35. Friends will be friends

Ensconced in a comfortably informal pizza joint with satisfyingly large quantities of pizza – separately: Castle declares that pizza requires anchovies and Beckett declares that no anchovy will ever pass her lips – in front of them, the question of how to fill the remains of the day stays unanswered for some time while the consumption of pizza takes precedence.

“So what shall we do?”

Beckett munches her pizza and doesn’t answer.

“When are you meeting Lanie?”

“Six.” That’s bitten off. 

“Can I come too?” Castle says annoyingly.

“No.” He pouts.  “No.  Women only.”

“What can we do between now and six?” Castle muses. “I mean, I can think of lots of things” – he leers – “but you’ll only say that they’re inappropriate and then I’ll be upset and we won’t have any fun at all if I’m upset.” 

Beckett looks remarkably unimpressed. “I think I can occupy myself if you start sulking,” she points out.

“I don’t sulk.”

“You’re pouting right now.”

“I am not.” Beckett flips on her phone and takes a picture.

“See?”

“That is not a pout.” Beckett raises a disbelieving eyebrow.  “It’s an expression of dismay.”

“Otherwise known as a pout.”

“Let’s have coffee,” Castle diverts. “We still haven’t worked out what we’re going to do.”

“We?”

“We,” he says firmly, and before she can quibble carries on. “What would you normally do on your days off?”

“Chores,” Beckett says. His face falls.

“Really? Nothing interesting?”

“Nope. We don’t all have cleaning services and personal shoppers.”

“I don’t have a personal shopper. I do all my own shopping.”  He doesn’t comment on the cleaning service.  Of course he has one.  Wouldn’t everyone, if they could afford it?  He has memories of his mother cleaning to keep their bodies and souls together, in between parts – and sometimes during.  He remembers the reddened hands and callouses; the way she’d stretched up and breathed deeply, painfully.  He’d rather use a trusted agency with the latest equipment and safety standards – and never have to do it himself.

“Today’s a vacation day. No chores.  C’mon.  Think of something you’d like to do and haven’t done.  I’m completely at your disposal, handsome face, rugged body and all.”  He waggles his eyebrows.  Beckett acquires a wholly bored expression which is only redeemed by the fact that she quite deliberately assumed it and she knows that he knows that she did.  She says nothing.  “There must be something you want to do?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you want me to choose? I might suggest something you hate.   Like a Brussels sprout tasting extravaganza.”

She makes an absolutely disgusted face. “No Brussels sprouts.  Ugh.”

Castle thinks for a moment. “I know.  Let’s go to the Paris/New York design exhibition.  It’ll be interesting.”

They get the subway to 103rd Street.  It’s easiest and fastest, Beckett points out, and ignores Castle’s grumbling.  Castle would have preferred a cab, in which he could readily have indulged in some mild hugging and general cuddling-in.  The subway is not conducive to either, and he is quite sure that Beckett will not need his help to balance herself.

Indeed she doesn’t, and the subway isn’t nearly busy enough for him to be able to find a good excuse to press against her. Where are the crowds when you need them?  Crowds do not happen, tourists are not present on a cold Friday in February, and there is no more excuse to be cuddlesome at the end of the journey than at the beginning.

The exhibition is actually interesting. Naturally, they disagree about what’s interesting, and disagree more about the relative merits of Art Deco over neo-romanticism – surprisingly, it’s Castle who argues for Art Deco and Beckett who prefers neo-romantics.  Most people who knew them both would have thought it would be the other way round.  Castle thinks about the swirling, inchoate abstracts in Beckett’s apartment and understands why she wouldn’t want the clean lines and curves of Art Deco.  Too precise for the soft, rarely-seen Kat who sometimes, only sometimes and only at home, inhabits the otherwise commanding, decisive, rigid-certaintied Beckett.

For the first time in several weeks, indeed almost a couple of months, they’re wandering around in reasonable harmony, quarrelling gently about their respective preferences and artistic or architectural merits of each display. Castle’s extensive travelling gives him a broader appreciation, Beckett deeper and rather narrower.  The afternoon passes almost without them noticing, punctuated by a short visit to the café where Beckett insists on paying for the coffee and Castle humphs disgustedly at her for so doing.  He takes his revenge for that by unobtrusively taking her hand as they return to the main museum and not letting go.  She essays a little tug, Castle declines to let go, and her hand relaxes into his.  A little assertiveness, just to see what happens, and what happens is that she lets him have his way.

