185. The reaction will be passionate

Castle is almost entirely engrossed in the second part of the play, and is, in a rare second of non-engrossement, delighted to notice that the entire theatre (which, astonishingly, is quite full, though by no means sold out) is likewise paying attention. He merely hopes that the critics are not going to trash the production tomorrow.

Critics or no critics, at the end of the play the theatre rises from the stalls to the gods. His mother is called on to stage to take her bow and innumerable bouquets, in which Castle spots his own, accepts adulation with grace and wit, and salutes the cast and orchestra. They are cheered to the rafters. Castle notes that his mother is accepting it as her due, spots the backs of the Carriblanes’s heads in the stalls, clapping as loudly as any, and thinks very privately that no matter what the papers say tomorrow, his mother’s new career is assured.

“She did it,” Beckett murmurs. “I’d never have believed that anyone could have turned that around from the trash pile it looked like three weeks ago.”

Castle squeezes her hand. “See there, just to the right in the stalls – small woman with a pink scarf?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s Dorothea Carriblane. Dottie, to her friends. She’s the backer. Well, with her husband, who’s next to her. Looks like they’ve got a little gang together.”

“And….?” Beckett asks.

“And, they have more money than Croesus and fund a dozen productions a year, mainly of the just-off-Broadway type.” He smirks very happily. “They’re standing too. Mother’s made.”

“Uh?”

“Beckett, think! You’re not normally this dumb. One of the biggest off-Broadway funders is giving Mother’s directorial debut a standing ovation. She’ll be able to write her own ticket for the next show. Don’t you see? She’ll be too busy to think about anything else, and too happy to be jealous” –

“Jealous?”

“Didn’t I say? She was jealous of me being successful and her not. Well, I think we’ve solved that one.” He smiles beautifully, delighted with his mother’s success. “Let’s all go down and congratulate them all.”

“Dr Burke would like to meet your mother,” Beckett says, slightly mendaciously.

Castle goggles. “Beckett,” he says very tentatively, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Oh, I think so,” she says nastily. “You never know, Castle, they might get on.”

Castle squeaks, horrified. “Beckett, that’s mean. That’s just such a horrible thought and now I can’t get it out of my head.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

“Could be my dad.”

“Go away. You’ve ruined my mood. I need brain bleach. Don’t say another word.” He humphs horribly and acquires an attitude of appalled sulkiness.

“C’mon. You’ve got to introduce Burke to your mother. That’ll cheer you up.”

Castle stalks off, still humphing, in the direction of backstage. Beckett pads along behind him, grinning wickedly at having finally got one over on him. Along the way, she collects the rest of the motley crew.

“So what did you think, Dad?”

“I still prefer baseball,” he says. There is a noise of vehement agreement from Espo. “But it wasn’t too bad. Where are we going now?”

“Beer,” begs Espo. Beckett ignores him.

“Castle wants to congratulate Martha. Dr Burke, you may want to meet her.” Beckett doesn’t wait for him to disagree. “Alexis probably wants to do congratulations too.” She smiles. “Ryan, Espo, you’re excused, if you want to go.”

“I’m staying,” Ryan says. “That was quite interesting.”

“Bro,” Espo wails. “I need a drink.”

“It’ll only take a few moments. I’ll buy the first one.”

Espo grumps and scowls. Castle keeps forging a path to backstage, through the crowds trying to leave.

“That was great, Mother!” he says happily, as soon as he’s near enough to be heard over the hubbub, and then hugs her.

“Darlings! You all came. There are some bits we need to work on,” she says to Castle. “There will be a rehearsal tomorrow afternoon, to iron out some issues.” The cast, strangely, do not look upset at this diktat. Martha looks around. “Who is this, Richard?”

“This is Carter Burke,” Castle says, without further explanation, and prevents Beckett from adding anything by standing on her foot.

“I was very interested in your exposition,” Dr Burke says, unobtrusively examining Mrs Rodgers. He detects considerable relief, under the overweening personality and brash veneer of confidence, and infers that the success of her production was by no means assured. “The visualisation of the sexual dichotomy was very well expressed.”

“Thank you,” Martha says, and preens. “We shall see what the critics say, tomorrow.”

