151. Hard to say I'm sorry

“You were?” Having committed the cardinal sin of losing his own temper, Dr Burke resolves to use his weakness to his own advantage, and infuses his tone with considerable disbelief.

“Yes. I didn’t mean to say any of it to Rick. I know he’s good for Katie, but I was so upset that the brunch went wrong and then he came over like he knew so much and… well, I just lost it.”

Detective Beckett’s own irascible temper is, it would appear, honestly come by. However, if Mr Beckett is trying to apologise then there is yet a way to rescue him from his own utter stupidity. It seems, too, that the loss of Dr Burke’s own patience has brought this opening. He will reflect on this unusual, and indeed seldom to be employed, strategy at a later time. He thinks fondly of the pleasure that a cup of tea will bring him, after he has disposed of Mr Beckett.

“You wish to apologise.”

“Yeah. But Rick won’t take my calls. I could try Katie, I suppose.”

“I do not think that would be sensible. At this stage, she will not appreciate being put in the middle. However” – Mr Beckett looks desperately hopeful – “as yet Friday’s session remains as previously arranged. You may make your apologies then.” Mr Beckett looks mutinous. “It is the best thing. Mr Castle is unlikely to take your calls, so you will have to make your amends in person. Since Mr Castle appears to find it relatively easy to forgive – he has, after all, done so with your daughter under considerable provocation – I am sure that he will not make difficulties.”

Dr Burke will ensure that Mr Castle will not make difficulties, by preparing the ground carefully. Prior planning prevents poor performance. Profane additions to that statement are entirely unnecessary.

“Jim, your daughter is an adult. She is in a relationship with Mr Castle, who is also an adult. It is entirely normal that you should worry about her, but it is likewise entirely normal that she is forming different bonds.   Hard as it is” – Dr Burke lets memory show in his face – “you have to accept this. Treating two adults as if they were dating teenagers will not bring harmony.” He smiles suddenly, allowing his professional demeanour to dissipate. “However, Mr Castle has a stable home, and is extremely rich. Your daughter will want for nothing.”

Mr Beckett chokes on the dregs of his coffee, and Dr Burke smiles more widely. “Carter, that’s… that’s irrelevant. I just want her to be happy. If Rick makes her happy…”

“Exactly so.”

“Did you get your leave?”

Beckett droops, and regards Castle with a miserable demeanour.

“You didn’t? I thought it was a dead cert? Why not? Do I need to call a friend?” Castle droops miserably too. “I was really looking forward to the Hamptons.”

“Good. I’m free from shift end on Friday till shift start on Monday,” Beckett says cheerfully.

“You… you….”

“Gotcha,” she smirks. Castle growls dangerously at her, and does not appear amused.

“Mean. Very mean. I’ll set O’Leary on you.”

“O’Leary’s my pal. Won’t work.”

“Bet?”

Beckett regards him with amazement. “Sure. Dinner at Remy’s. Candy from a baby,” she says, pityingly. Castle wanders off to the break room. Two minutes later her phone rings.

“Beckett.”

“Beckett,” rumble the bass tones of O’Leary, “why’re you being mean to my good friend Castle?”

“What the hell?”

“You’re being mean to Castle,” he repeats. “That ain’t nice, butterfly. Go an’ play nicely.” He rings off.

“Looks like dinner’s on you,” Castle says smugly.

“Not if I shoot you first.”

“O’Leary’ll arrest you.” He smirks. “Oh, he’s coming for dinner too. Didn’t I say?” It’s Beckett’s turn to growl dangerously. “That’s not nice.”

Beckett’s growls have barely diminished by the time they’re leaving for Remy’s. Castle’s smirks are similarly undiminished. O’Leary is already there when they arrive, and Beckett makes a beeline to berate his unapologetic head.

“I thought you were on my side, O’Leary! Where do you get off siding with Castle? Cops stick together.”

“Aw, butterfly,” O’Leary says with a grin that would annoy armies, before the gleam from his teeth blinded them. “The poor man needs some support.” Castle’s incipient grin slides off his face. “Men have to stick together. Besides which, he’s nice to me. He’s put me in a book.” O’Leary sounds utterly delighted by being a character in a book. Beckett concludes that he has run mad.

“What’cha doin’, Beckett?”

