202. The girl in the picture

“Hey, Beckett.”

There’s no answer. Castle looks up, assesses Beckett’s devastated, tear-stained face in less than a microsecond, and simply hauls her straight down into his lap.

“What happened?”

Surely Jim didn’t say something stupid? Surely he wouldn’t mess everything up now, just when it was all going so well? Beckett’s sobbing hopelessly into his shirt, and he has no idea why, or what to do.

“Sweetheart,” he tries. “Sweetheart, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Photos,” emerges from the tears.

Photos? Oh. Oh God. Oh, Kate, what were you doing? He remembers that she’d said they’d looked at some of them, but she’d been so cross that he, Castle, had seen all the cute baby photos that she hadn’t seemed to be in any way upset at all. She hadn’t been upset. He pats her shoulder.

“Did you have an argument?”

“No,” she sobs. “Mom…”

Photos of Beckett and her mom? Uh-oh. Castle suddenly sees the whole mosaic slide into place. Beckett had said that she’d decided to look at the family photos and talk about her mom with her dad and somehow it’s all gone totally, horribly wrong. He needs to speak to Jim, but first he needs to comfort his Kate.

“Come here. I’m here. It’ll be okay.”

She curls tighter into his shoulder and lets him pet her soothingly. “I couldn’t stay. He was so upset. I made him cry and it was all about Mom and me.” She drags in a scraping, agonised breath. “I’ve ruined it,” she weeps. “I thought we were ready and I’ve ruined it.”

Castle sees – and seizes – his opportunity. “Tell you what,” he rumbles. “You go get changed and have a hot shower. You’re freezing cold. Put my robe on: it’s warmer.” She nods, still sniffing miserably into his shirt. “While you’re doing that, I’ll call your dad and make sure he’s okay.” He pets her more, until the frantic sobbing abates to sniffs and occasional hiccups. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.   “We’re okay. You’ll be okay. Go get warm.”

Beckett slides soggily from his clasp and drips towards the bathroom. She’s so upset she isn’t even arguing. As soon as he hears the door close behind her, Castle grabs for his phone and rapidly dials Jim. He doesn’t wait for him to speak.

“Jim, it’s Rick. Bec-Kate’s here, with me.”

“Thank God for that,” Jim says. Castle can hear matching misery in his voice, and the scraped tones of a throat raw with misery.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Just like his daughter, Castle thinks.

“What happened?”

“We were looking at photos. Katie wanted to look at the photos and talk about Johanna, and how could I say no when I never let her grieve before?”

“You couldn’t,” Castle says softly. Jim doesn’t seem to hear him.

“So we looked at the photos and we talked and then there was her high school graduation and she was so like Johanna…” Castle can hear the lurch in his voice, but he pulls it together. “Exactly like, and I remembered everything she said with Carter and it was…”

“Too much.” Too much for one evening.

“I hurt her so and how can I ever make it up to her?”

“Jim…”

“I can’t get the time back.”

“Jim,” Castle says firmly, “Kate’s upset because she thinks she’s ruined all the progress you’ve made.” He winces at the formality of his words.

“No! It’s not her… it’s not ruined.   Tell her I love her, Rick.”

“Tell her yourself,” Castle says. “Give her half an hour, and call her.”

“What if she won’t answer? She’s so upset and it wasn’t her fault and” –

“And it wasn’t yours either,” Castle says, harshly. “It wasn’t either of your faults. So I’ll ask her to call you too, but if she doesn’t, you should call. One of you has to. It doesn’t matter who it is, but Kate’s in the shower right now so if you try she won’t hear you and it’ll all go wrong right there. Give her half an hour.”

“Shower?” Jim says, confusion joining misery.

“She was cold.”

“Oh. Half an hour then.” He swallows hard, audible down the phone. “You will tell her I’ll call?”

“I’m going to suggest she calls you,” Castle says reassuringly. “She knew I was calling you. It’s going to be okay, Jim.” He dials off, before Jim can start arguing or taking offence at his taking control of the situation, and then pads off to prepare some very rich, creamy hot chocolate, which is a cure for many ills.

