184. Give my regards to Broadway

Beckett is hugely relieved at how well dinner with her father had gone, when she gets home. They’d had the most comfortable evening in many years, and she’d beaten him at Sorry twice to make it even better. He had, of course, sworn to take his revenge next Sunday. She really thinks that it might all be close to sorted out. Sure, it’s still hard for them to talk about her mom, but just like a week ago, it’s shared pain, not one inflicting it on the other, and that’s manageable.

Of course, they’ll still have to be careful: still have to watch their words a little, still have to be a little wary not to hurt each other inadvertently – but if they do, it’s not a disaster, it’s just something that they’ll have to work out then and there. As long as they don’t let small grievances – or indeed larger ones – fester beneath the surface, they can do this.

She turns to thinking about the next couple of days, and indeed the week ahead. Tuesday… should be relatively manageable, though Ryan and Espo likely won’t speak to her till the following week. Friday… difficult. Definitely difficult. But… she has the treat in view of an evening with the boys, Castle, Lanie and O’Leary the week after, so she’ll regard that as her prize for getting through Friday. Now, as long as she manages to find somewhere for them all to go which has space for O’Leary’s giant redwood-length legs, they’ll be fine.   She thinks for a bit. If she were organised, and talked to the place tomorrow, they could all go to Tribeca’s Kitchen, because there’s a nice big space on the mezzanine floor and O’Leary can stretch his legs out without tripping up the staff. Perfect. Especially perfect, because it’s not Molloys.

She makes a small note in her diary for the morning, and smirks. Then she looks at her watch, and decides that it’s a good time to make ready for bed. Once she’s all comfily sorted out, she’ll give Castle a quick call, and let him know it all went well.

So that’s what she does. She’s happily buried in her soft pillows and lightweight comforter, in a sloppy, soft sleep tee, when she rings.

“Hey, Castle.”

“Beckett,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just calling to check in and tell you it all went really well. We had a good evening. And I won at Sorry.”

Castle blinks at the phone, and not only because of Beckett’s smug tone at winning at Sorry, which seems to make it the most important thing. She’s calling to check in? Uh? Since when has she needed to check in? He stares at the phone as if it might have an answer, but the only one of which he can think is that she considers that he has the right to know that it’s all okay. Which, he thinks blankly, is huge.

“Mm?” he hums, being devoid of any words that would make sense.

“Yeah. He’s really looking forward to Tuesday, too.”

“Good. We need all the support we can get.”

“You can’t hide from Espo behind my dad, Castle. You’re too big.”

Castle grumps. “Does that mean I need to wear my vest?”

“I’m sure he won’t shoot you,” she says reassuringly. “In public,” she adds, not reassuringly at all.

“Beckett,” Castle whines. “I’ll tell him it was your idea.”

“He won’t believe you. Even if it’s true, he won’t believe you.”

“That’s not fair,” he wails. Then he listens carefully. “Beckett, are you tucked up in bed?”

“Yep,” she agrees. “All nice and cosy.”

“You can’t possibly be,” Castle argues.

“Yes I am. Why not?”

“I’m not there. Or you’re not here. So you can’t be properly cosy.”

Beckett makes a very unimpressed noise. “I’m not a small child who can’t go to sleep without their teddy bear. I’m all grown up.”

“I know,” Castle oozes. “You still like it better when you’re sleeping with me.” His tone is lubricious and teasing.

“I sleep okay without you too,” Beckett points out, and rapidly changes the subject before he talks her into admitting that she likes sleeping with Castle a lot better than she likes sleeping without him. “I told Dad that Burke was coming. He couldn’t stop laughing for five minutes.”

“I bet he enjoys it,” Castle says gloomily. “Your dad can leave. We can’t.”

“If Ryan and Espo leave, at least they won’t be shooting you,” Beckett notes briskly. “Anyway. Let’s go out with everyone – the boys, Lanie and O’Leary – week after this one. That’ll cheer you up. And you can hide behind O’Leary if Espo gets a little rough.”

“Is that supposed to cheer me up?” Castle asks. “Espo’ll have had a week to abuse me.”

“I’ll protect you, poppet,” Beckett says mischievously.

“Poppet? Poppet?” Castle squawks. “I am not a poppet. When I catch up with you I’ll prove I’m no doll.”

Beckett sniggers evilly.   “Took your mind off Espo, didn’t it?”

Castle emits a series of indeterminately growling noises. “Just for that, Beckett, I’m not going to tell you a bedtime story.”

“I think I’ll live,” she says dryly. “Especially since your idea of a bedtime story always seems to be X-rated, and since you’re not here to carry through, I think you should wait till you are.”

“We could” –

“Nope. If you’re not here, I’m not playing. This is not a solo game.”

“You’re so hot when you’re trying to give me orders,” Castle murmurs down the phone.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? Stop telling you that I’m imagining you spread out over my bed, here with me? Stop telling you that” –

“Stop. Or I’ll put the phone down.”

“That’s not fair, either. I can’t come over, and you know it.”

