140. Heal me

“I think you need to explain that a bit better. Somewheres between your mouth an’ my ears I think it lost some meanin’.” Beckett says nothing. “Beckett, c’mon. Only reason I c’n think of that you’re wanting to see me is that you wanna check your thinkin’ ‘bout your dad, like you did the other week.”

“Yeah,” Beckett drags out, extremely reluctantly. “Did I tell you I hate you being a good detective?” she grumps.

“You love me really.”

“Nah. I leave that to Pete.”

“So what d’you want to check?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s helpful.”

Beckett wrinkles her nose at O’Leary, who smiles his iceberg-sized smile in return.

“I talked to Dad a couple of times. With the shrink there. Dad says he doesn’t remember anything and I had no good choices till he stopped drinking. He says I should have left him to die, if that was what it took.”

O’Leary whistles. “Ouch.”

“He says seeing me after he got dry was the best thing in the world. He says he never meant he didn’t want to be a family. He was matchmaking.”

O’Leary sniggers, in a bass rumble that vibrates the floor, and then laughs, which wobbles the windows. Beckett glares, which has no discernible effect on anything. “So what’s your problem?”

“I don’t know if he’s telling the truth. I think he is. But I can’t work it out. I’m too involved. I want it to be the truth, but I wanted that last time too.” She looks full at O’Leary’s mass, eyes suspiciously bright. “I need a reality check, and you know the story. I don’t wanna explain it. I don’t wanna talk about it either, but I gotta sort it all out. It’s getting to both of us.”

O’Leary pats her shoulder, carefully. “Yeah. So what’s changed from three weeks ago? Three weeks ago you didn’t believe any of that.”

“It all seems to fit together.” She lays out the facts. O’Leary hums, much in the manner of an elephant-sized bumble bee, and asks a few pertinent questions. Another beer happens, and another soda. He rumbles to himself, and asks some more pertinent questions. Finally he stops.

“Seems pretty simple to me, Beckett.”

“That’s nice,” she snips, but there’s a disturbingly emotional edge to it.

“You’re just too close.” She growls. “Cool it. See, you’re all worked up about it. It all sounds pretty consistent – screwed up, but consistent – to me. I don’t think he could have lied to you for five years, so let’s start there. No matter how much you wanted him to stay dry, you’d never have missed him bein’ inconsistent like that. I bet you’da noticed. I bet you were hypersensitive” –

“Ten dollar words? Do you want to be a writer or something?” – O’Leary ignores that, magnificently –

“to anything that wasn’t normal. So I guess there wasn’t anything that wasn’t normal, ‘cause you’da spotted it, no matter how much you wanted it all to be right again. An’ then he went an’ said somethin’ totally dumb, an’ I guess there was more goin’ on than that, an’ you took it totally the wrong way. So I guess you need to work out why you keep takin’ him totally the wrong way.” O’Leary pauses for breath. “An’ I can’t help you with that.” He grins, looking over Beckett’s head. “But here’s your boyfriend, right on time.”

Castle swoops in and plumps himself down next to Beckett. “Beers?” he asks, and summons a pair of bottles on O’Leary’s nod. Following that, and since this is O’Leary, he unashamedly and obviously slings his arm round Beckett, ignores O’Leary’s amused grin and quirked hedge-aka-eyebrow, ignores equally Beckett’s unamused grumpy noise, and makes himself comfortable. All of this is merely a cover for providing Beckett with the support her evident tension needs.

“You finished swapping knitting patterns?” he asks happily, and is jointly punched in the shoulder. O’Leary pulls his punch – obviously, since Castle is still sitting on his seat and does not have a broken collarbone. Beckett might have pulled hers, but Castle doesn’t think so.

“I can’t knit,” she says, with some pride.

“I can,” O’Leary says. “’Cept those tiny little toothpicks tend to break.”

Castle sniggers. Even Beckett raises a grin.

“Let’s get some chips or something to eat. I need to soak up the beer,” Castle says, and goes off to investigate.

“You okay now?”

“Helped. Let’s leave it.”

“Okay. But… pals, huh?”

“Pals, O’Leary.”

“So, I hear you’re arrestin’ instructors from the Academy now,” O’Leary says to Castle, who snorts and shakes his head. “What’d you think of the place?”