He’s set it all bubbling gently when he hears noises of the shower stopping and goes to find that Beckett, bedraggled and still brimming-eyed, has dragged herself out of the shower and wrapped herself up in his oversized, warm robe. She looks very small.

“I’ve made us hot chocolate. You look like you need something nice.” She wobbles over to him and simply flops against his chest. “C’mon. I’ll pour it out. D’you want marshmallows?” She nods pathetically. “Let’s do that, then.”

He steers them through, plants Beckett in a corner of the couch, serves up hot chocolate with a veritable blanket of marshmallows, and wraps her in, so that she knows he’s there. He’s just a little relieved when she takes a drink, and then another, and then meets his concerned gaze.

“Thanks,” is all she says, and drinks again.

“I spoke to your dad.” She flips towards him.

“Is he okay?” she demands frantically.

“Yes. About as upset as you are, and terrified it was his fault. He was going to call, but you were in the shower…” He lets that trail off.

“He wants to talk to me?”

“Mmhm.”

“Where’s my phone? I need to talk to him. I can’t let him do something dumb.” She’s desperately patting around herself. “Where’s my purse?”

“I think you left it in the study,” Castle says. Beckett is gone on the word, almost tripping over the ends of the robe. Shortly he hears the sounds of conversation. He resists the urge to listen in, with difficulty.

When Beckett re-emerges, some few moments later, it’s clear that she’s not only been crying again, but that she’s still on the verge of yet more tears. He waits for her to sit down, and then tucks her in comfortably and allows her to hide her face in his chest until she’s recovered herself. It takes a few minutes more, after which he hands her the still-warm chocolate and unobtrusively makes sure she drinks.

It’s only after she’s drained her mug that he takes the opportunity to ask.

“You okay?”

“I guess,” she says tiredly.

“Your dad?”

“Yeah. We’re… okay.”

She doesn’t say fine, which would have triggered all sorts of bad memories. Okay is more hopeful. Or less tragic. “Mmm?” he hums into her hair.

“We were looking at my high school graduation photo. It was okay till then. Then Dad started to cry, and then he kept saying sorry, and I should never have made him look.”

“He doesn’t think so, does he?” Castle asks, not quite neutrally.

“No, but I should have known…”

“He wanted you to be able to talk about your mother with him,” Castle breaks in. “He loves you, and just like I’d do anything for Alexis, he wanted to do this for you. He knew it would hurt. Hell, Kate, I think you knew it would hurt him and you too, but it wasn’t a mistake. Your dad doesn’t think it was a mistake, does he?” There’s an emphasis on the last two words.

“But…”

“You’re trying to protect your dad, but you don’t need to. He’s sober. You don’t need to.” He cossets her gently. “Both of you needed to do this. Whenever you did it, it was going to hurt. That’s not a problem unless one of you makes it a problem.” She burrows into his chest, trying to get closer. “You both tried. It all broke down, and then what?”

“I said I couldn’t do it. I loved him but I just couldn’t do it.”

“You told him you loved him?”

“Yes.”

Castle looks down at the lachrymose lump in his lap. “I don’t think you need to worry,” he reassures. “If you managed that, that’s the only important thing. He knows you mean it – you’d never say that if you didn’t. You forgave him weeks ago, so stop worrying now. Sure, it’s a bump, but it’s not a barrier.” He pats and pets and soothes, and says no more. Beckett’s stopped weeping, and is small and crumpled within his cosy robe and his arms.   He gives her some time, and then looks at his watch. “C’mon, it’s your bed time.” She unfurls, slightly, and regards him with an unfocused gaze, seemingly three-quarters asleep already.   “It’ll all be clearer in the morning.”

He stands her up, and encourages her in the direction of the bedroom. It’s actually not even ten, but Castle doesn’t think that Beckett’s noticing the time and she is emotionally exhausted. Besides which, he wants another little chat with Jim, just to make sure everyone is still on the same page. Beckett doesn’t protest in the slightest, and is shortly tucked up: still small and white-faced. He kisses her briefly, and leaves her to sleep, with another gently soothing stroke of her hair, shutting the door behind him.

He picks up his phone and goes back out to the family room. The last thing he wants is to disturb Beckett when she needs to sleep.

“Jim, it’s Rick.”

“How’s Katie? Is she okay?”

