207. You copying me

Castle steers the pair of them out of the main party and into a small nook screened from any passers-by.

“This isn’t the time,” Beckett says, which as an opening line is both accurate and depressing. “Why does she want to talk anyway? There’s nothing to say.”

Castle covers his pause for thought by taking full advantage of the quietness and solitude of their corner and cuddling her in.

“There are things to say,” he says slowly, “that need to be said, but I don’t think that the middle of a noisy party is the place to start making apologies or explanations – her, not you,” he adds rapidly.

“Oh.” Beckett shivers, and curls in further. Castle drops a kiss on her smooth dark hair. “She’s looking for a fight.”

“I’m not sure she is,” he says, working it out as he goes along. “I’m really not sure about that. But if she tries to start a conversation now she might well get one, hmm?”

“I won’t start it,” Beckett says. “I’m not getting into a fight in public.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Castle says reassuringly. “Even if it means you have to talk about football all night.”

“How about baseball? I don’t like football much.”

“Up to you.” He pauses. “How about we go and talk to the Carriblanes. They’re relatively normal.”

“Normal for theatre or normal?” Beckett snarks.

“Normal normal,” Castle reassures her again. “More importantly, Mother won’t start anything in front of them. You can rely on her to be sure of her own self-interest.”

“Oh. Okay,” Beckett says without any particular enthusiasm, but follows him towards the miniscule Dottie and her barely taller husband.

Halfway there, she spots Martha, who has shaken off O’Leary, aiming for them. Beckett executes a sharp left, which confuses Castle considerably. He redirects them towards the Carriblanes, who are happily quaffing champagne, surrounded by a positive throng of fawning actors. Beckett resists. Castle tugs. Beckett tugs back, and then jabs at him.

“Ow! Stop it. We’re going to talk to the Carriblanes.”

“No, we’re walking right into your mother.”

Castle looks up just in time to prevent the collision.

“Ah, there you are. I was just looking for you, kiddo.”

Beckett slides behind Castle, and then into the crowd and away, towards Lanie.

“Were you?”

“Yes, darling.” His mother blinks a couple of times, and Castle realises that she might be emotional, but she’s very far from tipsy. “She’s gone.”

“Yes.”

Martha’s face creases, and she says nothing for a moment. “She doesn’t want to talk to me, does she?”

“Not tonight,” Castle says, which seems better than a blunt No.

“Do you want to talk to me?”

“Yes,” he says cautiously. “I wouldn’t have come, otherwise.” He looks down at his mother, and notices that her drink is barely touched. He doesn’t comment. “It’s a great party. You’re a roaring success,” he says, smiling sincerely. “I’m really glad.” He hugs her. She’s awkward for an instant, then suddenly throws her arms around him.

“I wish I’d done it differently,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” Castle can’t disagree with that, but manages not to say so in the middle of a party.

“Let’s just enjoy the party,” he says instead. “Everyone who’s anyone is here.”   He has an idea, and swipes a glass of champagne from a passing server.

“Everyone!” he calls out in declamatory tones and at penetration similar to his mother’s best efforts. “Quiet please!” Astonishingly, silence falls. “I want to propose a toast.” He pauses, to ensure every eye is on him – and his mother, as he puts an arm around her and draws her in. “As you all know, my mother has been resting for some time. However, thanks to the Carriblanes” – he raises his glass in salute to them, and the noise rises until he gestures it to stop – “and to my own particular specialty – murder, mystery and mayhem – and to the brilliant crime-solving team at the NYPD’s Twelfth Precinct” – everyone looks around to identify the people they hadn’t known and largely ignored, and finds them simply because of the raging blushes on their faces and their attempts to hide – “who found the killer… because of all of that my mother, Martha Rodgers, stepped back out on to the stage to make her version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream a stunning success. So, I want you to raise your glasses to talent and courage – Martha Rodgers.”

His mother, in true Tony winning fashion, is crying. The whole room is cheering her, even those non-theatricals from the uncultured wastelands of Esposito’s patch of the bullpen. The Carriblanes swoosh up and embrace her, and Castle, having achieved in one moment of on-the-fly inspired brilliance exactly what he wanted to achieve, slides away from the limelight in which his mother is bathing.

“That was really impressive,” Beckett breathes into his ear. Castle jumps. “She’s so happy.”

“Yeah.” He smiles mischievously. “And she’ll be swamped for the rest of the night, too. No chance of her looking for you.”

Beckett regards him very closely and very piercingly. “Stop that,” she snaps. “You did it because you knew it would mean everything to her and you love her despite everything. Stop trying to pretend you had ulterior motives.”