“Taking your temperature.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve gone mad. Must be a fever. No-one in the world wants to be a book character.”

“Hey!” Castle says indignantly. “It’s only you who doesn’t want to be a book character. Everyone else loves it.”

“Dr Burke won’t,” Beckett points out, maliciously.

“He doesn’t count. He isn’t human. We agreed that, Beckett. He’s an alien.”

“Dr Burke?” O’Leary rumbles. “Who’s he?”

“Don’t you remember? He’s the pain in the ass shrink I have to see.”

“Mm.” O’Leary looks dangerously thoughtful as he takes a long pull at his beer. Beckett would swear that she saw the bottom of the glass bottle move inward as he does. “Doesn’t seem to have stopped you being mean to Castle.” Beckett growls at him. “Okay, I’ll stop messin’ with you. But” – O’Leary straightens up from where he’s been protecting himself from the potential wrath of Beckett – “are you doin’ any better with your dad?”

Beckett shrugs. “We’re managing,” she says. “It’s… awkward.”

O’Leary’s caterpillar eyebrows take a many-legged walk around his forehead. “Awkward how?”

“We got nothing to talk about. He wants to know everything he missed. Wants to be a parent.”

“Yeah?”

“Bit late. I’m not sixteen any more. We need to work out some sort of adult relationship. I just don’t know what it looks like.” She sighs. “It won’t look good if he doesn’t lay off Castle.”

O’Leary looks at Castle. “What’cha been doin’ to Beckett’s dad? You got to have your girlfriend’s dad on side.”

Castle grimaces. “Yeah, well. I don’t know what’s up with him and right now I don’t care. What with my mother and Beckett’s father it’s tempting just to dump them both on a desert island – with a six-monthly boat service and no phones.”

“Hmmmm,” O’Leary vibrates the table, “are you sure that’s a good plan? Seems to me like they might get a bit friendly.”

Castle and Beckett look identically horrified and disgusted. “No way!” they shriek in tandem.

O’Leary sniggers evilly. “Got you both good. An’ you deserve it.”

“What?”

“Why?”

“You” – he looks at Beckett – “for bein’ nasty to Castle, an’ you” – he turns to Castle – “for siccing me on my pal. ‘Nother beer? Food?”

“Any more of that and you’ll be dinner,” Beckett growls.

“Awww. Don’t’cha love me any more?”

Beckett humphs. Fortunately, a server appears to take orders for food before mayhem and possibly murder can follow.

“So you’re doin’ okay?”

“Getting there.”

“How’s that mini ME pal?”

“She’s good. We’re good.”

“Good,” O’Leary says, and smiles widely. Shortly thereafter a burger that must originally have been made from a giraffe disappears in two bites, along with a barrel-load of fries and a couple more beers.

O’Leary acquires an expression of deep thought. Beckett acquires an expression of deep worry. Castle concentrates on his burger.

“What’s with your mom, Castle?” O’Leary asks.

“Wants to be Beckett’s mom too,” Castle says laconically, “and isn’t listening to me telling her to butt out.”

“You guys make life really complicated,” O’Leary says wonderingly. “ ‘S amazing your brains haven’t exploded. Why don’t you just simplify it?”

“Uh? D’you think we aren’t trying? How do you suggest we simplify it?”

O’Leary grins widely. “Well,” he drawls, “I’d start by running off to a desert island an’ eloping. An’ then I’d stay there.”

“Thanks for that really helpful suggestion,” Castle says sarcastically. “What do you think I should do with my teen daughter? Buy her an apartment and tell her to live on her own? Like hell.”

“Naw. But it don’t seem to me that either of you’ve got a handle on where this is goin’. Beckett here is takin’ steps to work out stuff with her dad, but aside from tellin’ your mom to butt out, what’re you doin’ about her?”

“Dad’s going to talk to her, and Alexis” – O’Leary raises a brow – “Castle’s daughter. It might not look like it, but we’re doing things to move this along. We had brunch with Dad Sunday, and we’re seeing him at therapy every week. If Castle’s mom won’t listen to Dad” –

“Then if she can’t stop interfering, she’ll be living elsewhere. Which I’ll probably be funding, seeing as off-off-Broadway doesn’t pay.”

“She know that?”

“I think I’ll probably need to tell her again,” says Castle, which both Beckett and O’Leary recognise is not exactly an answer.

