113. The power to know

“Your father therefore tried to find out. Unfortunately, he did so clumsily, and in doing so attempted to force you into a situation where you would be required to entertain a family in your own home, which would make you entirely uncomfortable and remove your safe space. It is entirely unsurprising, and given your general wish not to upset him also commendable, that you refused. Had you felt able to explain, however, matters would not have eventuated as they did. Your father compounded his original error with words which gave you, in your already highly stressed state, entirely the wrong impression as to his motives and meaning.”

“I know this,” Detective Beckett says angrily. “Get to the point. I don’t need a repetition of how I got here.” Mr Castle strokes her hand, to no effect whatsoever.

“After you informed your father that you were no longer prepared to continue seeing him,” Dr Burke continues coolly, “he continued to attempt to make contact. He wished to correct his error. Despite his upset, he remained completely sober. He has, in fact, ensured that he did not make the same mistake as he did when you stopped enabling him. On being informed by Mr Castle that you wished him to see me, he did so without hesitation, although he must have known that I had no duty to spare his feelings. You are my patient, not he. He has been, I consider, completely honest with me about his mistakes, now and in the past. However, the underlying theme of all of his comments has been that he loves you, and will take any action in order to mend this breach. After you left on Friday his sole concern was you: that you would not wish to reconcile in any way. He was” – Dr Burke considers the non-technical term, and chooses it – “heartbroken at the thought.”

“And your point is?”

“Your father’s actions, which you consider may be a more accurate indication of his feelings than words, are entirely congruent with his words once sober, his single error aside. I recall to you his words on Friday: I didn’t mean…that we weren’t a family. You were all I had left to love. All that he has done since Mr Castle appeared in your life has been to try to ensure that you were happy. In short, Detective Beckett, he has tried to act as a father should.”

Detective Beckett buries her face in Mr Castle’s shoulder. Entirely predictably, Mr Castle scowls blackly at Dr Burke. Really, this protectiveness is very tiring, and the aggression directed at Dr Burke quite unnecessary, especially considering that Dr Burke’s treatment plan is, in fact, working, despite Mr Castle’s scowls and Detective Beckett’s stubbornness. Dr Burke will deserve all the professional plaudits which this unusual approach to treatment will garner.

Detective Beckett clearly says something to Mr Castle, although what it might be is completely obfuscated by the fact that her face is still buried in his shoulder and his arms are around her.

“Okay, Beckett,” he says, and pats her gently.

Mr Castle turns to Dr Burke. “We’re going home.”

“I think that would be wise. Detective Beckett needs time to consider. Detective, I will maintain your session schedule unless you advise me that you will not attend on any given date.”

Mr Castle takes Detective Beckett out in the same over-protective manner which he has adopted for the last few moments. Once the door of his treatment room is safely closed, Dr Burke smiles in an avuncular fashion and concludes smugly that the romantic relationship between them is progressing extremely satisfactorily.

“Let’s go, Beckett. I’m hungry. Have you any food, or do we need to get takeout on the way?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am. You don’t have to eat, but I have a deep and desperate need for the perfect New York pizza. We’ll pick one up on the way, okay?”

“ ‘Kay.”

Castle takes her car keys from her hand, opening the passenger door for her and providing a very tiny push to propel her into it. She doesn’t argue, which is fortunate. Castle does not really feel capable of preserving his cool if she starts to argue. He is going to take her home, they will eat, and there will be absolutely no stresses or strains or difficult realisations.

At least, not from him. Beckett’s continuing pallid state does not incline him to a comfortable state of mind. She’s not in the same universe he is, that’s for sure. Then again, Castle is also pretty certain that the unpleasantly intelligent Dr Burke had chosen every word in that last, devastating explanation with exactitude. He has tried to act as a father should. Try as Castle might, he can’t find any way to disagree with that. Jim might have been more than somewhat annoyed with him (really, Jim and Beckett are very alike) but everything Castle has seen has fitted Dr Burke’s analysis perfectly. Dr Burke, Castle thinks with irritation, is far too clever for anybody’s good, especially Beckett’s. Okay, so the wounds have been ripped back open, cleaned, drained, and carefully dressed, but healing only comes after the pain, and there are no painkillers for mental pain.