Castle considers. “For somewhere that turns out New York’s Finest, it’s a bit run down, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. They’re planning a new one out in Queens, but I guess we won’t see that for a few years. Anyways, why should the rookies get somewhere pretty when we didn’t?”

“How does it work?” Castle asks, intrigued and having been unwilling to ask Beckett much after her ignoring of the display cabinet. O’Leary expounds, at length, and with a wealth of stories of mischief-making after lights-out.

“Didn’t you do any of that, Beckett?” O’Leary eventually asks.

“No.   I think after you lot they tightened up.” But there’s a slight awkwardness to the reply, and a slight hunching of her shoulders. A moment later she excuses herself.

“She never even looked at the display cabinet,” Castle says. “Her name’s all over it – everything, just about – and she walked past like it wasn’t there.”

“Yeah.”

“They want her to go back and talk to the recruits – tell them what it’s like when you’re out there, I guess. She volunteered you, you know.”

“She said. Don’t guess she’s gonna do it.”

“No. She’ll manoeuvre Montgomery into saying she can’t.”

“She ain’t ready.”

“Nope.”

“What about her dad?”

“They’re both hurting. I just hope the shrink can get them through before one of them decides that it’s not worth the pain any more.”

“Amen to that,” O’Leary says pontifically, and upends his bottle as the chips arrive.

The rest of the evening passes in good humour, stories of pranks and the early days of Officer O’Leary, wheeled out (possibly by an Amtrak engine, Castle thinks) every time they wanted someone who looked intimidating; a few stories of Beckett’s early days, though not many, and eventually dissolution in a cloud of beer.

Tuesday is not enlivened by the interrogation of the majority of the remains of the lowlives, nor by the bringing in of the pusher, who, after Ryan and Beckett have finished with him, is taken away by Narcotics, whose satisfied smiles seem to indicate that something has gone right. Nor is it enlivened by Montgomery summoning Beckett, shortly after lunchtime.

“Beckett,” he says seriously, “How are things going?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Good. I notice you’re still going to therapy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“Sir.” She tries to think of a deflection, and fails.

“You let me know if anything is wrong, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Montgomery frowns gently as she leaves. There’s nothing he can do but make sure that Beckett knows he’s watching. Still, backed up lab not withstanding – surely the city should be able to staff and fund it better – she’s a lot happier now. He peers out into the bullpen, and observes Castle in his accustomed position next to Beckett’s desk. He’s clearly theorising wildly. He’s also about three feet closer than he used to be. Frown is replaced by smug smile. Best idea he’d ever had, that.

“Hello.”

“Good evening, Detective Beckett. What would you like to discuss today?”

“Two things. The choices I had, and what Castle said about hearing what Dad says as if I were him.”

It appears that Detective Beckett is no more capable of expressing that concept in accurate English than she had been on Friday.

“With which would you prefer to start?”

“Neither.”

“So there is a third matter that you wish to discuss?”

“Not exactly.” Dr Burke adopts a manner of actively listening, radiating gentle encouragement. Thinking is to be encouraged, and talking about it more so. In Detective Beckett’s case, any talking is to be encouraged. “I did some thinking. I think Dad’s telling the truth. I think he just put it badly. Everyone else – Castle, O’Leary, you – thinks he’s probably telling the absolute truth. I’m still not sure. I think that’s because I’m too close to see it. If it was a case, I’d be sure. But it isn’t.”

Were Dr Burke prone to revealing his thoughts and emotions, which he is not, his jaw would be approaching the floor. Detective Beckett has made the major breakthrough for which he has been hoping for some time: she has, despite her words of doubt, accepted that her father is telling the truth.

“But… but he keeps putting things badly. He made me think that he wanted a different family. Then he said I should have left him to die. What was the point of it all if he doesn’t get that I couldn’t leave him to die till I worked out that I couldn’t save anyone but myself?”

“I believe that you have arrived at your second issue. Let us try to express it more clearly. Perhaps you could consider it as if it were to be insight into a witness?”

Detective Beckett’s expression first clears, and then becomes one of intense thought.

“Castle said,” she muses, “that I was hearing what I thought Dad would hear if I were him and knew what I felt.”