“She’s sleeping. She’ll be fine. I just wanted to check you’re okay.”

“You already did that.”

“Yeah, but… Anyway, all I wanted was to make sure that you’d talked properly to each other.”

Jim manages a rather ragged laugh. “I talked to Ed. Setting up as Carter Burke, Rick?”

“No!” Castle squawks. “Absolutely not.”

Jim snickers again, still raw-edged. “Good. I’d hate to see Katie in the dock for your murder.” He hesitates. “Is she really okay?”

Castle decides on truth. “She’s pretty shaken up. I think she thought she’d really done some damage when you’d got it mostly fixed.”

“No…” Jim says slowly, “no. It had to happen sometime. Rather now.” He hesitates. “You’ll make sure she’s okay?”

“Yes. Count on me.”

Jim mutters something beneath his breath, which Castle thinks translates to I do.

“Jim, if I square it with Be-Kate, how about coming over for dinner?” he says, somewhat nervously. “I can guarantee my mother won’t be here.”

“Erm… okay.”

“And…um… will you still come to the housewarming party? Proper invitations’ll go out tomorrow, but it’s on Saturday twentieth, and…um…Kate needs you there and I’d like you there.”

“Yes,” Jim says much more decisively. The thought that his Katie needs him to do something or be somewhere pushes him on.

“Okay. Um… look, if there’s anything, call me, yeah?”

“It’s okay, Rick. I think we’re okay. It’s just a bump in the road, and rather now than later. Night.”

“Night.”

Castle meditatively swipes off the phone and ponders for a while without reaching any definite conclusions. Instead, he prepares for bed, and slides in beside Beckett with no further disquiet.

Beckett wakes in the morning to the knowledge of the disaster of the previous evening, and fails to find either sense or solace in the pillows. She can’t even stay curled up under the covers, because it’s Monday and she needs to be at work. She stretches out without any pleasure and then wends her way to the bathroom to try to pull herself together. Castle is still sound asleep when she returns, washed, dressed and very carefully made up to hide her still-pallid skin and under-shadowed eyes.

She kisses him lightly, which extracts a sleepy mumble of no intelligence whatsoever, and departs, hoping to find enough work to stop her worrying until she can call her father again. She can’t ring him at seven-thirty a.m. Apart from anything else, she hasn’t had enough caffeine for this conversation.

She buries herself in a pile of current, but boringly mundane, homicide files, and doggedly works on them, only glancing at her watch every other page, greets Ryan and then Espo with a similitude of normality when they arrive, grumbling at the lack of original murders and the absence of a three-day weekend, and finally observes that her watch has dragged itself round to nine. She vacates her desk, occupies a small conference room and shuts the door firmly.

Behind her, Ryan and Espo exchange glances.

“D’you think something’s up?” Ryan asks.

“Dunno. You think anyone’d tell us if there was?” Espo points out bitterly.

“Naw. They never do.”

“Too freakin’ right.”

They return to their own files, sneaking peeks towards the conference room every so often.

In the small room, Beckett gulps, stares at her phone, and dials.

“Katie?” Her father sounds absolutely stunned. “Are you okay?”

“I was going to ask you that,” she says, and manages a smile. “Um… I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to” –

“That’s enough, Katie,” her dad says, in very parental tones. “You didn’t mean to upset me, and I didn’t mean to upset you. We’re okay.”

“You sure?” she says, shakily.

“I’m sure. We weren’t upset with each other, but the photo shook us up. Bit like Alexis did, really, and we got through that too.”

Beckett emits a rather strained snicker. “I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Though,” he says with a complete change of tone, “maybe you should be explaining why you ran off straight to Rick’s loft, rather than home? Is there something you should be telling me, like a change of address?”

“Dad! No.”

“Hm,” her father says, sceptically. “I don’t want to hear that you’re stringing that poor boy along,” he adds in an exaggeratedly sententious tone.

Beckett makes a cross noise. “Dad, stop it. Castle and I are doing just fine without you digging out your shotgun.”

“So should I ask him or you your intentions?” Jim says mischievously, completely reassured that they’re okay again.

“Dad!” Beckett squawks. “No! Absolutely not.”