As the afternoon draws to a close, Beckett’s hand in his develops a certain tension, and her conversation starts to become less engaged. Castle tries to shift in closer, but she’s entirely unreceptive and indeed her hand is withdrawing from his, not actively; but her grip has dropped completely and if he weren’t holding on her hand would fall away, much like she’s putting space between their bodies.  Chill is drifting over her as six o’clock approaches, frosting her eyes and cooling her voice: even the skin of her limp fingers seems to be cold.

“I need to go,” she says quietly, neutrally.

“I’ll walk you there,” Castle replies, mildly metaphorically since it’s far too far to walk in a reasonable time. Beckett merely shrugs, and turns for the exit.  He recognises the same unemotional shell locking into place as she’d had on the way to her father’s, not yet covered by the polished cheerfulness that she’d assumed then.  Possibly not at all intended to be covered by cheerfulness, or the slick sardonic cynicism of the precinct.  This feels more like… armour.  Undisguised armour.  Beckett, he realises, is not only expecting a fight, she’s already put up her defences.

At Astor Place Beckett bids Castle farewell – he objects, but she doesn’t need him there at all: this is going to be unpleasant all ways round and an audience for even the opening skirmishes is not needed – and huddles into her full-length coat and scarf, beret covering her head and gloves on. It’s still close to freezing, and anyway she is cold no matter the external temperature.

To her relief, she’s beaten Lanie to the bar. She finds a corner table out of the way and as far from the bar as possible – this discussion will not be improved by publicity – and orders a soda.  She’s not hungry, and doubts that she will be later.  She doesn’t want to drink anything alcoholic.  Her emotions were far too close to the surface on Monday and adding any mood altering substances now isn’t going to help her stay calm.

“Hey, Kate. You got a drink?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Lanie returns with a glass of wine and clicks it down in a determined fashion. Beckett takes a sip of her soda and lets Lanie begin.  She has no intention of doing so.  Lanie is not proof against the technique.

“So what’s up with you, girl? You’ve been off all week.  Are you okay?”

“How do you mean?” Kate says smoothly. “Everything’s fine.  Solved the case, no problem.”

Lanie’s stress-measuring speedometer goes from nought to sixty in less than two seconds at Kate’s evasion.

“Don’t give me that crap, Kate. You ran out on me Monday lunchtime, you ran out on all of us Monday evening, and you’ve been avoiding me ever since.  Now what the hell is going on?”

“I told you, nothing. I was really tired Tuesday.  I told you so.  Then we had a case.  I said I’d see you tonight, and here I am.”

“Don’t give me that. You said plenty Monday lunchtime till you spooked and fled.  Not one word of it was fine.  You got so many issues you could stock the library.  Now, girlfriend, you start spilling them instead of hiding them.”

“Lanie, I thought we were here for a nice evening with a drink and maybe some food. I didn’t come out so you could practice psychiatry or boost your application to be a CIA interrogator.  I don’t need all this questioning from you.  Everything’s fine.”

“You need something. You could start with not disappearing off and shoving me out the way.  I still got bruises.”

“I had things to do.”

“More important than us?”

“Yes,” Kate says flatly, in a way that admits no disagreement. Lanie does not appreciate the bluntness.

“So it wasn’t a case. It was an excuse so you didn’t have to talk to me.”

“It wasn’t about you and it wasn’t an excuse. I had to go.  Nothing to do with any of you at all.”

“You might have had to go then but you could’ve made up for it later. So you’re gonna talk to me now.  Let’s start at the beginning with what you said on Monday.  Why did you say that to Writer-Boy?”

“Not going there, Lanie. You made it pretty clear what you thought on Monday.  We don’t need to talk about it any more.”

“You’ve got no idea what I thought.” Lanie is thoroughly frustrated and wishing that she wasn’t so much shorter than Kate, especially when Kate adds a cynical look and raised eyebrow to the mix.  Slapping Kate would be hugely satisfying and might let some light through the rocks in her mule-stubborn stupid head.  “You never gave me a chance to say what I thought.”

