159. Turning tables

Beckett reaches Dr Burke’s office approximately one minute ahead of the scheduled time, and consequently is rather flustered when she arrives. Dr Burke regards her with a touch of concern.

“Good evening, Detective Beckett. Has there been a problem?”

“Hey. No, no problem. Just a live case.”

“Oh?” asks Dr Burke.

Detective Beckett is clearly off her guard, and Dr Burke finds himself to be interested in how a new case affects her.

“Tennis coach, from Manhattan Central Racquet Club. He was shot Sunday.”

Dr Burke’s professional calm is completely destroyed. “Who was it?” he enquires, shocked. He practices there every week, as part of his well-balanced exercise programme. Detective Beckett’s eyes skewer him.

“Did you play tennis there?”

“Yes.”

“Who was your coach?”

“Jace. Jace Atkiss.”

“When were you last there?”

“Thursday, early morning.”

Dr Burke is completely overwhelmed by Detective Beckett’s switch from patient to interrogating detective, and the shock of a homicide which has cut very close to home. He does not like this at all. Homicide should not intrude on his well-ordered life, and none of his acquaintances deserve to be murdered.

“What has happened?” he asks, not having recovered any composure at all. “I do hope that it was not Jace who has been killed?”

“No.” Dr Burke finds himself astonishingly relieved by that news. “It was another employee of the club. Dr Burke, it would be very helpful if you would answer some questions about the club and Jace. We can do it here, or you can visit the precinct – as a witness,” Detective Beckett adds. Dr Burke is suddenly very glad that the victim was not his coach. He has a very strong suspicion that if it had been, he would already be on his way to Detective Beckett’s precinct and an interrogation room.

“Of course,” he says, recovering some composure, though his fingers steeple and unsteeple repeatedly. This is really most disconcerting. The different aspect which Detective Beckett displays when on detective business is quite upsettingly unnerving. “However, I would prefer if we conducted our session as normal, and then I will be happy to do anything within my power to assist.”

Detective Beckett considers that for a moment. From her expression, Dr Burke gleans the impression that she would prefer to pursue her case. However, and much to his hidden amazement, she settles back in her chair. “Okay. We’ll do that,” she says decisively. “When can I interview you?”

Dr Burke calls up his calendar. “If you were happy to attend here, I would be available before nine tomorrow morning. Would an hour suffice?”

“Yes. I’ll be here at eight. Thank you.”

Dr Burke would, were he given to such expression, let out a sigh of relief as Detective Beckett’s ferocity in pursuit of evidence is repressed. He calms himself swiftly.

“That intriguing digression aside, Detective, what would you like to discuss this evening?”

“I said before that I was thinking of a dinner with us, Dad and Alexis.”

“Mm?”

“We’ve booked it,” Detective Beckett says baldly, “on Thursday.” Dr Burke elevates a patrician eyebrow. “I think – I talked to Dad about how his talk to Castle’s mother went, and we were okay, and he agreed we’d leave the heavy stuff for here, and so…”

“That does indeed sound promising.”

“Anyway, I thought that if we did it Thursday then if anything went wrong I’d be here Friday.”

“Very wise.”

Detective Beckett flashes Dr Burke a look that makes him very glad he had never been coached by anyone other than Jace. Piercing scarcely captures the full weight.

“I was upset with Dad on Friday. But I worked out why. I’m not used to arguing with Dad, and I guess I was worried that he’d relapse, which is dumb because he hasn’t any time since he got dry, and it all got tangled up. I think I was scared that when Dad talked to Castle’s family they’d” – she searches out an appropriate word – “despise me.”

“Mm?”

“For leaving Dad.”

“And?”

“Castle said it was nobody’s business but mine, and if I was cool with it everything else was just noise.”

“Mm,” Dr Burke emits. Mr Castle really should take up psychiatry. It is most depressing that he will not. Dr Burke’s fingers twitch slightly, towards his desk drawer. Within it is the curriculum vitae of a potential new psychiatrist to join this practice.   Mr Castle has more innate understanding, although obviously far less technical knowledge, than the – exceptionally highly qualified – candidate. Really, such a waste of talent is most unfortunate. “Did you consider that concept?”