Jim subsides, perfectly satisfied. “Okay. Though I do think you should let me do the parental interrogation. I miss terrorising your boyfriends.” Beckett growls balefully down the phone. “Now, will you come by Sunday as usual?”

“Yeah. Definitely. If there’s not a murder, of course. I’m on call next weekend.”

“Okay. See you then, Bug.”

“Bye, Dad.”

Phew. It’s all okay. They’re okay. She flumps back in the couch, and takes a few calming breaths. Then she dials Castle.

“Beckett? Have we got a body?”

“No. Spoke to Dad. We’re okay, I think.”

“Good. Told you so,” Castle says smugly. Beckett growls at him. “I thought maybe, if you didn’t mind, he could come round for dinner, with you, me and Alexis.” There is a dead silence. “Beckett?” She gapes at the screen of the phone. “Beckett?”

“I’m here,” she manages. “Uh… what?”

“Dinner. All four of us. At the loft. This week.”

It’s so unexpected, given last night, that she can’t process it properly. “Uh? Why?”

“You did dinner with your dad, so it’s our turn.”

“He doesn’t like Georgian,” she says almost irrelevantly.

“Good to know. So that’s fixed. If there aren’t any murders, how about Thursday?”

“Okay,” Beckett says, too confused by the fast moving idea to argue.

“Good. See you later.”

“Bye,” she says faintly to the cut call.

When she walks back out to her desk she’s still dazed. She stares at her files without really seeing them until Montgomery’s less than dulcet tones recall her to reality, fortunately before he attains her desk. She forces concentration.

“Breakfast service,” chirps Castle cheerfully, depositing her bear claw and coffee in front of her. He does a very obvious review of her face and posture as he does. She glares at him.

“I’m fine,” she snips very pointedly at his smug smirk.

“Yo, Castle, where’s our breakfast?”

“In the bakery,” Castle replies happily.

“That’s favouritism,” Ryan grouses. “All this time and you never bring us breakfast.”

“If you had legs like hers,” Castle starts, and is silenced by a fearsome scowl from almost everyone.

“TMI, bro.”

Castle sits in his chair until the stormy weather from the other three has passed, which turns out, amazingly, to coincide with the point at which he suggests that they could all do with some doughnuts; and doughnuts having been provided, the rest of the day is relatively harmonious.

Tuesday is not quite as harmonious. For a start, the team are waiting for information, which always makes them tetchy. Secondly, Montgomery is not in a good mood, which makes everyone nervous, and kills conversation. Thirdly, and most annoyingly, Castle has turned up and issued party invitations to each of them, and while they are all perfectly well aware that they agreed to go, none of them are looking forward to it. Beckett has a fourth reason to be inharmonious, but she’s not discussing that with the boys. She takes another painkiller, and dreams of a hot water bottle.

The day wears on without improvement, results, or Montgomery’s general irritation reducing. For once, Beckett is almost glad to pack up and leave in order to reach Dr Burke’s in good time. Castle trails along with her, exuding a certain air of being grateful that he doesn’t have to talk. Beckett is by no means as sure about that. Dr Burke has a very uncomfortably nasty habit of remembering all the matters that one really wishes he wouldn’t. She expects that this will include Castle’s interactions with his mother, and she also expects that Castle will take his revenge by mentioning her most recent interaction with her father.

“You okay, Beckett?” Castle asks in the cruiser.

“Yeah, why?”

“You’ve been swallowing Pamprin” –

Beckett gleeps, horrified. “How the hell do you know about Pamprin?”

“Research. And I can count, too.”

“You don’t need to comment on it.”

“But” –

“Castle, shut up. Now. I’m not discussing this.”

Castle subsides, accompanied by the scarlet scowl surrounding Beckett’s flaming cheeks. All he’d been going to say was that he’d got a heat pad at home (for his back: leaning over desks can leave him creaking) and if she wanted, he’d go get it. Of course, that would mean that he wouldn’t be at Dr Burke’s, which would be a very desirable outcome. Seems like he’s going to be deprived of the chance to bail.

Far too soon they pull up. Beckett is still scowling. Castle decides that he’s got into enough trouble for one day, and doesn’t poke the bear. Poking, of any sort, is not obviously in his future.