Well. There are no prescription painkillers. But there is him. He’ll be her painkiller. After all, though she doesn’t know it, she’s killed the pain of writer’s block for him. And, it occurs to him, it might be advisable to speak to Jim, when Beckett isn’t around. He ought to be told that she’s okay, for a given value of okay. Perhaps not actively self-destructive would be most accurate. Not that he will use those words to Jim.

Beckett’s hand has arrived on his knee while he’s been shifting the seat and mirrors to suit him. Once again, it’s entirely non-sexual. He covers her hand briefly, reflects that today might be the first time she’s ever been comfortable enough with her feelings for him that she can reveal in front of others that she needs him there – even to Dr Burke, from whom there appear to be no secrets, whether she would want secrets or not, (Friday doesn’t count, as then, as with all previous times, he’d driven that contact.) and then pulls out into the traffic.

Beckett’s apartment is full of the delicious smell of pepperoni pizza. Castle is disposing of a substantial portion. Beckett is nibbling on a single slice with no enthusiasm at all. They are drinking water. There hadn’t even been soda in the fridge, which Castle wishes he had known as he’d have got some of that too. The room is very quiet. Castle tries not to talk with his mouth full (manners had been drummed into him) and while he expects that Beckett had been taught the same she also doesn’t seem to be in the mood for light, flirtatious conversation. Therefore dinner proceeds in silence.

Beckett puts down her half-eaten slice of pizza and drains her water glass.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

The plates are removed, and coffee arrives on the small table by the couch. Castle, having been given the clear impression that his assistance would be unwanted, has made himself comfortable there and briefly and very unobtrusively texted Alexis to say that he’ll be late. Beckett sets the tray down and then sits down as close as is possible without actually being in his lap, laying her head on his shoulder and sighing quietly.

“Do you think he was trying to be a father?”

Castle’s mouth flaps uselessly for a moment. She’s asking him? “Uh?” he says, pointlessly.

“What do you think? You’ve heard him since… since I haven’t.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Truth, Castle. Please? I just need – I can’t process this. Tell me what you think the truth is.” She gulps. “You’ve never lied to me.”

“Even if you don’t like it?”

She swallows again. “Even then. I can’t promise I won’t get angry.” Her eyes are liquid, that soft sheen that in any other woman he’s known would mean tears already falling. “I can’t promise I won’t… go away. I always had to be angry someplace else.”

Oh. That’s something it would have been good to know some time ago. That puts some things in proper context.

“I have a solution for that,” Castle says mischievously, waggling his eyebrows. “Where did you put your handcuffs?”   She jabs him in the ribs. “Ow! That’s not nice.” But it has stopped her misery spilling over.

“No handcuffs.”

“Awww, you’re not being any fun at all.” He cuddles her in, and slips a hand round her face, reverting to seriousness. “I can’t promise I won’t get angry back. I’m not a saint, Beckett.”

“I noticed,” she manages to snark. “No saint does what you do. They’d be de-sanctified.”

“Is that a word?”

“You have a better one?”

“No,” Castle admits.

“Then stop trying to wriggle out of answering the question. Do you think my father was trying to be a father?”

“Yes,” Castle says bluntly. “He was doing exactly what I’d have done. Trying to get in touch, trying to explain.   Sizing me up and deciding if I was good enough for you, and then doing what all parents do: getting to meet me on home ground and then at my home.”

Beckett says precisely nothing. On the other hand, she isn’t disappearing over the horizon either. On balance, that’s good. He can’t see her face, though. She’s turned away from him and dropped her elbows on to her knees. There is no sound, so it’s a mystery why he’s sure she’s crying. Again. It’s just as well that skin is waterproof, or she’d dissolve.

He hoists her up into his lap, assertively, and holds her tightly, tipping her chin upward so that he can see the eyeliner smudging downward. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’ll be okay. You can fix this.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to? Why should he want to? I just proved I never believed him and never forgave him and why should he bother?”

“Because he’s your dad, Kate. He’d never have come to Dr Burke’s if he didn’t want to fix it.”

“But then I said all that,” she sobs.

Castle is not impressed by all this self-flagellation. He doesn’t think it’s necessary and he’s just a little tired of the loop. Most of this is driven by his distinct dislike of Beckett being so broken. God knows, she’s had enough to deal with, but wallowing in it is really not going to move anything along.