“I wish you well.” Dr Burke turns to Detective Beckett, before anything more can be said. “Thank you for the invitation. A most enjoyable evening. However, I must catch my train. Please excuse me.” He turns back. “My congratulations, Mrs Rodgers.”

Behind him, Dr Burke hears Detective Esposito’s mutter of how come he gets to leave and I don’t? That would be because he does not wish to provide a floor show for everyone’s post-theatre entertainment as Mrs Rodgers discovers who he is; which he is quite sure that Detective Beckett and, less obviously, Mr Castle had, if not precisely hoped for, certainly taken no steps to prevent. He almost feels sorry for Detective Esposito. It had, however, been a most interesting evening, and he looks forward to discussing it with his wife, who will tell him about her evening at the ballet. Dr Burke is not fond of ballet, and his wife is not fond of experimental theatre, although he and his wife are both very fond of opera and operetta.

“So, Mother, are you having the traditional first night party?” Castle asks, rather disgruntled that Dr Burke had seen the trap and neatly evaded it.

Martha looks at her cast. “I think so. Are you intending to come, darling?” She doesn’t sound wholly inviting.

“No. I’m going to take Alexis home, and Beckett, Ryan and Esposito – and Jim – all have to work tomorrow morning. I think we’d kill the mood.”

Castle carefully doesn’t look at Espo, whose face is undoubtedly resembling a scarlet carnation by now, occasioned by suffused desperation to leave. It doesn’t stop him sensing, rather than hearing, the sigh of relief.

“If you must all be slaves to the indignity of labour, I suppose I shall bear it.”

“Mother, tonight’s been a resounding success. Go celebrate in style.” Castle hugs her again, kisses her soundly on both cheeks, and passes her back to her adoring actors.   She is instantly swallowed up.

“Okay,” Castle says. “Alexis, it’s time to go home.”

“Dad and I will go home, too,” Beckett announces. “Dad, I’ll take you.”

“I need a drink,” Espo states flatly. “Beckett, you ‘n me are goin’ to have words about this.”

“Not till tomorrow, we’re not. Culture is good for you, Espo.”

“Baseball games and beer are better,” he growls. Ryan snickers behind his back, and swiftly wipes his face clear as Espo turns.

“C’mon,” Ryan says. “I’ll buy the first one.”

Everyone disperses.

Beckett takes her father down to her cruiser, parked at the precinct, and drives him home.

“What did you really think?” she asks.

“I’m with your Espo about baseball, but I have to say that it was interesting, though I’m slightly disappointed that Carter spotted your plan and escaped. Martha clearly did wonders with the play, from what you’ve said. I guess she won’t have time to interfere now?”

“Guess not.”

There is a short pause.

“So what’s next, Katie?”

“Huh?”

“Well” – Jim pauses, a little embarrassed – “we had that dinner at mine, and you came on Sunday, and, well, it seems to me like we’re in a better place to keep fixing things than we’ve been; but what about you and Rick?”

Beckett answers the question that he hasn’t asked in preference to the one which he has. “I think you and me are doing okay. Better than that. Sure, there’s still stuff to work out, but I think” – a light leaves sparkles on her cheek, a slight sheen glistens in her eye – “I think we’ve got it mostly fixed, now. If we try.”

“And Rick? What are your intentions towards the poor boy?”

Beckett emits a cackle of laughter. “Poor boy?”

“Katie…”

“We’re getting there. I’m going to the loft for dinner with Castle and Alexis on Friday. After that… we’ll see. It’s too soon to talk about anything else.”

“What did you think, pumpkin?” Castle says in the cab.

“About the play? That was good. Grams totally nailed it.”

“Yeah. It was great.” He smiles with satisfaction. “You told her she could.”

“But if you hadn’t involved her on the case” –

“That was Detective Beckett’s idea.”

“Seriously? After all Grams did to her?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.” Alexis’s mind flits away as they reach the elevator in their building. “Dr Burke was really interesting, too.”

Castle chokes. “Uh?”

“I wanted to know what being a therapist was like, so I asked him.” Castle supposes that this is not unreasonable, though a touch direct. “He told me all about it. He said you’d have made a good therapist.”

“I’d rather write best-sellers. It pays better. College is not cheap.”

“Yes, Dad,” Alexis says in a heard-that-before way.

“Bedtime for you, daughter.”