“Mmm?”

“I think what he meant was…” she stops to find the correct words… “if I was in Dad’s shoes, I’d be so hurt by what I did that I would never believe me again. So I expect that he’s as hurt as that and is – was? – saying it. But he isn’t. I think he isn’t.”

“You are saying that if you were in your father’s position, you would resent being abandoned, and you would be unable to consider yourself a family again in consequence?”

“Yes. Exactly like that.”

“Is not that exactly the feeling which you expressed to me as being your own position?”

Detective Beckett emits a most peculiar noise. Dr Burke really cannot describe it. No doubt Mr Castle’s literary bent would be able to oblige, but there is no necessity for such frivolity. On reflection, literary is quite possibly the wrong word, although naturally Dr Burke will not make such a judgement without reading one of Mr Castle’s novels first. Presently, however, his schedule does not permit such a digression into popular culture. He sees no need to alter his schedule.

“You what now?”

“You have, at various points, intimated to me that you felt that your father had abandoned you for, firstly, alcohol; and then, although you have now altered your opinion, for Mr Castle’s family. It appears to me that you may be projecting your entirely understandable emotions on to your father. This is not uncommon.”

Detective Beckett stares at Dr Burke. He condescends to explain further. “You are assuming that your father will react as you would. That is the simplest way to explain the position. However, it is very unlikely that he would do so. Firstly, he recognises that the first fault was his. You will recall that in our second joint session he told you that he knew that he had abandoned you for whiskey, long before you stopped enabling him.”

Dr Burke pauses, in order that Detective Beckett may process the first point: that she must realise that her father’s experiences are not hers, and that therefore they will never react in the same fashion. It is simply not possible for her to comprehend the experiences of an in-remission alcoholic, nor, he hopes, will she ever experience it for herself. He considers it extremely unlikely, although he strongly suspects that that is because Detective Beckett is worryingly close to being a workaholic. Still, Mr Castle is dealing with that issue in a perfectly manageable way. Distraction.

Dr Burke is perfectly well aware that Mr Castle does not like him, and is equally well aware that this is because Mr Castle is really quite ridiculously protective of Detective Beckett. Dr Burke is perfectly content with that position, since he finds that his methods rarely result in his being liked. Not for him the grateful testimonials and letters which surgeons or paediatricians might receive and which they thoroughly deserve. Dr Burke is quite satisfied to know that his patients will never need to see him again, and that they are healed of their mental wounds. Testimonials are unnecessary: his professional reputation remains unmatched. The opinion of his colleagues is far more important than that of his patients.

Detective Beckett appears to be thinking furiously.

“You’re saying,” she eventually emits, “that he wouldn’t react like I would. That it’s different for him… oh. Because he’s an alcoholic.”

“Exactly so.”

“Because he’s been through something that I never have.”

“Indeed.”

“So…” – there is an extremely protracted silence – “I shouldn’t second guess him.”

“Indeed,” Dr Burke says again, mildly, and does not indicate his enormous relief that Detective Beckett has turned some intelligence upon her relationship with her father.

“He doesn’t see it like I do. Like I would.” She considers the thought some more. “If he’s telling the truth… he sees it all as he got what’s left of the family back. He doesn’t see that anything he says or does could be taken to mean anything else.”

“Whereas you see it…”

“I couldn’t have forgiven him walking away from me when I needed him.”

“But you have already identified that it was not need, but enabling.”

Detective Beckett thinks some more. “So what you’re saying is… that I’m not seeing the right pattern. He sees it through” – she searches for a word – “the lens of being an alcoholic. I don’t. I’m looking at it like it was just Mom dying. But it isn’t. It’s not about Mom dying – well, it is sort of but that’s not the real problem. It’s about him having been an alcoholic” – Dr Burke notices most particularly that Detective Beckett has changed the tense in which she refers to her father’s disease from present to past – “so he sees everything through that and I don’t.”

Dr Burke is delighted. Detective Beckett’s ferocious intelligence has led her to an important conclusion.

“Exactly so, Detective Beckett. Now, would you like to consider how that important realisation might lead you to misinterpret your father’s rather loose phrasing?”