“Yes.”

“Mm?”

“If I’m happy with my decisions, then no-one else matters. I’m here to come to terms with my actions. So I can do this dinner, because no-one else was where I was and they don’t have the right to judge.”

Dr Burke smiles. “Quite correct, Detective Beckett. Once you have accepted your actions, and come to terms with what you had to do, then no other opinion is of importance. Now, should we discuss those actions in the light of your substantial progress with your father over the last weeks?”

“Okay. But – I don’t want Dad butting heads with Castle. Dad needs to back off and not behave like I’m still sixteen.”

“I will deal with that. You need not worry about that relationship.” Detective Beckett appears partly relieved, partly sceptical.

“If Dad isn’t going to behave nicely to Castle, then he won’t be seeing me either. He needs to get that.”

“I will deal with your father,” Dr Burke says again, consciously infusing his tone with firm reassurance. Detective Beckett should concentrate on her own relationships with her father, not those of Mr Castle.

“Okay.”

“Now, let us return to the beginning. You originally attended in order that you would be able to deal with alcoholics whom you might encounter in the course of your work, and to be able to deal with Mr Castle’s family on home ground, as it were. Quite swiftly, it became apparent that in order to achieve both goals, you would need to address your long buried issues with your father. The root of each issue turned out to be your father’s abandonment of you, followed by your failure to recognise that action while bearing substantial guilt over your decision to cease to enable your father, which you regarded as abandoning him.”

Detective Beckett nods, slowly and thoughtfully.

“How do you currently regard the position?”

“I don’t think I’d have a problem if I ran across an alcoholic at work. I don’t think I’d make the same mistake as I did with Julia, offering help.”

“Mm?”

“I shouldn’t offer help. I’d throw myself back down the same rabbit hole if I did. Montgomery would bench me, too.”

“Montgomery?”

“My boss.”

Ah. This Montgomery person has clearly assessed an appropriate response.

“To summarise, if you came into contact with an alcoholic, you would limit your dealings with them to the minimum necessary in order to conduct your job properly.”

“Yes.”

“Very well. I consider that we can leave that aspect of your treatment behind. It appears that it has become irrelevant. Now, about your father.”

“That’s harder. I wasted years because of him, and I can’t stop feeling guilty and angry just like that now it’s out there. It’s not going to be like it was. Okay, maybe if I’d had a better therapist I’d have realised my mistakes before I spent all that time on him, but I can’t change that now. I can’t look at him the same way as I did when I was a child. I’ve spent too long supporting him to think that he can support me. But…”

“But?”

“If we work at it, we can probably get along. If I can stop resenting what happened. We’re still a family, even if we fight. He’s still my dad, even if he’s not the one I turn to” – Detective Beckett stops, and her cheeks blaze. Dr Burke waits, “when I need someone,” she finishes in a rush.

Dr Burke picks out the important words from that statement. “You are still a family. How do you interpret your own statement?”

“That whether I forgive him or not, I can’t change that he’s my dad.” She stops, and backtracks. “No: whether or not I forgive him doesn’t change that he’s my dad. The two things aren’t connected.”

“Mm,” Dr Burke emits. He notices most particularly that Detective Beckett has not said that she has forgiven her father, and deduces that she has not. She had also mentioned, only a short time ago, that she still feels angry and guilty. However, she considers that they are a family. This is a sizeable concession, and may, in time, lead to forgiveness.

“I don’t feel guilty about fighting with him on Friday,” Detective Beckett adds.

“Why not?”

“I’m allowed to say no. That’s all I was doing. Saying no. I don’t need to feel guilty about that. It’s not the same as leaving him to drown.”

“No. Indeed it is not. However, you appear to have missed out one aspect of this complex issue.”

Detective Beckett raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh?” she says. Dr Burke notes her considerably more forceful demeanour and tone since he had admitted to attending the Racquet Club, and concludes with perfect accuracy that he is finally seeing the day-to-day Detective Beckett. Her outstanding professional reputation is thereby set in its proper context. Mr Castle’s immediate attraction is also explained fully. Of course, Dr Burke is entirely unintimidated by this change.