“So you said all that. So? Everyone there knew that you had to lay out the whole truth rather than hiding it. Even your dad knew that. You’re the only one who thinks that you should hide your feelings and let everyone else believe in the lies. Truth hurts, Kate, but nothing ever works if it’s built on lies. God knows my two marriages didn’t,” he adds bitterly.

“Uh?”

“One had an affair. One thought she could keep me writing as long as she was permanently next to me. Except she pretended she wanted me, when what she really wanted was the royalties.”

Beckett half-turns and hugs him.

“Lies are corrosive. They even corrode gold rings.”

“Not possible, Castle,” Beckett says automatically and didactically. “Gold doesn’t dissolve in anything but aqua regia.”

“What?”

“Gold dissolves in aqua regia.”

“Will you stop spoiling my metaphors? That one was really good.”

“And change the habit of a lifetime?”

“A lifetime?” Castle says smoothly. “Why, Miss Beckett, are you proposing that we spend a lifetime together? This is such a surprise. I’m quite speechless.”

“That was twenty words. Speechless? If I thought I could render” – he makes an appreciative noise – “you speechless I’d propose it again.” She smirks nastily, sure that neither of them are serious.

“If it made me speechless I couldn’t accept. That would be counterproductive. I think you should let me propose.”

“Why, Mr Castle!” Beckett assumes a completely faked appearance of astonishment. “I had never expected that.” She grins, matching Castle’s evil grin precisely.

“You haven’t answered me.”

“Nope. Then again, you didn’t ask me a question.”

Castle thinks that this conversation, while deeply arousing, amusing, and certainly putting both of them in a much better mood than previously, should probably wait until Beckett is at least able to walk through the door of his loft without running away or breaking down. And some time after that he will certainly propose. He is not inclined to be proposed to. That would be quite, quite wrong. He’ll do any proposing that’s to be done.

“No,” he says suavely. “I didn’t. You didn’t ask me one, either.” He’s watching her very closely.

“Nop” – she doesn’t manage to finish the word before he’s stolen it from her tongue.

Castle kisses Beckett with smooth assertion and a complete lack of apology. His hands skim over her back and settle firmly at her neck and hip. His tongue searches her mouth, which is pleasingly receptive. She melts into him, sliding her hands round his neck and accepting him pressing her closer inward. The hand at her hip comes round, untucking her shirt as he goes, and then starting on its buttons. The shirt falls off her shoulders.

“Question, Beckett. Shall I do this” – he draws a line straight down between her breasts and stops at the button of her pants – “or this?” and he licks below her ear where it makes her gasp and wriggle.

“Both,” she breathes out.

“Greedy,” he rasps into her ear, “but okay then.” And he does, so that she squirms and squeaks.

“Another question.” She sighs assentingly. “Shall I do this” – his mouth closes over her breast – “or this?” as his fingers loosen her pants and slip inside.

“Both,” she moans.   “Castle.”

“Definitely greedy.”

His wicked mouth and evil fingers play freely. The pants follow the shirt to the floor. Beckett is stretched out across his lap, totally lax and receptive under his forceful, demanding touch, soaked and moaning.

“One last question.”

“Stop with the questions. Make love to me, Castle.”

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

“Please just do it.”

“Here or in bed?”

“I don’t care.”

Castle does care. Bending over her like this is going to hurt his back. “Bed,” he says, strokes his fingers through her to make her whimper and then shifts her so he can stand, sweep her up and have her laid out on the bed where he shortly joins her, stripped and so very ready to make love to her. He attends to her breasts for a little longer, palming and rolling, then suckling till she writhes and cries out; not letting her play with him for fear this will all come to a premature halt; and when she is totally and beautifully all the way up and issuing breathless orders which he ignores quite happily, he takes her slowly and gently and kisses her deeply and brings them both to soft, sweet release.

After, she snuggles into him and curls an arm over his chest. Her quiet breathing makes him thinks she’s slipping towards sleep, but after a while it hasn’t changed. Castle’s post-coital happiness shifts towards detection, and detects Beckett’s fingers lightly drawing patterns on his chest, her toes twitching against his, and then a slight hum. He concludes that thought is taking place, and awaits developments, drawing soothing little patterns of his own on her back.

“You really think he was trying to be my dad?”

