135. Sorry that I made you cry

As Friday progresses, Beckett is only too happy that there are plenty of murders to keep her occupied. She doesn’t want to think about the coming session, she doesn’t want to remember that Castle’s still playing his family-feud cards very close to his chest, and she really does not want to think about the nagging feeling that suggesting a game that up until now she had enjoyed, had been a very risky thing indeed. Still, she’s stuck with it. She sighs heavily.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re imitating a tornado. Look, you’ve ruffled all your papers.”

“Nothing, okay?”

Castle is not noticeably punctured by the edge on her tone, but he does stop asking. A moment later, he wanders off, and wanders back with coffee for both of them.

“Thanks,” she manages, and frowns at the search results she’s just received. There’s nothing wrong with them, there just isn’t anything useful there.

“Beckett, I got prints on Brent Selbright,” Espo announces.

“About time the lab delivered. Anything interesting?”

“Yeah. He’s got a history. He’s been picked up a few times for being a bit too free with his fists – usually around East 45th.”

“Beating on the girls?” Castle asks. Beckett raises her eyebrows. “What? Research for Storm.” Her eyebrows descend.

“Yeah,” Esposito says bleakly. “No-one managed to make charges stick.” The expression of disgust on his face says it all.

“Someone made something stick.”

“Yeah, a baseball bat to his skull.”

“Okay, so what can we do? What’s CSU come up with?”

“Still running all those prints they found in the SRO. Nothin’ on the weapon yet. Lanie says it’s likely a baseball bat, from the shape, but the perp really whaled on him.”

“Any idea if it was a man or a woman?”

“Nah. Guy was lyin’ down, Lanie said, when he got bashed.”

Beckett hums thoughtfully. “Did CSU or Lanie check round his wrists or ankles for marks?”

Esposito looks oddly at her.   “Huh?”

Castle suddenly grins. “Really, Beckett?” he says insinuatingly. “Something you wanna share?” She glares at him. He smiles sweetly, which changes to predatory when he’s sure Esposito’s looking in another direction.

“No,” she says freezingly, though she has a strong suspicion that this conversation might be restarted later.

Esposito has gone back to his desk to make a call to Lanie. Shortly, he returns.

“Yeah, Lanie says there are very faint marks.” Beckett smiles smugly. “They’re on the report. She’s just about finished.”

“What happened? It’s taken her four days.”

“ ‘s been busy, she says.” Beckett growls. “Lots of murders.” She growls again. “You’ll have it tonight.” There’s an indistinct mutter with overtones of severe annoyance. “Anyway, what’re you thinkin’?”

“Sounds like he picked up girls. Sounds like he liked a little kink, and probably a little chemical help. So when he’s all ready – someone took the opportunity to beat his head in. What do we know about who he went into the SRO with?”

Ryan bounds over. “Camera footage – only got that this morning,” he says hastily at Beckett’s fulminating look – “shows this girl with him.”

“Not much to go on there.”

“Nah. But lookee here. Two minutes later, this guy walks in.”

“Interesting. Does that look like a baseball bat to you, Espo?”

“Yeah. Does that look like a baseball bat to you, Ryan?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t I get asked?” Castle says plaintively.

“Nah. We all know you’ve never watched a baseball game.”

“I know what a baseball bat looks like, though. It looks like that.”

“Well done, Castle,” Beckett says insincerely. “Okay, so it’s an unknown guy with a baseball bat. Let’s try to run him down,” she says over Castle’s disgruntled noises.

“On it,” Ryan says first, and dashes off to get going.

“Okay, Espo, can we try and run down the girl?”

“On it.” He disappears. Beckett guesses that the friendly competition between Espo and Ryan as to which of them can find their suspect fastest is about to start, and on observing a shake of hands further guesses that there’s a bet on it.

“So, Beckett,” Castle says, eyes dancing, “why did you immediately think of restraints?”

“It was obvious. Especially as I spent time in Vice,” she says quellingly.

“That’s boring. I thought you might have had some more… direct experience.”

“That’s entirely inappropriate for the bullpen,” Beckett flashes back, and immediately realises the dreadful error she’s made.

“Okay. I’ll ask you again outside the precinct. In the meantime, I’ll just speculate.” He acquires an exceedingly provocative smile, which is entirely undiminished by Beckett’s dangerous growl. “Fantasise.”