“You have not mentioned the need for you to forgive yourself,” he states.

Detective Beckett regards him coolly. Dr Burke regards her equally coolly.

“No,” she says eventually.

“Mm?”

“I already said it. If I come to terms with my actions, then it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“But until you have come to terms with your actions, will you have forgiven yourself?”

Detective Beckett is stymied. There is a protracted silence. “No,” she growls.

“So, how do you consider that you will forgive yourself?”

There is another protracted silence. Dr Burke calculates that at this stage of the session, silence has outweighed conversation. This does not concern him, as, in this session, silence denotes thought, not resistance or refusal to engage. Such an improvement from the early sessions. He congratulates himself on the efficacy of his methods, and waits with exemplary patience until Detective Beckett should have considered his question in appropriate depth.

“Unpick the reasons for the guilt and anger,” Detective Beckett says, slowly, “and then understand why they aren’t appropriate – or why they’re no longer appropriate.”

“Indeed. Would you like to start there?” Dr Burke wishes for Detective Beckett to build on Mr Castle’s words, and then to apply them to her own situation in a more measured and logical manner than has yet been apparent.

“We’ve been through this,” Detective Beckett says, with some irritation.

“Indeed,” says Dr Burke once more. Such a useful word, to convey more emphasis than a simple Yes. “We have discussed these concepts and your feelings on more than one occasion. Yet just as you will take statements from different witnesses, and interview the same witness more than once, in order to build up the complete picture of your investigation, so we must revisit your feelings in the light of new concepts, events, and the way in which your relationship with your father might be affected or is being affected by each realisation. Therefore, Detective Beckett, we must return to your feelings and actions from the beginning of your father’s alcoholism. You need not, however, go into the detail of his actions again, but need only concentrate on the emotions which you experienced, and the reasons why you experienced them, at the time.”

“Right back to the beginning?” Detective Beckett says unhappily, and emits a noise which closely resembles ugh.

“Yes.”

Detective Beckett makes a very childish face. Dr Burke does not consider that this improves her looks in any way.

“Okay. I said before that all the arrangements fell on me. I wanted time and space to grieve, and to remember Mom. I didn’t get it. I was angry about that, first. But Dad was so devastated, that it felt unfair to be angry with him, somehow.”

“Mm. Did you, at the time, think that you had a right to be angry with him?”

“I guess… maybe not. Not as angry as I was. He was hurting too. I didn’t want to hurt him more.”

“In fact, you wanted to protect him.”

“Oh. I guess so.” Realisation falls over Detective Beckett’s face. “Even then?”

“Let us digress for a moment. Would you tell me why you chose pre-law for your original major at Stanford?”

Detective Beckett takes a moment of her own to collect her thoughts in order to answer. Dr Burke, of course, has a purpose to his point. He will be very interested to observe the point in time at which Detective Beckett understands that purpose, and expects that much will become clearer to her – it is perfectly pellucid to him, naturally – when she does.

“I – oh.”

That took considerably less time than expected, Dr Burke thinks, pleasantly surprised.

“I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to make justice happen for people.” She looks Dr Burke straight in the eye. “I wanted to protect people. That’s what you want me to see. Right from the beginning.” Misery rolls through her face. “That’s what Mom did. She got justice for the little guys.” She reasserts some control. “It… I… it was all about protecting people, right from the very start, before any of this.”

“Quite.”

“So…” Detective Beckett drags out, “I was hardwired to protect anyway? Is that what you’re saying?”

Dr Burke wordlessly invites her to answer her own question.

“You are.” Dr Burke waits for the rest of Detective Beckett’s deductions to arrive. “Okay… so if I was already inclined to be protective, it got more so?”

“Yes. There is a well-researched line of thought which suggests quite strongly that under conditions of severe stress, such as you experienced, the individual will default to actions which correspond to their natural mode of operation. In your case, you were decisive – you have already told me this – and you were also protective. Tell me, when you are solving homicides, what is your motivation?”

“Justice,” Detective Beckett says without hesitation. “Giving those left behind justice and closure.”

“And how do you behave when the case is more than usually stressful?”

Detective Beckett looks a touch uncomfortable. “I take charge,” she says, with a rim of colour to her cheekbones. “Make things happen.”