Dr Burke observes Detective Beckett’s dangerous half-smile, and recognises it as likely to be that which she develops on the trail of a criminal. It appears that today’s session has been pivotal, and they are not yet half-way through the allotted time.

“I think… I think that I keep thinking that because I resent him abandoning me, he thinks the same way, deep down. Just like I squashed it all down for all that time, so did he. But he knows that I had a good reason, and he knows that he didn’t. So it’s different. But he didn’t know that I was still” – she stops. Dr Burke waits – “hurting,” she eventually says, “because I never told him, so he thought we were all good and never thought that I might see it differently.”

“Carry on,” Dr Burke encourages.

“It’s just what Castle said. What he thinks he’s said isn’t what I hear. He thought he was encouraging us to mix with Castle’s family.” She acquires a slightly more forceful aspect. “Though I don’t think he should be matchmaking.” She relaxes again, insofar as Detective Beckett is ever relaxed in Dr Burke’s room. “I thought he wanted a different family.”

“In the light of our discussion this evening, can you now explain why you interpreted his words in that manner?”

“Because I would have wanted a better family that wasn’t secretly unhappy with me all the time. I couldn’t believe he’d forgiven me because I hadn’t forgiven him.” Her face crumples. “I thought I had, you know. I thought I had right up till I had to deal with Castle and his family. It was just me I thought I hadn’t forgiven.”

Dr Burke passes the box of Kleenex, and waits patiently while Detective Beckett blows her nose.

“It is very fortunate that you met Mr Castle,” he opines. Detective Beckett’s look of utter bewilderment is most amusing. “While your life may have seemed satisfying, and your career has provided, and continues to provide, you with considerable success” – Dr Burke wonders why that should make Detective Beckett wince – “eventually you would have come into contact with another case similar to that of the Berowitzes, and eventually you would have had to deal with a close and loving family. At that point, whenever it arose, these issues would have surfaced, and under circumstances where you did not have the unquestioning support of Mr Castle, you would have found it far harder to resolve them.”

Detective Beckett’s look of utter bewilderment has altered to utter astonishment. Dr Burke emits a small, prim tut.

“Come now, Detective. You cannot fail to admit that Mr Castle has been a significant help to you.”

Eventually Detective Beckett finds her voice. “I thought you didn’t like Castle,” she says rather faintly.

“On the contrary. Mr Castle has been extremely helpful and I value his insights. I believe you are projecting Mr Castle’s feelings on to me. Of course, his annoyance stems from his desire to protect you. It is entirely understandable and indeed laudable.”

Detective Beckett is wordless.

“Let us return to your two issues. You said, at the start of this session, that you wanted to discuss choices and Mr Castle’s insight. We have discussed Mr Castle’s insight. Do you wish to continue on that topic, or turn to choices?”

“Choices. I want to think about the other stuff some more.”

“Choices it shall be, then. Please expand.”

“Dad said he wasn’t ready to take the only good option, so I had no good choices. I could kill myself enabling him, or I could kill myself with guilt when I stopped. Only I could save myself,” she says with bitter emphasis. “Except I didn’t, really. I stopped enabling him, and he saved himself, but I didn’t. Then I chose to go see him, once he was dry.” She stops. “We’ve been through this.”

“Repetition may be helpful. It is certainly not wasted time.”

“I thought I had Dad back.   He looked like he loved me. Not some ghost copy of Mom. Anyway. I tried so hard to forgive him but I never really managed it. So I just tried harder and harder. So now I’m down to two choices: whether to forgive him and whether to forgive myself.”

“Mmm?”

“The second isn’t a choice. I have to. I just don’t know how.”

“We can discuss that, at a convenient time. You have made significant progress today towards that goal.”

“The first one… well. I need to try to forgive Dad. Maybe the joint sessions here will help. I thought maybe if I invited him to brunch on Sunday? Something normal. But not at home. I don’t want him at home yet, and I don’t want to be at his. It’s too… it’s too obvious when I want to leave.”

“You say try to forgive,” Dr Burke notes. “Could you expand on that, please?” He will not, yet, address the idea of brunch.

“I can’t decide now if I can or not. It’s too soon. I want to, but that isn’t the same thing, and… well, it all hurt so much and it’s not fixed and…”

“And?”

“I don’t know if I can.”