The tone in which he says fantasise reminds Beckett quite forcefully and irresistibly of Castle’s words on Tuesday, since when they haven’t spent any private time together. Fantasy is what I dream about doing with you. Reality is when I do it. She can feel a blush rising in her cheeks. The hot, intent look in Castle’s darkening eyes does not cool it one iota. She ignores both the blush and Castle. She’s working, and erotic fantasies have no place in the bullpen. None.

Since Beckett is, after all, a detective, and since she is exceedingly good at discerning hidden, and not-so-hidden, motivations, it doesn’t take her very long to realise that Castle had been throwing out innuendo to distract her from her general worry and discomfort at the thought of the coming session with Dr Burke. On the other hand, it has worked. Every time she looks up Castle does or says something provocatively suggestive, and no matter how blackly she scowls at him or how fearsomely she glares, he carries on.

However, as the last dregs of the afternoon drain away towards evening, even Castle’s scorching suggestiveness fails to help. No matter how hard she concentrates on the evidence she does have – sadly lacking, and she can’t even complain at anyone because they’re all working as fast as they can in the labs and the slabs – there’s nothing more standing between her and Dr Burke – and her father. She starts to pack up. Castle taps her handcuffs, and smirks. She glares, and locks them in her desk. He pouts, theatrically, and then smiles knowingly at her. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. It’s all in the predatory smile and the storm-dark eyes.

But it still doesn’t help.

She slips out without the boys noticing, Castle prowling out behind her. The elevator is already occupied, so there isn’t even the chance of a reassuring arm around her or a hand to hold. The cruiser is surrounded by other cop units, far too many of which are acquiring other cops with excellent observational skills and considerable curiosity, so she can’t do much about that. But when they’re ensconced in the car, Castle gently pats her knee, drops the forceful masculine sexuality and heat, and simply holds her hand for a second, till she pulls it away to start the engine.

At Dr Burke’s, Beckett removes a carrier bag containing, Castle surmises, her Sorry game from the trunk. She looks unhappily at the building, and this time, there being no reason not to, he snugs his arm around her waist and waits till she should move.

She takes a very deep breath, Castle tightens his arm briefly, and then she moves.

She doesn’t say a word, all the way up, but she clings to his hand as if it were her life preserver. She lets go only as they walk into Dr Burke’s reception. Once again, they are shown straight through into his office.

“Good evening, Detective Beckett, Mr Castle.”

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

Dr Burke winces at Mr Castle’s continued informality.

“I brought the game. Where’s Dad?”

“In a separate room, for now. Would you like to discuss anything before we begin?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Then I shall bring him in,” Dr Burke says smoothly.

Castle gently drops Beckett on to a couch, pulls a table in front of her, rearranges the chairs to his satisfaction, and then starts to set up the Sorry board.

“Do you want to shuffle, Beckett?”

“Yeah.” Her hands move mechanically to take the cards and begin to shuffle. She’s still shuffling when her father walks in, followed by Dr Burke.

“Ah,” says Dr Burke, with a reasonable similitude of enthusiasm, looking at the board, “we are ready to play. Perhaps someone would explain the rules to me?”

It is, naturally, Mr Castle who explains. Much to Dr Burke’s surprise, he is brief, lucid, and helpful. It does not seem to be a difficult game to grasp, although the element of luck is unwelcome. He is not fond of games of chance.

“I understand,” he says. “Shall we begin?”

There is little talk for the first few moments. Detective Beckett is first to start not just one, but two, of her little wooden men. They are really quite delicately carved, Dr Burke observes, just as he observes that Detective Beckett is failing to conceal her satisfaction at being in the lead. Mr Castle is obviously more competitive than had previously been apparent, and is exuding an impression that he is less than content with Detective Beckett’s success. This observation does not come as a complete surprise to Dr Burke, who had, some time ago, deduced that Mr Castle was unlikely to be as uncompetitive as he appeared. It would be surprising were Detective Beckett to spend substantial time with a person who was weak in any respect, let alone enter into a relationship with such.

Dr Burke is far more interested in Mr Beckett’s reaction to his daughter’s lead. It is a strange mixture of pride and competitiveness. He observes more closely. Mr Beckett draws a Sorry card. As yet, there has been no conversation of any importance, and certainly no indication that Mr Beckett is prepared to open one.