Castle drops his eyes and colours. He doesn’t like being called out on his real motivations. Beckett slides a hand into his. He thinks that she might have hugged him, had they been alone. “’S like I said. You’re a good man,” she mutters, and matches his blushes. His hand tightens on hers.

Fortunately, before all this sappiness can make them both ill, the rest of the gang appears.   They are no longer discussing football. Instead three of them are discussing baseball – Jim, Espo and Pete – and Ryan and Lanie are having an argument, watched by the immense form of O’Leary, whose shaking shoulders indicate his view of the spat.

“I am not!” Ryan squawks.

“Sure you are, honey,” Lanie oozes with an evil grin. “You just can’t help it.”

Ryan appears hunted. “I don’t wanna!” he wails.

“Don’t want to what?” Castle asks. Beckett simply smirks. She can see where Lanie’s eyes are, though it’s amazing that they aren’t bleeding. That outfit is bright.

“Lanie thinks I should talk to that” – he searches for a word – “person who was harassing me earlier. I don’t want to.”

“Who?”

“There. In the red pants and purple shirt.”

Castle looks over the company, spots – that’s not hard – the subject of discussion, and snickers. “Cedric?” he says. “How can you not like Cedric?”

Ryan boggles at him to such an extent that everyone else notices. “What? He’s harassing me!”

“Welcome to our world,” Lanie and Beckett mutter in cynical synchronisation. O’Leary’s buffalo-hefting shoulders quiver. On a side table, an abandoned glass of champagne wobbles in sympathetic resonance.

“No, no,” Castle breezes. “He’s not harassing you.”

“What? He was following me around and trying to touch me.”

“Cedric’s a method actor,” Castle notes happily. “He probably wants to study you, not seduce you.”

“He’s in love with your big blue eyes, Ryan,” Lanie jibes, very unhelpfully. O’Leary snickers. Pete outright guffaws.

At that point Cedric swishes up. He bats his eyes at Ryan, who tries to hide. Then Cedric catches a glimpse of O’Leary’s middle, being about his eye level, and more pertinently O’Leary’s closeness to Pete.

“Oooohhhh,” he emits, foppishly. “Aren’t you pair cute.” He frowns. “If a bit oversized.” Everyone but O’Leary and Pete snickers.   They roll their eyes at each other.

“What’s up, Cedric?” Castle asks. “Got a new role?”

“Not at the moment, but there’s an audition shortly and the description of the character is just like your friend here. I need to study him.”

Beckett utterly fails to control her sniggers. After all the grief she’d been given by the boys when Castle started to follow her around, this dandy studying Ryan is just plain perfect.

“If you wanted to study Ryan, I’m sure he could make time for you,” she says. Ryan emits a wail. “He likes theatre, so you’ve got that in common.”

“He does?” Cedric says on a risingly falsetto note. “What do you like? Shakespeare? Samuel Beckett?”

“I like Beckett,” Jim says, tearing himself away from the sports discussion.

“I like Beckett too,” Castle whispers into Beckett’s ear, “but I don’t think that’s what either Cedric or your father means.” She chokes.

“A variety,” Ryan forces out.

“What did you see last?”

“Mrs Rodgers’s Dream.”

“Oh, I loved that,” Cedric gushes. “Such a brilliant realisation of the sexual dynamic inherent in the plot. I’d have given anything to be in it. I really hope that she continues to direct.”

“I…” starts Ryan, one hundred and twenty percent out of his depth.

“I’m sure she will do, though. After all, she’s backed by the Carriblanes.” Cedric looks as if he wishes he knew a sure-fire way to catch Martha’s attention. “The character I’m auditioning for,” he says, returning to his main concern, “is described as just like you. An everyday person, nothing outstandingly special” – Esposito, who had been looking just slightly envious, makes a suppressed noise of amusement – “but with an air of otherworldliness which implies a deeper soul than is shown on the surface.”

Esposito squeaks gently. Beckett has buried her face in Castle’s arm and is spluttering. O’Leary’s iceberg-revealing smile lights up the room. Castle is preserving a commendably straight face, as is Jim, whose attorney training has clearly included the art of utter blandness. Ryan is flabbergasted. His mouth opens and closes. Cedric clearly believes that he’s given Ryan a huge compliment. Ryan does not appear to subscribe to his thespian view.

Beckett excuses herself, and Lanie rapidly follows. When she attains the relative safety of the kitchen, she collapses, in tandem with Lanie.

