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Paper Hearts
Chapter 2
It's not about knowing. You can never really know someone. It's really about trust.
— Richard Castle, Heat Rises
Beckett's voice is a shout. "Espo! Enough already! Get moving!"
He can't see her. He can barely hear her. The rifle is all he sees right now, with its deadly trigger and setup and the muzzle that's pointed straight at him. It's Iraq all over again. What was he fighting for there, if he's only going to come back and encounter one of those here?
Her voice is closer now, lower and more intense. "Come on, Javi. You can't flake now. Graduation's in two days."
She's right. It's just that there's that thing —
"Focus!" she snaps, practically in his ear now. "You really want to have to re-apply and go all the way back through?"
That gets through; one fear breaks the effect of the other one. "No." He takes a sharp breath, blinking the remaining panic away, and un-holsters his own weapon. "No. Let's do this."
"Good," she answers. They finish the course without any further incident, but there's still ice in his gut and his legs shake while he hunts up a chair. What if she hadn't been there, or hadn't been able to call him out of the flashback? Maybe he isn't ready for this yet. Maybe dropping out is the better thing to do. Even if he can't get back into the NYPD Academy, there are other departments out there worth trying.
Exhaling loudly, Beckett drops down on another chair nearby. "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"You know what. Everyone has moments now and then. It doesn't mean you're back to square one."
He glances sideways. "You're one to talk."
She snorts. "What was that about denial?"
It had taken three weeks of Friday night dinners before she told him the whole story about her mother, and even then, it was just an outline. Yes, she confirmed, her mother was murdered: a stabbing case that was closed suspiciously quickly. No, her father hadn't handled it well. He usually made it to AA meetings, but not always, so she kept a close eye on him.
In return, he'd told her some of what had happened in Iraq. It established rapport and trust, he told himself; if she wouldn't seek professional help, then she needed some other safety valve. Somehow, though, it's starting to turn into something else. He's discovered she has a dry, ironic sense of humor with a wide wicked streak. She's learned about his love for video gaming.
By the time the serious training simulations started, partnering up was a foregone conclusion.
Letting out another deep breath now, Beckett relaxes back in the chair, arms and legs dangling in a pose that reminds him just how very young she still is. When she stretches, her t-shirt rides up enough to expose a good bit of skin, and he can see that her midriff is as well-tanned as her arms and legs.
Without warning, an image of Beckett in a bikini appears in his mind. He shakes his head, trying to clear it.
"What?" she asks.
"Nothing," he answers, refusing to notice how her shorts have ridden up. "You have a bruise on your right leg."
"Do I?" She picks it up to examine it, twisting it into a viewable position, and something about the sight makes him shake his head harder. She doesn't notice. "Oh. I guess I do. That's going to hurt later."
"Be more careful next time," he says. "And Good God, Beckett, will ya pull your shirt back down already? It's blinding me." It comes out a little more curt than he intends it, but he decides he won't apologize if she asks.
She doesn't, instead giving him a long, curious look. In response, he closes his eyes and tries to think about anything other than the idea of Beckett in a bikini. Or Beckett juxtaposed with any other type of clothing. She's wearing workout gear right now, dressed for comfort, not show, and that's how he should take it.
Besides, this is Beckett, not some random girl off the street. He needs to knock it off. The problem is that he's still a little off-center from having frozen up. Keeping his head straight isn't as easy as it normally would be.
"Javi?" she asks. "You all right?"
"Yeah." He pushes to his feet. "Just needed to catch my breath. Let's get moving. There's still work left to do."
Which is a good thing, he decides. He needs the distraction.
She's flushed with excitement. "Yeah. Dad's going to be here. He's been sober for an entire week now, Espo. A week! The longest stretch so far. Is this thing straight?"
He peruses her newly-donned uniform, reaching out to adjust the tie. "I'm glad you'll have someone here."
"Won't you?"
His mother has to work, and God only knows where his father is these days. Espo shakes his head.
"Well, I'm sure my father will love you. We can all go out for Italian afterward."
Maybe. She's told a few stories about bringing boyfriends home; her father's better than most, but still has the typical reactions. Then again, he's not a boyfriend, is he? He's a colleague, and there's nothing like that between the two of them. The fact that she fills out the uniform perfectly doesn't matter. Neither does the fact that a bikini-clad version of her still appears in his dreams sometimes.
Beckett pulls out her poker face during the ceremony itself, though her eyes are bright and happy. At first. Then, as she watches the audience, their sparkle fades and dims, progressing through something neutral before becoming absolutely stony. And in that moment, Javier Esposito imagines he could easily reverse the usual father-boyfriend dynamic, colleagues or not.
He catches her elbow afterward. "Hey. Kate. I'm sorry." It's not enough. It's nowhere near enough. But it's all he can offer.
"He promised, Javi." There are unshed tears in her voice. "He promised."
"I know."
She breathes heavily as she struggles to recover her aplomb. "It's all right. I finished, and that's the part that matters the most."
"That's right," he answers, recognizing the sound of someone trying to convince themselves. "Come on. We can still go get Italian to celebrate."
Outside, in the cooler, clearer air, she takes another deep and steadying breath. It backfires, causing her to double over as she chokes back her feelings. He puts a hand on her back. "Push through. You're stronger than this."
"He's drinking, damn it. I know he is."
"Probably. But we're going out to celebrate graduation, Kate. Not to mention, I'm hungry."
With visible effort, she unfolds to her full height. "Why don't you go ahead, Esposito. I've lost my appetite."
"Uh-uh. You're coming to the restaurant with me, and you're going to eat a full meal, and then maybe we'll —" he trails off. "I don't know. Grab a movie. Go dancing. Something. This is something to celebrate, and that's what we're going to do."
"I don't really feel like doing anything like that."
He pulls her around so that they're facing each other, dropping his voice to protect both their privacy. "Then what do you feel like? And don't say just going home, because that isn't happening."
"I just want to forget." Her voice goes husky. "But movies or dancing won't be enough."
"Something else, then. Anything. Just tell me what'll work."
She meets his eyes, and there's a different kind of hitch in her breath now. "Anything?"
He nods, recognizing where this is going, but even so he's still startled when she steps forward and brushes her lips against his. "Kate."
"You said anything. And I've seen you looking," she whispers. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."
He keeps his voice gentle. "I don't want you to hate yourself tomorrow. Or me."
"I won't."
It's still a bad idea, he knows. Horrible. But at least, if she does this with him, he can be careful to minimize the damage she might suffer. So he pulls her close, kissing her back, and whispers that his place is only a few minutes away.