“Sorry, Katie,” he says, and promptly returns one of her little blue men to its home, placing his red one in its place. He is exhibiting a considerable degree of satisfaction.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” Detective Beckett says, a little crossly. Mr Beckett produces a gamin grin. Dr Burke watches this interchange with considerable satisfaction. The tones are quite normal. Of course, he does not expect this normality to last, but it is the first indication that he has had of the previous relationship. He allows a fractional degree of optimism to enter his mind.

“I’ve started!” Mr Castle bounces, as he draws a card – really, the man behaves as if he were still a child of six, not a grown adult. Both the Becketts roll their eyes. Dr Burke does not, although he considers it a very reasonable reaction.

“That just leaves you,” Detective Beckett says smugly. She and her father exchange glances, then flick away from each other: half-scared, half-embarrassed on Mr Beckett’s part; half-scared, half-angry on Detective Beckett’s. Mr Castle’s childishness is immediately belied by the assessing look in his eyes, and the swift run of his finger over Detective Beckett’s hand.

A few more cards are drawn, and each player starts another man, except Dr Burke. Dr Burke is quite surprised by his own feeling of relief and satisfaction when he is finally able to start one. He ignores his own wish that he should have drawn a Sorry card, in order to remove one of Mr Castle’s men. That is childish, and has no place in an adult’s mind-set. It is, however, very evident that Mr Castle is the most experienced player, although Dr Burke believes that if luck had favoured him, the tactics are not difficult to understand if one applies one’s intelligence.

On Mr Beckett’s next turn, he draws a Sorry card. Dr Burke can easily see that the correct tactical move is to remove Detective Beckett’s remaining man, which is very close to Mr Beckett’s Safety squares. However, Dr Burke is very surprised to note that Mr Beckett, after some seconds of consideration, hesitates significantly before he removes that man.

“Sorry, Katie,” Mr Beckett says. His tone is far more serious than would be appropriate for a children’s game. “There weren’t any other options.” Dr Burke believes that sentence to be freighted with meaning.

Detective Beckett had obviously not expected that. She looks at her father, who meets her eyes. “I couldn’t do anything else. Sometimes there aren’t any good choices in the situation you’re in. You just choose the least worst option.” Silence has shrouded the room: Dr Burke and Mr Castle do not break it.

“I put you in that position, Katie. Once I started drinking there were no good options for anyone except me – and I wasn’t ready to take the only good option. You hadn’t any good choices.”

Detective Beckett’s gaze is fixed upon her father. Dr Burke keeps close watch on both of them. He is faintly aware of Mr Castle, quiet and still, yet ready should he be required. Dr Burke spares Mr Castle a brief glance, and is satisfied by the intent, determined focus which he is displaying.

“Everything came from me drinking. I – you know. I couldn’t bear that she was gone and I couldn’t deal with how much it hurt. I just couldn’t get past my own pain, and whiskey kept it away. Stopped the pain. I don’t know what I did when I was drunk, I don’t remember any of it.”

“I do, though.”

“You kept trying to bring me back. I wouldn’t be brought, Katie. I wouldn’t be saved. You tried everything and I wouldn’t have it. You aren’t to blame for my decisions. That’s on me, and nobody else.”

It should be Dr Burke’s turn to draw. He has no intention of so doing. The conversation now taking place is far too important to interrupt with such frivolity.

“I get now that you thought you were protecting me, right from the beginning. First you tried by pouring all the booze away and trying to make me see what I was doing. You picked me up and tried to sober me up and stop me. You did everything, but as long as I knew you’d pick me up I would never have stopped. I’d never have stopped till I wanted to stop. Even after you stopped enabling” – Dr Burke has to struggle not to raise an eyebrow at the emphasis on the technical term, and hopes very strongly that Mr Beckett has judged that wording correctly – “me, I still couldn’t stop – didn’t want to stop. I don’t remember calling you.”

“I know. But you did. Over and over. Every time I thought maybe it would be different, maybe you’d be sober. You never were. You just wanted me to save you and I couldn’t save you any more. I couldn’t save you, I could only save myself.” Her voice breaks on a rising note. “I had to let you drown. I had to.”

Mr Castle is suddenly around Detective Beckett, cradling her into his shoulder. It is entirely evident that she is, if not actually weeping, very close to doing so.

“You did have to,” Mr Beckett says, very forcefully. “You should have done it earlier.” He takes a very deep breath. “Katie, it wasn’t your job to save me. Not then, not now, not ever.”

“Who else would?” she cries. “Was I supposed to let you die?”