“Oh God,” Lanie gasps. “Oh, girl. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“No,” Beckett squeaks out. “Oh boy. Do you know how much fun I’m going to have with Ryan? Every time he got at me for Castle shadowing me…” Her teeth are bared. It’s nearly a smile. Lanie has to lean on the counter to hold herself up, she’s laughing so hard.   “I wonder if I can convince Montgomery that Cedric should sit next to Ryan for a week or two…” She can’t continue. She and Lanie lean on each other and splutter, snurk and snurgle for a good five minutes before they can even take a half-serious breath.

“Oh, girlfriend,” Lanie manages. “Oh, Lordy. Ryan the model for a method actor?”

“You gotta stop. I can’t breathe,” Beckett chokes out, weeping gently as she tries to stop chuckling.

She still hasn’t stopped her occasional chortles when Castle finds them.

“So this is where you’re hiding,” he pouts. “I looked everywhere.”

Beckett grins widely at him, and another giggle escapes. “Ryan,” she emits.

“It’s not fair you left me to keep a straight face.” More giggles. Castle stops pouting and joins in with a deep belly laugh. “It’s amazing, isn’t it.”

“Oh, yeah.” She giggles some more.

Castle looks at Beckett’s mischievously giggling face and is forcibly reminded of her relaxed happiness in the Hamptons. Her humour is infectious, and in her laughter his own bubbles up and washes away his remaining tension. He hugs her. Lanie gives them an amused glance, and slides away without a sound.

Castle carries on hugging Beckett. It seems like the best plan. She’s still spluttering gently with occasional bursts of giggles.

“I’m going to ask Montgomery if Cedric can interview Ryan in the precinct, after shift,” she says, and squeaks with hilarity. Castle rumbles happily.

“Really?” he asks. “Can I watch?”

“I’ll do it during your report-writing lessons,” Beckett snickers.

“What?”

“Did I forget to tell you?” she says innocently. “Montgomery doesn’t like your report writing technique. Too flowery.” Her innocent look turns to a glare. “And the next time you write that trash about my – quote – emerald-hard glare – unquote, you’ll be in Holding.”

“Awww, Beckett,” Castle whines. “Don’t you like my admiration?”

“Not in reports to my boss,” she flicks back.

“Does that mean you’ll like it elsewhere?” he oozes.

“Depends,” she flirts.

“On what?”

“What and how and where and when.” She smiles invitingly. “How long do we need to stay?”

“You are remembering that Alexis is here too, aren’t you? She’s enjoying herself grilling every actor, director and vaguely theatre-related person around. Can’t go before she’s ready.”

“Okay,” Beckett says equably. “Fair enough.” She gives him back a hug, and then grins happily. “I’d better go tidy myself up. Then I’m going to spend a little quality time with Ryan.” Her grin has mutated to evil. Castle’s matching grin follows her out.

An hour or so later, enough beer has been consumed for the cops and their attachments to have started to circulate. O’Leary’s circulation produces a small tidal wave of disturbance in the sea of actors, but more and more of them stop him to discuss. It appears that he doesn’t just act in am-dram, he’s pretty well-informed about drama and the theatre in general. Pete trots along behind him, smiling rather patiently, until he’s detached by a rather less theatrical type.

Esposito is amusing himself by ensuring that the foppish Cedric is permanently next to Ryan. Lanie is with him, sniggering. Ryan is on the point of histrionics, which in this company will go entirely unremarked. When Beckett returns from the bathroom, she takes in the situation in one evil snigger.

“Introduce me to your new friend, Ryan?” She hadn’t been, earlier.

Ryan produces a growling mumble that doesn’t contain anything intelligible. His blue eyes are woeful.

“This is Cedric,” Lanie says happily.

“But I already met you,” Cedric flutes happily. “You’re Richard’s lady.” Beckett cringes. Ryan perks up instantly. Espo grins nastily. “Such a darling boy. Of course he’d choose someone cultured and refined.” Beckett blinks. Lanie raises eyebrows.

“Beckett’s very refined,” Esposito mutters. “She even cusses in an uptown accent.” Ryan snickers. Beckett glares.

“Cultured, too,” Ryan notes. “She never discusses corpses at the theatre unless they’ve arrived there first.” Her glare turns up another few notches. Ryan gives her a your-turn-now look.

“Of course, that’s totally useless for my purposes,” Cedric carries on. “I need someone rougher. More street, less civilised. Anyone with culture would be quite useless. So would” – his face shows his extreme dislike for the concept – “a tough guy. Muscleman. Ugh,” he ejects.

Ryan has stopped grinning. Espo hasn’t.