“Anyway,” Beckett says not quite impatiently, “we’re trying to sort it. If people would just let us get on with it, without trying to interfere, it’d help.”

O’Leary regards them both with amusement. “Okay then. Beer simplifies everything. Let’s have another.”

And so they do, though Beckett sticks to soda.

“O’Leary might have a point,” Castle says, on the way home.

“Um?”

“Maybe we are making all this too complicated. We’ve got so caught up in all the different people that we’ve forgotten the main point.”

“You might have. I haven’t. Sort my past out so I can deal with meeting your family in your home without freaking out. That’s always been the point.”

“Yes, but then it got complicated with your dad making dumb comments and my mother trying to interfere and joint sessions and Sorry games. So he’s got a point.”

“Huh.” Beckett doesn’t sound particularly convinced.

“Well, the Hamptons cleared things up before, so maybe it’ll do it again,” Castle says hopefully.

“Huh,” she says again.

“We can see how Friday goes, and work everything else out when we’re out there.”

“Okay,” she says very decisively. “Let’s do that.” She changes the subject. “When are we going to get the ingredients?”

“Tomorrow? Friday? Is there anything you can’t get in the Hamptons?”

“Khachapuri.”

“Does it keep?”

“If I lock it away,” she says, and smirks. “Otherwise I might eat it.”

“That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I’d enjoy it.”

“I enjoy this,” Castle says, bored of talking when he has a Beckett on his knee, and leans down to kiss her, which rapidly turns into an approach to second base, which is readily rounded so that he can push towards third, which is readily achieved, ending up in a home run. So to speak. He’s not sure that naked snuggling is a feature of baseball. Certainly not the games he’s seen on TV.

He texts Alexis, finds that his mother is home, and informs her that he won’t be back till breakfast time. Then he turns back to the exceedingly pleasurable and far too unusual pastime of sharing bedtime routines, and then to the real goal, snuggling down together and tucking himself in with his Beckett without needing to leave.

She’s asleep in seconds. Castle is not. Castle, in fact, is quite consciously not trying to fall asleep, so that he can think. Well. Enjoy being together, doing something which he hopes, dreams and now really believes will, in time, become normal: that is going to bed together to fall asleep together – with or (less pleasantly) without lovemaking. Not, now, sex. He lays an arm gently over sound asleep Beckett, and luxuriates for a moment, or five, or ten. Then he switches his brain back on, and considers.

He is still very annoyed with Jim, and not really in any mood to try and fix that. However, he needs to sort out Jim talking to his mother and Alexis. If he primes Alexis properly, she can say all the things that he cannot. Arranging it is not a pleasant prospect. On the other hand, Beckett seems to have made a lot of personal progress, Sunday’s awkward brunch notwithstanding. Maybe if he and Beckett agree a potential dinner date, then after Friday they can consider what to do about firming it up.

He abruptly wishes he hadn’t used those words, given his proximity to Beckett, who (in sleep, anyway) appears to require a teddy-bear with which to snuggle and is therefore snuggled as close to him as possible. If she got any nearer, she’d be quite literally under his skin. And of course, they’re going out to the Hamptons at the weekend. He thinks that he can rely on his mother to be at the loft, but if not – he’s called in all the sleepover favours he can already – he’ll get one of the college students he’s used before to stay.

Anyway. Dinner with part of the families. Maybe. Hamptons. Definitely. And O’Leary’s odd commentary about simplifying matters. Beckett had been pretty sure of her ground, though – and maybe she’s right, maybe she’s more focused, because she’s certainly some way closer to sorting her mess out. He, on the other hand, isn’t.

He ponders, curled around Beckett protectively, arm over her middle, nose almost in her hair: her soft scent surrounding him. What’s his real issue here? Jim? Not really. Jim will either come round or he won’t, but Beckett’s made her choice and it’s him, Castle. So that’s not his problem to fix. He can let that go. So what else? Beckett can’t yet come to the loft. That’s always been her problem to fix, and she is. He can let that go, too. Beckett not being able to forgive her father? Definitely not his problem. He waves that one off too. Alexis? Nope, not at all a problem. Possibly a solution.