“Yes.”

He can’t say anything else. She’d wanted the truth. Her fingers tighten.

“Will you come to the precinct tomorrow?”

“We’ve got a case. Of course I will.”

“Good.”

She doesn’t say anything more, until Castle starts making reluctant noises about having to go home.

“I’ll fix this.”

“In your own time. I said I’d wait. We’ve got plenty of time.” He cuddles her close. “I know how you feel. It’s enough.”

“You’re enough,” she says, with emphasis. “Just knowing you’ve got my back. Even that.”

“I’ll be there.” He kisses her gently. “You can’t get rid of me.”

“Don’t want to,” rises from her lips.

“Good,” Castle says with satisfaction, and then with considerably less satisfaction. “I’ve got to get home, though.”

Beckett curls her arms more tightly around him, and then releases him. “I know,” she sighs.

“Till tomorrow.”

“Love you,” she murmurs in return.

“Love you too.”

Beckett’s morning shower is not soothing, nor does it leave her in the correct frame of mind for work. Her brain worries at Dr Burke’s and Castle’s conviction that her father was not lying, and indeed was trying to be fatherly. She might dislike Dr Burke, but she doesn’t doubt his truthfulness or intelligence. As for Castle, she trusts him to tell her the truth. Or at least what he firmly believes to be the truth, even if she won’t like it.

She reaches her desk no more sure of her next action than she had been on leaving Dr Burke’s office last night, and gratefully pulls their nice new case towards her. Footage is still inconclusive. However, the two numbers which Belvez had been ringing are not inconclusive. One is a Leon Belvez. That sounds like it’s likely to be family. Beckett makes a note for Espo and Ryan to follow up. The other is a Michael Merowin. Beckett dives into following him up herself, mainly because he’s a name she remembers from John’s list of his research group. This feels hopeful. She likes hopeful, and she likes progress, and right now she’d like to interview Merowin to try for some of both. The fact that she won’t have to think about her father is a convenient bonus.

Unfortunately it’s only eight-thirty. That’s probably too early for NYU. On the other hand… she could find out this Merowin’s schedule by calling the department’s office, and then ambush him. She smiles ferally at the thought as she carries on with the current state of evidential play and thoughts which might turn into leads to follow. Interviewing a surprised witness-suspect will cheer her up. It always does.

As does the delicious scent of her favourite form of caffeine and the rustle of the bag round her favourite form of pastry accompanied by her favourite – and only – partner.

“Breakfast,” he says happily. She’s already halfway into the bear claw.

“Mmm umphmmm,” she responds, around a mouthful of flakes. Castle appears to have translated this very accurately into delicious thank you.

She swallows, downs a large slug of coffee, hums happily, and grins.

“Look. This guy Merowin is one of the two regular numbers in the phone list, and he’s part of the research group.”

“So are we going to have a chat with him?”

“Yep. I was just about to get his schedule.” She picks up the phone and has a brief conversation. “Okay, he’ll be free of his teaching group at ten.”

Ryan and Esposito rattle in on twin Yos. “Got a hit on the phone records, boys. Can you follow up Leon Belvez, and Castle and I will take Merowin.”

“Unfair,” Ryan says. “You get to go out.”

“I get to speak chemistry, too,” Beckett says dryly, “which is worse than high-school German. Give me Russian any day.”

“Spanish would be easy,” Esposito says smugly. Everyone glares at him. Bi-lingual doesn’t count.

“You speak fluent Russian?” Castle says

“Didn’t I tell you? I told you I’d been in Kiev. How do you think I managed?”

Castle is impressed. He only just manages to keep his mouth shut on will you talk Russian in bed, Beckett? which would be astonishingly hot, but saying so here will result in him being astonishingly cold on account of being, not astonishingly, dead.

“Got the Silver Center footage, Beckett.”

“And?”

“It might be helpful. I’ll get the techs to try to run it through.”

“I thought you were the King of Cameras?” Castle says.

“Yeah, but the techs can take out everything that doesn’t have people in so I only use my top-class skills” – Espo snorts derisively – “on the frames that matter.”

“Okay. Try not to get square eyes. Espo, can you have another go at finding his laptop? He must have had one.” She stands up and stretches, then drains the now-cold coffee and puts her coat on.

“Let’s go, Castle.”