“Anyway, darling” – another Beckett wince –

“Darling?” Castle says, appearing from the crowd. “Cedric, are you trying to suborn Beckett?”

Cedric assesses Castle’s expression, which is just a fraction harder than the party atmosphere would justify. “Of course not, dear boy. Why would I do that?”

“Mischief, Cedric. Sheer mischief.”

Beckett leaves the two of them to banter and, no doubt, turn on Ryan. She has no sympathy for Ryan, but she can rely on Esposito and Lanie to cover him in inglorious mayhem. She’s bored of the joke, for now, and she doesn’t trust Cedric not to irritate Castle by flirting, however insincerely, with her. Castle’s had enough stress lately without some blow-by actor starting on him, and he’d been just a little edged in his comment to Cedric.

She wanders through the party crowd, picking up snatches of gossip – usually malicious – and chatter – usually inane. She doesn’t stop to join in, pretending she’s looking for the bathroom or getting a drink from a server just over there. What she really wants is to go: she’s now a little tired of the feeling of somehow being on display, and she’s not that keen on large parties anyway. However, if Castle and Alexis are enjoying themselves, she can’t spoil their fun for no good reason, and if she says she wants to leave they might well decide to leave too. She wanders aimlessly some more, noticing without noticing a few minor changes of décor and ornaments from the arrangements Castle and Alexis had made originally, and slides through the packed hordes without a ripple.

Gradually her meanderings take her to the wall where Castle had carefully hung the Dream poster. She surveys it. Unlike the treatment dished out to the play itself, the poster is very attractive, even if she doesn’t like Art Deco styling. Martha’s name is very prominent. She wonders, cynically, whether Castle had arranged that.

“Richard had it framed for me,” Martha says, from over Beckett’s shoulder. Beckett freezes, and turns only fractionally, very slowly. Surely she had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in a discussion tonight? “It was a surprise.”

“That was kind of him,” Beckett says very calmly, and clamps her lips shut on it was a hell of a lot more than you deserved on moving day. She continues to survey the poster.

“I never meant to hurt him,” Martha pleads.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” A whole host of words are struggling to escape the prison of her throat, starting with you did, though.

“Katherine…” Martha tries.

“It’s not me you need to talk to. It’s Castle.” You’re not my problem. You don’t owe me anything.

“You need to understand too.”

“Castle will tell me anything I need to know. This isn’t a discussion we need to have. You made a mistake, you and Castle have talked about it and Castle’s forgiven you. It’s all fixed. That’s all there is to it.”

“You don’t believe that.”

Beckett turns round ominously. “I said, this is not a discussion I’m having with you. Certainly not in the middle of a party which you are hosting. I’m not looking the bad guy in front of half New York because you’re looking for a fight. You and Castle are fixed. We have no reason to fight. We have nothing to talk about.”

She spins on her heel and walks away, thoroughly irritated. Behind her, Martha watches her leave, unhappily.

The first person Beckett falls over who she actually appreciates seeing is her father. She’s swept past a considerable number of theatre types, who haven’t stopped or stayed her in her path. They’re not stupid.

“Enjoying yourself, Katie?” Jim asks. “It’s been a fun evening, but I think it’s time I went home. It’s getting a little lively for me.” Beckett translates this fairly accurately to mean that the booze flowing is beginning to get to him, and doesn’t quibble.

“Shall I come for dinner tomorrow?” she inquires instead.

“Yes. That’d be good.”

“Okay.” She hugs him easily. “See you tomorrow.”

Jim wanders off in search of his host, to make his excuses and leave. He’ll get whatever’s wrong with Katie, who had looked ready to shoot first and not ask any questions at all, out of her tomorrow.

Beckett manages to find her way back to her friends. Espo is displaying signs of wanting to leave too, and in fact, it’s now close to midnight and she thinks she can reasonably decamp.

In fact, as soon as she says she thinks it’s time she went, everyone else decides it’s time they went too, even Castle and Alexis, who is yawning.

“I’ll call a car, Beckett,” Castle says. “We’ll give you a ride.”

“Okay,” she says, a little drably. She’d rather expected – hoped – that Castle would want her to come home with them.

Car summoned, Beckett curls up in a corner and allows Alexis’s insouciant chatter to wash over her as they go. Lost in her own thoughts, she doesn’t pay much attention to the route until they’re pulling up at Broome Street, and even then she assumes that the car will take her on home after the Castles have hopped out.

“C’mon, Beckett,” enters her ears. From the tone, it’s a repetition.

“Huh?”

“We’re here. C’mon. Home. Out you get.” She stumbles out and follows them up.