“You didn’t need to say anything. Now, are we going to have a nice evening or are you gonna carry on?”

“You know what I thought? I thought that you were talking so much bullshit.”  Lanie has utterly lost it.  Any last remnants of control are gone from her voice under Kate’s calm gaze and deflections.  “Your life is a freaking disaster and you won’t do anything about it.  Look at you.  All you do is work and run away from everything and everyone that might knock some sense into you.  You won’t even try to sort yourself out.”

“I don’t need sorting out. I’m just fine as I am.”

“Crap. You’re using your dad as an excuse not to fix your life and I think you’ve been doing it for years.  Your dad doesn’t need you smothering him and I bet he’d hate it if he knew how you were behaving.  You went all out to make sure you said something to make you look so bad to Castle he’d never come near you again just so you didn’t have to fix your life.”

“Shut up, Lanie,” Kate says warningly.

“I won’t. Someone’s gotta tell you the truth sometime.  You need help, Kate.  I don’t know what’s wrong with you but you are fucked right up.  The Kate I used to know would never have deliberately gone out to drive someone off like you did.  The Kate I used to know wouldn’t be shutting me out like this.  You need to get some help before you crash big-time.”

Kate stands up, drops a couple of bills on the table, and gazes coldly at Lanie. “So much for a nice evening with my friend.  Guess that’s me told,” she says, without any discernible emotion.  “Good to know where we stand and what you think of me.  No doubt I’ll see you when you’re next on duty, Dr Parrish.”

Lanie clamps a hand on her wrist. “No, you don’t.  You’re trying to do just the same to me as you did to Castle.  Well, you’ve just overdone it.  You’re trying to manoeuvre this fight and me somewhere I can’t call you on your bullshit.  Epic fail, girlfriend.  If you think I’m that dumb you thought wrong.  So you can sit back down or I can get you sent to mandatory therapy.  You just watch me do it.”

“I don’t think you’re my doctor or my boss.” 

Kate hasn’t shifted to sit down at all. Lanie doesn’t give a single inch.  Over the last few days she’s been thinking, and what she’s been thinking is that Kate is spiralling downward with nothing and no-one to stop her.  She’s also been thinking that best friend or no best friend she’s going to have a little chat (or something like that) with Writer-Boy, who may or may not have been stupid enough to believe Kate, but hadn’t exactly looked driven off on Wednesday.  In fact, he’d looked rather more entrenched than for weeks.

“I think I’m the only person who’s giving you it straight. Sit down, Kate.”  Lanie stands up and pushes Kate into the seat, who, not expecting it, sits down hard and inelegantly.  Lanie shoves the cash back into her hand.

“What the hell, Lanie?”

“Sit there, shut up and listen. You’re heading straight for a breakdown if you don’t stop all this.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“So what was with you Monday? And Tuesday?  Espo said you were sick, but you weren’t.  So what was really up Tuesday?”

“I told you, I was tired. Late night Monday.  So I went to bed early.”

“Yeah, right. More of your crap.  You’re never tired.  You’re never hung-over because you never drink.  You’re never upset because you never let yourself be upset by anything.  You’re locked into your own little world where you can pretend you don’t need anything.  Who’s there when you do need help?”

“Lanie, enough. I don’t need help.  I did need a nice night out.  Since I’m not going to get it, let’s just go home now.”

“No. You’re not going home.  You’re staying right here” – and Kate’s phone starts to ring.

“Beckett.” Lanie watches her face go taut and her mouth pinch white-lipped around the next words.

“Yes. I’ll be there shortly.”

She shrugs her coat on, still on the phone, and picks up her scarf and beret, dropping the crumpled dollar bills on the table. “Julia, I’m on my way,” she says tightly.  She cuts the call and looks at Lanie.  “Got to go.”

“What?”

“Got to go. This was a washout anyway.  I’ll see you around.”

She’s gone before Lanie can close her mouth.

