry, - he mumbled, - interesting... will be, but alas, not now... A leaf... by any chance. Do you have a leaf?
Wondering where this was going, Kate readily laid out a piece of paper and a pencil in front of Castle. And Rick immediately began to draw. He scribbled and frowned and covered it with his hand. Then suddenly he crumpled the paper and tucked it into his pocket.
- ...a bad take, - and his earthy, yellow-eyed face shrank even more, - it's just bad luck. I feel like I'm going I'm going crazy. И! - he raised his index finger warningly. - Not another word about coffee!
Attracted by his shout, the boys turned their heads, mouths hanging open in amazement, and the clamor in the station immediately died down, and Castle, no longer looking at anyone, leaned forward with his whole body: both his tense posture and the frantic tapping of his fingers on the armrests spoke of his unsuccessful, so far, search for a solution, but suddenly his powerful body leaned back with a creak on the back of the chair, and Rick lowered his head to his chest. His hands, at the same time, formed a shifting, finger-twisting clutch on his stomach. And Castle froze again, staring somewhere above his knees into the void, and mumbled something inaudible under his breath. Something like "I'll do it, no matter what," "I'll do it," "my hand will not waver," and other miscellaneous things. In essence, Castle was reassuring himself, and it was only out of fear of harm that Beckett didn't question him about anything. She simply brought the skinny case file closer to her and, as if searching for the right document, began to lay some of the pages in a stack next to Castle. It was a primitive ploy, but it worked: Castle suddenly perked up and for a few minutes, narrowing his eyes, looked at the printed papers at his elbow, then sighed bitterly and long.
- ...it's not going to work, no way. And what do we have here?
- Oh, nothing, - Beckett answered deliberately carelessly, reading the expert report, the pencil in her slender fingers making marks in the text that she alone could understand. - Interrogation protocols and several expert examinations. There was less than an ounce of information to ponder. I've reread it all, of course, and I don't insist, but if you want to.
- For the sake of just switching gears, yes, - and for a full hour, Castle was immersed in reading.
Castle entered the loft toward evening. Alexis wasn't home, but Mrs. Rogers, her face stamped with anxiety, came out of the room to meet her son, but was gently embraced and then politely dismissed. Just as silently, Castle went to his study, and Martha, distressed by her son's slumped appearance, pressed her lips together in displeasure.
- Honey, don't you have anything to say to me? - and put her hand to her beating heart, taking a cautious, silent step forward.
- I'm trying to handle this on my own, mom, - Castle said quietly, not turning around, - I didn't mean to burden you and Alexis with this.
- Aren't we your family? - mrs. Rogers frowned, angrily propping her arms against her sides. - Aren't we supposed to support each other? I think you're really going crazy with this upcoming festival. Otherwise, why all this empty, albeit beautiful artwork? Why can't you just bring your daughter and go out there with a free and peaceful mind? Crunching snacks, having fun in contests, buying trinkets, and just enjoying life?!
- You don't understand, Mom, - Castle froze in the office doorway, turning his head away and deliberately avoiding looking at his mother. - It's important, it's necessary for me. I consider this event as another test of my abilities and ask, please, do not dissuade me from it. Thank you for listening.
...and Castle went to his room, his eyes searching for whiskey and a glass. When he found it on the corner of the desk, he grabbed it in a way that he couldn't take it away...
Glass clinked against glass, the air smelled of alcohol, and Martha, who had come in behind Castle, grinned unhappily.
- Okay! - and she threw up her hands theatrically, shaking her head reproachfully. - I know you've had this idea in your head for a long time. And that it's really important to you, and no one is going to change your mind or discourage you. We're just asking you to pull yourself together, my darling, and not go off the deep end. And as a woman, as a mother, and as a connoisseur and art worker, I understand you as an actor understands his director, who, in turn, cares for the performance itself, not only for its scenery. And for the actors to play as if they were playing for the last time, they must free themselves from all the superfluous, unnecessary things that hinder them here and now. And that unnecessary stuff, honey, is only in your head!
She approached her son, who was holding a glass of whiskey in his hands, frowning, hiding her gaze, and, as she had once done as a child, she gently caressed the whiskers of her troubled boy.
- Stop torturing yourself, Rick, - she said, her voice now steeled and commanding, - Imagine you're solving a detective problem, and you have to share it with someone to get the full result. It is, in any case, more effective and useful than unrestrained absorption of whisky.
And she unceremoniously took the glass from her son. On her way out of the office, she took the bottle.
- I'm the one who needs a drink, Richard, and you need a change of scenery, - and with a light, gliding step, she strode out, while Rick stared after her, his cheekbones tightly set. Something had to be done.
- Castle?! - he came up so silently that Kate, who was leaning over the report, flinched in surprise. - Is something wrong?
- Yes! Do you have a minute?