“Yes!” Mr Beckett yells.

Everything stops.

“If that’s what it took, Katie.”

Dr Burke is then entirely unsurprised that Detective Beckett leaves the room at considerable speed, sheet white. Mr Beckett half-rises, clearly intending to follow, until Mr Castle prevents him.

“Don’t, Jim. Give her a few moments. She won’t thank you for going after her.” Mr Castle does not elucidate further. Dr Burke concludes that Detective Beckett has retired to the restroom and is, once more, suffering from stress induced severe nausea.

“She’s my daughter. What do you expect me to do? Leave her to it?”

Dr Burke hears Mr Beckett’s words with some trepidation. There is an unpleasantly combative note in his voice, directed towards Mr Castle.

“Yes, leave her to it,” Mr Castle says quietly. “She’ll be back in a few minutes. If not, I’ll go after her.”

“You? She’s my daughter. I’m the one who should be looking after her.”

Dr Burke’s nervousness increases as Mr Castle raises an exceedingly cynical eyebrow. Fortunately he says nothing, merely holds Mr Beckett’s gaze. Dr Burke detects the steel beneath the amiable exterior, and comprehends precisely the nature of Mr Castle’s relationship with Detective Beckett.

“Have it your way,” Mr Beckett says, eventually, defeated, and drops his eyes. “Katie likely won’t want to see me again tonight.”

“She wanted you here,” Mr Castle points out.

“So? She’s just gone running out the door again. She can’t listen to me and she doesn’t believe me anyway.”

“You’ve just told her she should have let you die. After she left you to it, she spent three years wondering if every call, every knock on the door was someone to tell her you had. Think about that, Jim. She said it, last time. Then you came back to her and she wanted to be a family because that meant someone loved her. She hoped it meant that you’d forgive her, but she’s never really believed that you could. She feels guilty about walking away and always has, and you’ve just told her she shouldn’t have wasted her time supporting you.   At least, that’s how I heard it. Are you surprised she’s throwing up?”

Dr Burke would not have made those comments. However, Mr Castle’s bluntness does not appear to have been misplaced. Mr Beckett sits back down, heavily.

“It wasn’t her job to save me. It was mine.”

“Yeah, but she thought it was. Telling her that was a waste of time won’t help.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“It’s what you said, though.”

“I meant that she shouldn’t try and save the unsaveable. She should have walked away long before.”

“Whatever. She thinks you just said seeing you was a waste of her time. Would you really rather you hadn’t seen her for the last five years?

“No! I love seeing her. I thought she liked seeing me. I didn’t know she was doing it out of duty.”

“Duty?” Dr Burke enquires.

“Protecting me.”

Dr Burke is irritated. Mr Beckett appears to have forgotten everything which Dr Burke had told him as well as the previous session’s insights with Detective Beckett.

“We have already had this discussion. I told you of your daughter’s feelings on seeing that you were sober again. Do you not believe me, or do you not believe her? And if you cannot believe in her words, despite all her actions to support and protect you, are you so surprised that she likewise cannot believe you?”

From the corner of his eye, Dr Burke can see Mr Castle wince at his acerbic tone.

“But she didn’t believe me,” Mr Beckett cries. “She didn’t believe in me.” Tears begin to puddle in his eyes.

“She did not believe you because, deep in alcohol, you told her you did not want her. When sober, you begged her not to leave. She could not reconcile that contradiction. She could not believe both at the same time, as they seemed to her to be entirely inconsistent. Her actions and words to you, however, have been perfectly consistent. She has unfailingly supported you for the reasons of which I made you aware at last Friday’s session. Your daughter’s issue, as I have pointed out on several occasions now, is that she cannot believe that you have forgiven her, and so she has worked harder and harder to try to earn that forgiveness, knowing all the time that she has hidden from you the truth of what you did and said. In doing so, believing that she was protecting you and believing that she was believing in your continued sobriety, she has buried her hurt and resentment at your words and actions. That is her fault. She should have told you the whole truth much earlier. Your inability to believe her words, however, falls entirely upon you.”

Dr Burke pauses. “Only you can decide what you believe. I suggest that you consider it now. Mr Castle, I suggest that you follow Detective Beckett. I consider that a recess is indicated, and further that you and she should perhaps have a short walk?”

Dr Burke is relieved to note that Mr Castle takes his implication without effort. He wishes to spend some time with Mr Beckett without any other person present.