Left to her own devices and most of a glass of wine, Lanie swipes the money Kate had left from the table before it blows away under the air conditioning, and ponders. That had not precisely gone well.  Lanie had intended to be briskly sympathetic and tease the whole story out of Kate, and then suggest with some earthy humour that she at least find someone to keep her bed warm.  Instead she’d been suckered into losing her temper in less than five minutes, and even if Kate needs to hear the truth Lanie’s screwed up any chance of that by the way she’s put things.  And why’s Kate walked out like that anyway?  It can’t have been a body, she’d have got her own call as the ME.  Can’t have been an acquaintance of Kate’s dad, she’s never mentioned him having a lady friend.  So who’s Julia, and why is Kate dancing to her tune?  Apart, of course, from the perfect excuse it gave Kate to leave.  Bit like Monday, really… A bit like?  A lot like.  Right down to the expression on Kate’s face.

Lanie takes a mouthful of wine and wonders what to do next. She remembers that she wanted a little talk with Castle, who himself had been remarkably evasive on Wednesday.  Unfortunately, she doesn’t have Castle’s cell number.  That’s a major oversight which she intends to rectify sometime in the next thirty seconds.  She calls Esposito, instead.

“Espo.”

“Yeah, Lanie? Why you calling on a Friday night?  You missing my handsome face?”

“No. I want Castle’s number.  You got it?”

Espo makes a disgusted noise. “Lanie, are you tellin’ me you’d rather spend time with him?”

“Javi, quit it. I’m not in the mood for your ego.  You got his number or not?”

“Why d’you want it?”

“That’s my business. You got it, or do I need to call Ryan?”

Esposito reels off the number.

“Thanks.” Lanie rings off, and contemplates the wisdom of her next move.  Still, it doesn’t sound like Kate’s going to be talking to her any time soon, so she can’t get into more trouble than she’s already got herself into.

“Rick Castle,” oozes down the phone.

“Castle, it’s Lanie.” Oozing stops.

“Lanie? Why are you calling?  I thought you and Beckett were having a night out.  Do you want my handsome company to join you?”

“Kate just left.” There’s a stunned silence from the phone.  “I wanna talk to you.  Can you get round here?”

“Why?” Castle doesn’t sound nearly as humorously acquiescent as usual.  “I’m not getting in between you and Beckett.”

Lanie declines the bait. “Who’s Julia?” she asks instead.  “And why is Kate running off as soon as she calls?”  Castle starts to swear, not particularly under his breath.  “Castle, what’s going on?”  But she’s talking to a dead line.

“What the hell is going on here?” Lanie asks her wine. It doesn’t answer.

Castle is rapidly dialling Beckett. He’s more relieved than he’d like when she answers.

“Beckett.”

“Beckett, Lanie just called me. What’s going on?  Why are you going after Mrs Berowitz?”

“He’s disappeared again. I can’t not.”

Castle recognises that trying to stop Beckett at this point will be counterproductive, to say the least. Later, however… later, he needs to know why she’s gone off like this.  He suspects, from the mere fact that Lanie called him wanting to talk – much the same as in the morgue, with added emphasis – that the evening hadn’t been going well.  Mrs Berowitz’s call might have been very convenient.  However, the fact remains that Beckett is once again pouring herself out where she really cannot help.  This is not good, and in fact, infuriating. 

“I’ll come and help. Where are you?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”  She is damn well not fine and he is not having this.  It’s going to stop.  One way or another.

“Beckett, stop arguing. I’m coming.  Where are you? If you don’t tell me I’ll simply go to the Berowitzes’.”  He’s bluffing.  He can’t remember exactly where they live, though he thinks he’d get the street right.  Grudgingly, she gives him the address.  She is at the Berowitzes’ apartment.  “Did you drive or do I need to bring a car?”

“Car, please. I don’t have mine.”  Ah: straight from the bar to the Berowitzes’.  Not good.

“On the way.” He departs at some speed.

When he arrives Beckett is trying to get details of where and when Mr Berowitz was last seen. Mrs Berowitz is crying as she opens the door.  Beckett looks as if she’s about to scream.

“Julia, you have to help me here. I can’t do anything if you can’t tell me when he went out and where he said he was going.”

“Hello, Mrs Berowitz. I’ve come to join my partner.  Rick Castle.  Hey, Beckett.”

“Castle.”

He sits down next to Beckett. Mrs Berowitz looks tearfully at him.  Beckett’s tension is sky-high.  Castle unobtrusively taps a finger on her hand to catch her glance, when Mrs Berowitz isn’t paying attention.  “Lemme,” he murmurs.  Beckett shrugs doubtfully, but then nods.