“Yeah,” Alexis yawns. “Is Detective Beckett still coming over on Friday?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She disappears upstairs. Castle disappears to his study, totally content with the results of the evening.

When Detective Beckett reaches Dr Burke’s office at six p.m. for her rescheduled appointment, he notes immediately that she appears to be moving stiffly, and to be somewhat sore.

“Good evening. Has there been an accident? You appear to be in some discomfort.”

“No. I was sparring with Espo. He said I owed him a match – which is true – for making him sit through the play. He’s not big on theatre.”

“So I had discerned,” Dr Burke says, with a flash of dry humour. “Would you like a painkiller?”

“No, thanks. I’ve taken a couple. I’ll be fine.”

“In that case, rather than discussing last night, which appeared to pass off well, shall we begin with your Sunday night dinner with your father?” Dr Burke has no intention of discussing his thoughts on Mrs Rodgers.

“Sure. That went really well. Dad cooked – edibly. I was a bit worried before I got there, but then it was fine.” Detective Beckett smiles. Dr Burke is pleased to observe that there is no concealment or strain in the expression. “We talked about the theatre trip, and he wanted to know about the case, so I told him – though I left out the bits about alcoholics.” She looks uncertainly at Dr Burke. “It wasn’t relevant to the story, and…”

“Tact is a different matter from avoidance or concealment. I consider you to have been tactful, on this occasion. However, be wary when deciding to leave matters out. Your father is much stronger than he has been, and can bear much where there is a wider story to tell.”

“Okay. Anyway. He said… he said Mom would have done exactly what I did. Involved the best person even if she hated them. He said she’d have been proud of me. Um… we both cried. And then I told him the rest and we had a really good evening.”

“Excellent,” Dr Burke says. “Tell me, do you consider that you have forgiven your father?”

Detective Beckett thinks for several moments, deeply and carefully. “I…think so,” she says, with some precision of wording. “I don’t think I resent him any more. I’m not sure we’re totally fixed, but we’re on the right track. So… yes, probably?”

“Good. It would be wrong to be too definitive at this juncture, but I consider that you have summarised the situation accurately.”

“But I’m still not sure about me.”

Dr Burke interprets that to mean that Detective Beckett has not yet concluded on whether she can forgive herself.

“I suggest that that point will become clearer after Friday’s meal with Mr and Miss Castle. We need not consider it before next Tuesday. Unless you wish to postpone Tuesday’s appointment for another visit to the experimental theatre shows?”

“No, thanks,” says Detective Beckett, emphatically. “That was a one-off.”

“You are not attracted to experimental theatre?”

“No,” she says baldly.

“So why did you attend this show?”

Dr Burke wishes to revisit the subject of compromising. They had not explored this in the last session: there having been more important matters, and it is now critical that Detective Beckett understands that Mr Castle is not the only party in their relationship who makes concessions. She also does: the reliance on his judgement at the possible expense of taking the most recent case, and, Dr Burke considers, the attendance at the theatre. Indeed, with a little careful consideration it should be possible to show that Detective Beckett’s involvement of Mrs Rodgers at the expense of her own feelings is a form of compromise.

“Castle asked me.”

“Despite you being, shall we say, less than pleased with his mother’s behaviour?”

“Yeah, but… well, it was only watching a play. Not like I would have to talk to her. Not if I didn’t want to.”

“But it was still a compromise, just like accepting Mr Castle’s judgement on your ability to take that case was a compromise, and indeed involving his mother, although that last point is not a compromise between you and Mr Castle, but between your entirely understandable discomfort with her and your professional duty to solve the case if at all possible. A personality compromise, if you will.”

“Oh.” Detective Beckett shifts in her chair. “Are we back to that?”

“That depends entirely on you. Have you considered the points which were made at our session almost two weeks ago?”

“Er…”

“No. No doubt with this most recent case, you have not had time. Please consider them now.”

Detective Beckett undertakes a short pause which Dr Burke considers to involve an exercise in focused recall. No doubt this is a key skill in her investigative armoury. Finally she looks up again.

“I get what you and Castle were saying. It’s just a bit difficult to believe it,” she says plaintively.

“Why should it be so difficult?”

“I just – it’s not normal to be so scared of going to your partner’s home. It’s because I haven’t been able to do that. So it feels like I can’t do the one thing I know would make him happy and he makes me happy.”