Dr Burke had thought as much. He is quite content to find himself correct, as usual. “What do you deduce from this conversation?”

“Mom’s death” – Dr Burke notices that she does not say murder – “was stressful. So when Dad fell apart, that made it even more stressful, and I just… well, took charge. It all fitted. Taking charge and not yelling at Dad protected him, too.”

“Very good. Now, consider your feelings of anger in the light of that.”

“Um… I guess I felt that if I was angry with him I wasn’t protecting him?”

Detective Beckett sounds rather doubtful of her conclusions. However, they are entirely accurate.

“That would not be an unreasonable conclusion,” Dr Burke says mildly. “Then, if that were the case…” he stops, and allows his cessation to invite Detective Beckett to continue.

“If,” she says slowly, considering each word, “I felt I wasn’t protecting him, and – like you said – I was defaulting to being protective, then… I might feel guilty because I wasn’t protecting him?”

“Indeed so.” Dr Burke looks at the clock. “We have only a few moments left. We can continue, if you wish, but we have made considerable progress this evening and I think it might be more helpful if you had some time to consider these realisations and conclusions before we do. In any event, I shall see you tomorrow at eight, when it will be your turn to interview me.” Dr Burke smiles, rather forcedly. “I am sure that will prove most interesting for both of us.”

Beckett goes home, still thoughtfully. On arriving, she fills the kettle and puts two mugs out: French press at the ready. Not more than ten minutes later, the door sounds and, as expected, Castle arrives. She looks up, smiles happily, and hugs him. Or is hugged. Or something.

“Coffee?” she asks, into his shoulder.

“Yes, please.”

Castle pads after Beckett to the kitchen, noting that her walk is confident, her posture comfortable, and the atmosphere calm. Clearly tonight’s session has not been distressing, or has not been significantly upsetting.

Once they’re settled down, Beckett grins widely. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“No, you have to guess. But you’ll never guess this.”

“So why ask?”

“Because even your most insane theory won’t guess this one. C’mon. Guess.”

Castle scrutinises Beckett’s widely grinning face, and considers. “Dr Burke is going to write a sloppy romance novel in an effort to compete with me.”

“Nope. Egotistical much?”

“I am a best-selling writer. Dr Burke is a psychiatrist.”

“Guess again.”

“You saw a UFO on the way home? No – Dr Burke saw a UFO.”

“Nope.” Beckett laughs. “But you’d never forgive me if I did and you didn’t. Last chance.”

“O’Leary turned into a Bigfoot and terrorised New York?”

“No. Though those are all spectacularly insane theories.” She pauses, Castle harrumphs, and waits hopefully.

“C’mon, Beckett. Tell me.”

“Tomorrow morning, at eight” – Castle mutters darkly – “we are interviewing a witness.”

“Uh? So? Why is this relevant? That’s not worthy of one of my brilliant inspirational theories.”

“Because our witness is Dr Burke.”

Castle spits his coffee all over his shirt, the table, and his hand, and then chokes. “What? We’re interviewing Burke?” He stops choking and starts to laugh.   “You’re kidding. You have got to be kidding me. What’s Burke got to do with our victim?”

“Burke attends the club, and is coached by one of the others. Jace, to be precise. I think he must go regularly.” Castle makes a disbelieving noise. “Anyway, we could use some up to date information on how the club operates, and some low-down on Jace. It might be interesting to know if Burke wanted to swap to our boy, or if our boy approached him. And if nothing else” – she smirks evilly – “it’ll be nice to have him on the end of my questions rather than vice versa.”

“Oh, yes. I don’t even have to pay to watch the show.”

“No. You’re going to be part of it. Don’t you want to play?”

“Yes,” Castle says, in a deep, velvet, growly baritone. “But I want to play with you now. You’ve been toying with me.”

“Toying? You don’t look much like a toy to me.” She slips a hand around his back, untucking his shirt and stroking the skin beneath.   “If you are a toy, there’s no way to replace the batteries,” she snickers.

“I don’t need batteries,” Castle rasps, in a gravelly tone that leaves her skin prickling. “I just need you.” He falls upon her, ravenously.