That just leaves one thing. His mother. Absolutely a problem, and one he’s been hoping will resolve itself. He’d thought – hoped? – that she’d stop pushing herself into this mess, at every stage. Instead she’s done exactly the reverse: heard what he’s said and ignored it; tried to be Beckett’s mother when Beckett doesn’t want a mother at all (and Castle gets that, he really does: Beckett would regard any other woman trying to be her mother as a betrayal of her own mother.); trying to solve a problem of which Dr Burke, personality defects and all still a brilliant psychiatrist, is well in control and which is well on the way to a managed solution. What Castle doesn’t get, is why? His mother, while histrionic, dramatic, and occasionally over-emotional (usually after too much liquor) is not normally either stupid or unkind. At the moment, she’s being both.

Simplify, O’Leary had said. Simplify. Castle supposes that from O’Leary’s thirty-thousand foot view, for which he doesn’t need a plane, pretty much everything looks simple. Well, try it, Rick, because nothing else is working. Point one, does he need to understand why his mother is behaving so insanely right now? Is that actually something he needs to care about? Well, yes, because she lives in the loft and he wants Beckett to come to the loft and if his mother is going to behave badly she won’t.

Simplify. Does his mother have to live in the loft? It’s always worked before, but it’s beginning not to work now. She needs somewhere to live, though. He can’t – could never, ever – leave her homeless, or even struggling in any way at all. So short of finding – and funding – a new place, she’s staying.

Oh. He realises with some shame and not a little unhappiness that if Beckett were to come to the loft regularly – if she were to come and live there, which is what he’d really, really like – that he doesn’t want his mother living there too. He’d always be just a little on edge, just a little worried about her overhearing, or intruding – she’s not scrupled to barge into his study or bedroom over the last few years, and while he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t if Beckett were there too it’s not a chance he wants to take. Alexis recognises his privacy – and he hers, though within sensible parental limits – which makes that a non-issue.

He grimaces horribly into the night. This is very unpleasant. His mother did so much to keep them housed and whole, when he was young. She turned up on his doorstep in need years ago, and has helped with Alexis since. He doesn’t want to recognise this change. But… he can see that if she can’t step back in this, she might not step back for other things, and he has no wish to be sharing his private life with his mother when he doesn’t want to.

He will need to summon all his courage and remove his filters (such as they are) and have a very detailed and specific discussion with his mother. In the end, though, much as he loves her, the choice – as O’Leary might say – is simple. Play by his rules, or leave. Of course he’ll fund her new place, if new place there be.

He lies there, and despite the presence of Beckett beside him, spooned into him, he’s miserable.

“Wanna talk about it?” rises sleepily from the soft form under his arm.

“You’re asleep,” Castle says, rather senselessly.

“No, I’m awake. I’ve been asleep. You haven’t. And you sound unhappy, so, wanna talk, or wanna snuggle in?”

“Snuggle,” Castle says, rather pathetically. Beckett turns over within his clasp, pushes him gently down on to his back, and sprawls across him, tucking her head into his neck and ensuring that an arm and a leg are across him.

“There.” She wiggles just enough to get comfortable, and then settles down. Castle’s arms close around her, but it’s not the usual firm embrace, keeping her secure. She tightens her own grip to make up for his lassitude. Perhaps he needs security of his own. She clamps down on the need to ask him again what’s wrong. He’d told her in his own good time last time: he’ll do the same when he’s ready now. She hugs him more closely, and for once the normal physical reaction to her is absent. This worries her, not because she wants to act on it – she’s tired, and half-asleep, and comfortable right where and how she is – but because it means he’s seriously upset.

Beckett lashes her brain into wakefulness and some semblance of deduction, and when the gears grind begins to think. What’s he been upset about? Well, her father. Not surprising, and on Friday she intends to have a discussion with her father. (It doesn’t occur to her that she hasn’t had a single qualm about raising hell over her father’s head and then raining it down, all on behalf of Castle.) But surely that hasn’t left him this defeated? He knows where she stands, and it’s with him. He knows that.

Doesn’t he?

“Castle?”

“Yeah?”

“You know if it’s between you and my dad it’s you, yeah?”

“I know.” His arms tighten, momentarily, then fall lax again. He doesn’t say anything more. Eventually the soft sound of his tiny snores rises, and Beckett begins to breathe more deeply, more slowly, and then slides back into slumber, wrapped over her Castle, keeping him safe until he should wake, whispering I love you into his dreams.