“Mm,” Dr Burke articulates, and intertwines his fingers. “Apart from your romantic relationship and attending the theatre, have you done anything since the session in which we discussed compromises which has made Mr Castle happy?”

“We had dinner with Alexis. Not the one with Dad. Another one. To show that I wasn’t upset or angry with her when she was asking questions at Dad’s.”

“Mhm. You had said that you intended so to do. Actually doing so makes a substantial statement. Was there anything else?”

To Dr Burke’s mild surprise, Detective Beckett wriggles in her chair. He deduces that she is embarrassed, but cannot see why that should be so.

“I got him a present. Um.”

“A present?”

“Some really good coffee and a Georgian cookbook. The country,” she adds. “It didn’t seem like much. I just saw them and got them on impulse.”

“On impulse?”

“I knew he’d love the coffee, but he’s insisting on sharing it,” Detective Beckett says, aggrievedly. “I got it for him, not to share with me.” Dr Burke elevates his eyebrows. “Castle brings me coffee. So I got him some but it was just for him.”

“I see. Mr Castle, I take it, has been resolute in his insistence that you should share it?”

“Mule headed stubborn, more like,” Detective Beckett says crossly. “He never takes no for an answer.”

Dr Burke takes that particular statement with a substantial helping of scepticism. “But would it not make him happy if he shared it with you?”

“Yes, which is why I stopped arguing. Well, that and I was never going to win,” she adds. Dr Burke considers the second sentence to contain at least equal truth to the first.

“And the cookbook? Georgian cuisine is hardly commonplace. Why did you choose that?” How interesting. Detective Beckett is shifting uncomfortably again.

“We… er… it was the first meal I cooked for him,” she rushes out, and blushes furiously.

“I see,” Dr Burke says meditatively, and declines to enquire further. He need not do so. Whatever Detective Beckett says about ‘impulses’, it is perfectly plain that both purchases are rooted very firmly in shared, pleasant experiences in which they have found comfort and companionship. An excellent circumstance.

“And was Mr Castle made happy by these impulsively bought presents?”

“Yes. He couldn’t speak.”

Dr Burke’s eyebrows fly north. “He was silenced?” he says incredulously. “Good heavens.” Even his famous imperturbability is perturbed.

Detective Beckett produces a very mischievous and infectious smile. “If I’d known it was that easy to shut him up, I’d have bought them months ago.”

“Mm,” Dr Burke says. “The presents were indeed well received.” He steeples his fingers. “It appears, then, that despite your previous inability to visit the loft, which may well have been overcome by the end of this week, you have taken actions which have made Mr Castle happy outside the romantic arena.”

“I guess so,” Detective Beckett says.

“Therefore, since you continue to progress towards visiting his loft, and you have taken actions in other ways to make him happy without any ulterior motive, why should Mr Castle not be content with the position?”

“But he wants me to move in.”

“Yes, but only when you are ready. And you yourself have said that moving in is also your wish, have you not?”

Detective Beckett sinks into her chair. “Yes.”

“Moving in with one’s partner is a substantial step to take, even without the complex issues with which you have had to deal. Most couples take time and think it over with care, even those who have been together for much longer than you. Careful thought and preparation prevents disaster,” Dr Burke adds didactically.

“Oh.”

“Therefore it would be most sensible to continue to work towards spending time at Mr Castle’s home, which you can extend at a pace which is appropriate for both of you. When does Mrs Rodgers move to her new abode?”

“End of the month. It’s all arranged, Castle said. Well, the moving. They’re still discussing the housewarming party.”

“I am sure it will be spectacular.”

“Yeah. The question is, will it be tasteful?” Detective Beckett says sceptically. “Martha subscribes to the nothing succeeds like excess school of thought.”

“You will be able to tell me,” Dr Burke says, with a seraphically irritating smile. “In any event, our time is up. I shall see you next Tuesday, Detective. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Detective Beckett swings out of the door. Dr Burke considers the session and concludes that it has progressed very satisfactorily. He does, however, consider that Mrs Rodgers’ apparent brash confidence may mask some deeper feelings of insecurity, and is somewhat concerned that these may make themselves known when the reality of moving out becomes manifest. It all seems to be progressing rather too smoothly, to Dr Burke’s experienced and cynical gaze.