Beckett: Recognition

Wednesday 10 October 2012

Detective Kate Beckett rushed through the Twelfth Precinct. Her long hair flowed behind her, arriving a second after the rest of her. She unwrapped her silk scarf and shook off her leather jacket, then dumped them over the back of her chair. It had been a manic morning. After several nights staying with Castle, Kate had reached the point of really needing to return to her own apartment for fresh clothes, put on a wash and check the mail. There hadn't been a murder in over a week, and it had been a welcome step out of her life, particularly after the Maddox affair, to bask in the newfound freedom with the man she had for so long not allowed herself to love. No one else yet knew of the development in their relationship and Kate loved the secrecy and the thrill of having him all to herself. The couple had woken early yet, somehow, Kate had found herself realising that time had sped up and had rushed home without breakfast or a shower so she could be in time for work. Just as she had changed and was munching a Poptart (the only vaguely breakfast related item she had been able to find), she had received an irate call from her Captain on her apartment landline. Castle had laughed at her for still having one.

Her cell had been on silent and when she looked at it, she found several missed calls from Gates, Ryan and Esposito. Beckett couldn't believe she had been distracted enough to turn off the vibrate function as well as put it on silent. Well, she could because she really was having so much fun with Castle - she allowed herself a small smile - and she hadn't been on a case for days. Beckett's colleagues' voice messages revealed that last night, or in the early hours of today, a double homicide had taken place in a street alley on the Twelfth Precinct's turf. There was one witness, a teenage girl, a runaway who Esposito had had to corner to stop from running. Ryan had stepped in and managed to coerce the girl to the station, but the gentle detective had realised that their efforts to restrain her meant neither he nor Esposito should conduct an interview. She would need someone not associated with the scene. The girl was being kept with a representative from Child Services in a witness room, but Gates had sternly insisted that Beckett get to the precinct 'right now' to get her witness statement, without going direct to the crime scene.

'Give me the run down, Espo,' said Beckett as she straightened her cream blouse and ran her fingers though her hair, then wiped a line of sweat from her forehead.

'Man and a woman, GSWs, two to the woman, one to the man. A back alley,' he replied briskly, not managing to hide his surprise that they had not been able to reach her straight away. Beckett was always on call, always available.

'Who reported it?' Beckett averted her eyes from the brown ones boring into her.

'This kid, a girl about thirteen, fourteen, maybe. Told 911 she saw the whole thing.'

'The girl called it in? Gates said she was a runaway and she tried to run from you? Why did she hang around once she made the phone call?'

'Don't know. She freaked, bro. She obviously wants to tell us what she saw but she's scared. She won't speak.'

'She's probably traumatised. Who's in there with her?'

'Some douche from Child Services. The people they send over.' Esposito rolled his eyes. 'Woman looks pissed that she had to get up early to be here. Don't think she's got a word out of her either. You better get in there before Gates has you for breakfast.'

Esposito handed her a file. With a quick guilty smile, she shimmied past him avoiding Gates's glare through her office blinds.

Beckett entered the witness room, shutting the door quickly behind her. She pulled up a chair without looking up and introduced herself. 'Hello, I'm Detective Kate Beckett.' As she spoke, Beckett lifted her eyes to the girl. Everything stopped. Blood seemed to pump in her toes, the tips of her fingers, her cheeks; her heart thundered in her ribs, her ears. There was no breathing. The girl's eyes met hers. Huge brown eyes with flecks of gold and green stared back at her through long strands of limp light brown hair that hung beyond her thin shoulders. Sullen. Surprised. Fear. Confusion.

Recognition.

The girl held her stare. Time stopped. The room seemed to disappear. The table, the walls, the child support officer and the shuffling of papers evaporated, like smoke in a dream. There was only this moment. Kate looked back down at the papers in front her. The letters swam. Amidst the shimmering ink appeared one sentence, black and bold and stark: Erin McDonnel. Date of birth: 12/28/99.

Kate grabbed the table and pushed herself backwards, almost tipping out of the chair. She pulled on the door handle twice as she fumbled the first attempt; sweat made her fingers slippery. Panting, she rushed past Esposito and Ryan, almost knocking a coffee from their hands, to the women's toilets. The heaving began before she gripped the ceramic bowl. Then she was retching. Her abdominal muscles contorted and twisted painfully as bile pushed itself from her body. Acid burned her throat. Tears streamed down her face with the effort. Strands of her long hair stuck to her cheeks.

Spent, she sank back on the floor of the cubicle, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. She stared at the grainy stuccoed wall which seemed to move; the grains refused to stay in one place. Searching and pressing, her fingers found the round scar on her chest. Her heart pounded behind it. Kate pulled her shaking knees to her chest and tried to calm her breathing. She couldn't prevent a moan, a primal sound from the back of her throat. She covered her mouth with both hands, pointed her chin to the ceiling, and tried to push it all back down.

A knock.

'Beckett? Are you okay in there?'

Castle. How did he get here so fast? Ryan or Esposito must have called him when she was at her apartment, she thought foggily. At least he hadn't entered the toilets.

'Kate?'

'I'm fine,' she croaked, testing her voice. She swallowed, then said, 'I'll be out in a minute.'

She pulled herself up to standing and blindly opened the cubicle door. Somehow, step by step, she moved forward to the sinks, and leaned her hands on the cold metal, gripping hard to steady the tremors in her arms. Slowly she was coming back to herself. Kate looked in the mirror. So many selves stared back. A shocked tear-stained face; behind that a professional hard-nosed detective; behind that a giggling nerd; and behind that a grieving teenager.

Kate washed her face and took several long deep breaths. Time to face the music. A dance she didn't think she would be dancing for many years yet, if ever.

She opened the door and found the frowning concerned face of her boyfriend, his bulk blocking her view past him.

'What's going on? Ryan said you rushed out of the witness room like you'd seen a ghost. Are you alright? Who's that girl?'

Kate looked up at him from beneath heavy lashes. 'My daughter. That girl is my daughter.'