Beckett made an inviting gesture with her hand, and before she could sit down, Rick dipped his hand into the bottomless pocket of his blazer and pulled out a pile of miscellaneous papers. He brought his fist up to his face, glaring glumly at the scrawled papers sticking out from between his fingers, and dumped them all on the table in front of Beckett. Only then he sank heavily into his chair, and Kate, though she didn't show it, experienced a real, genuine shock: with considerable amazement she looked at the pictures, stylistically similar to water droplets on a plane, but so diverse in subject matter. There were eagles and griffins, tree crowns and bushes, animal faces and human faces, flower buds and leaves in close-up, locomotives and airplanes. Some of them were pencil drawings, others were drawn with dark ochre ink on scraps of paper of various sizes, which made some of them look huge, while others could barely fit into the outline of a soup spoon. What the sketches were referring to, Kate seemed to understand without Castle, but she had to give the artist credit: he was certainly imaginative. And, with her graceful hands, Beckett spread the drawings out in front of her in a single layer, carefully straightening the crumpled ones, but suddenly she froze, eyebrows raised questioningly.
- What's that weird paint, Castle? - Kate ran her finger over the image of the dog and rubbed between the pads coarse coating. - I can't quite put my finger on it.
- It's coffee grounds, - Rick replied vaguely and unsmilingly, - used by... Victor Hugo used it as drawing ink. And, for authenticity's sake, I thought I'd also to try and draw... something usable.
- И... how?
- Can't you see?
- I take it it's all rosetta? - Beckett bit her lip thoughtfully, scrutinizing the cheerful piglet face. - I'm not exactly a connoisseur of coffee history, but latte art is a...
- Yeah, it's a special way of infusing foamed milk into the espresso, which creates different patterns on the surface of the coffee. to create different patterns on the surface of the coffee. Also, the pattern... can be created by simply drawing... on top of the foam with a toothpick, for example... or some other sharp object.
- ...but you didn't draw with a toothpick, did you?!
- ...not only... but with a fine squirrel brush. Since latte art requires that the proportions of milk and coffee the proportions of milk and coffee.
- Why this particular theme?
- Well, you see. There's a "Mocaccino Festival" coming up, and I... can't think of myself outside of it... And in order to do that. I had to prepare first.
Castle stopped talking and frowned, unpleasantly crunching his intertwined fingers, his caddy jumping up sharply and nervously. Rick collected his thoughts for a while longer, and then continued, wrinkling his nose as if with a toothache and lowering his eyes as he felt the urgent need to speak. And for the next half an hour Beckett listened attentively to her partner, shaking her head sympathetically, and, quite unexpectedly, laid out and arranged the drawings into piles by subject.
Finally, Castle fell silent, and, as Kate noted, all the while he avoided looking at the half-empty cup of coffee at Beckett's right hand. And Kate seemed to realize what needed to be said.
- It's clear, Castle, - and her palm trustingly laid over his powerful wrist, - you're chasing the perfection of perfection, but somehow you always forget that the achievement of mythical ideals is, first of all, a kind of mental self-torture. And the impossibility of achieving the absolute goal of one's own vision is both corrosive and disruptive, and makes one think about personal inferiority. You can go very far in this way, and it is not a fact that you need to go where you need to go, but these are just stupid, worthless, dead-end illusions, because you have to be content with what you already have. People like it, people like it, you like it, otherwise you wouldn't be doing it. So why bang your head against the wall? You just need to take your mind off it and rest, then shake it off and go to a place where you are valued and welcome. Counseling you and rejoicing in your successes. They share your failures and help you get through them. And it's not just about family support. Do you understand that at least?
Rick hunched over for a few minutes to digest what he'd heard, but he didn't remove his hand, so warm and friendly was the touch.
- I try. And you're telling me that all my rosette variants are already such that it's impossible to imagine them in any other way? And for some reason I felt like I had lost my way somewhere, made a mistake, lost the thread of creativity, and that's where my greatest anxiety came from. I'd lost all sleep and peace, listening to no one, and even Alexis, for all her smoothing skills, hadn't helped me. I didn't want to upset either of them, hoping I'd make it on my own. As you can see, it didn't work out.
He turned his head away, and Kate thought his voice trembled subtly, and she couldn't leave him now, so depressed. Since they were alone, the solution came instantly.
- It's fixable, Castle, since you're not facing a Manhattan psychiatric center yet. And the way I see it right now, you're just overworked and overwhelmed by your own agenda. That's probably why you're having such a negative reaction to coffee, which means you need to interrupt it. Taste something with a completely polar, soothing flavor, and savor, savor it on your tongue. To taste the whole gamut, all the notes and nuances, to understand how, why and why it is appreciated. And, as an example, I'll take you to a café that makes an amazing mint tea. I swear you've never had it before: it's both relaxing and tonic, and you'll never forget the slight lemon aftertaste. Because it is the pinnacle of creativity, a masterpiece, without any false modesty. And the hamburgers there are excellent: puffy, ruddy buns, in sesame-mac sprinkles, with cheese and pickles, - and Kate dreamily rolled her eyes. - And the cutlets are tender, juicy, fried, the size of an airfield. So, are you coming, Castle?