“I can’t come over either. Yet. So don’t make this worse.”

“You miss me,” Castle says smugly. “Awwww.” It’s Beckett’s turn to emit indeterminately growling noises. “You do. And on that happy note, Beckett, good night.”

He’s gone before she has a chance to riposte.

There is nothing notable about Monday, nor Tuesday. Late on Tuesday afternoon, Ryan and Esposito march up to Beckett.

“Okay, what’s happening tonight?”

“You promised us beer,” Ryan reminds her.

“So I did,” Beckett says blandly. The boys look at her dyspeptically.   “There will be beer. We’ll all go and get you your beers as soon as shift ends.”

“Where?” Espo demands.

“It’s a surprise,” Beckett says. “Trust me.”

They don’t. But they don’t see how they can extract the information either. Castle, sneaky bastard that he is, has simply not turned up, so they can’t interrogate him. Not that he’s much easier to interrogate than Beckett, but he’s less nasty about their attempts.

At five-twenty-five Castle arrives, and promptly scuttles for the safety of Beckett’s desk before the boys can surround him. “Are you all ready?” he asks, from the protection of her presence.

“Yes,” Espo growls. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to the Queen Vic.”

“Where?”

“British pub.”

“What? What’s wrong with American?”

“We’re showing you international culture, Espo. Broadening your horizons.”

“They’re broad enough.”

“Stop bitching,” Ryan says. “It’s beer. C’mon. I need a drink.”

The pub is not inspiring. It doesn’t, to Castle, look particularly British either, though since the beer is cold that’s an improvement on the London pubs he’s visited on book tours. However, it has beers, seats, and camaraderie.

Right up till the point Beckett tells them all that they’re going to the theatre. Camaraderie falls apart quite quickly, then.

“No friggin’ way, Beckett! I am not goin’ into any theatre an’ watchin’ that shit.”

“I had to sit through it already,” Ryan wails. “We didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“We’re providing support,” Beckett says firmly.

“Why us?”

Beckett looks at them in a way the boys rarely see. There is a short silence. Castle’s arm is suspiciously invisible behind her back. She chews her lip.

“Because… it matters to me that we do.” Esposito rakes her face with his unspoken questions. “Um… There are some others coming with us. My dad. Alexis.” She swallows. “And my shrink.”

“Your wh – oof!” Ryan has just been very ungently elbowed by Esposito, who’s regarding both Beckett and Castle with a considerable dose of sudden understanding.

“Shut up, Ryan,” he says. “Okay. You don’t need to talk about it, Beckett. I get it.”

That is apparently it. Castle watches Ryan watch Espo, and stay very firmly shut up. Every time a question forms in Ryan’s blue eyes, Espo kills it.

“Time we went,” Beckett says, in a very conversation-stopping way, and leads them to the door.

At the theatre, Alexis and Jim are already there, waiting in the foyer.

“Dad, these are Esposito and Ryan.” Handshakes and assessing glances are exchanged.

“I’d rather be at the baseball,” Esposito mutters.

“Me too,” Jim says, to Espo’s surprise, makes his way to Espo’s corner, and engages him in an extremely detailed discussion about both the Mets and the Yankees. Male inter-generational bonding is clearly taking place. Ryan suddenly looks very left out. Alexis takes pity on him, and starts to grill him about theatre and what he likes. Castle favours Ryan with a terrifying glare, which Alexis misses but Ryan doesn’t.

The incipient parental intimidation, no matter how unnecessary, since Ryan is exhibiting the same joy in the situation as a rabbit trapped by a fox, is abruptly stopped.

“Good evening, Detective Beckett.” Dr Burke had arrived a little earlier, but has only now, after a few moments of assessing the situation and the participants, announced himself. He has found the relative arrangements of the group extremely interesting, from the moment he had watched them arrive. Mr Beckett had been first, and his posture did not denote enthusiasm. However, when Miss Castle had arrived, after an initial sense of constraint, conversation (largely on the part of Miss Castle, who, like her father but far more excusably in an adolescent girl, appears to have an endless supply of words) had flowed smoothly.

Detective Beckett had led in the three men who, it is clear to the slightest observation, form her team. It is also clear that she leads that team. Mr Castle is in the same secondary position as he had been when Dr Burke was interviewed, and the other two men have adopted a similar alignment. Neither of them appears to be pleased to be present. These will be the Detectives Ryan and Esposito of whom Mr Castle has spoken. It is easy to decipher which is which.   It is also easy to identify that they have received something of a shock in the immediate past. Detective Ryan is exhibiting all the signs of wishing to ask Detective Beckett many questions of a potentially intrusive nature. Detective Esposito, who Dr Burke has immediately noted to have a military background, is watching Detective Ryan very intently, and stopping all such potential for disaster in good time. He is, however, also watching Detective Beckett almost as intently as Mr Castle has been known to do, although, thankfully, without any indication of a wish for intimacy. That would have been a highly undesirable complication, and Dr Burke is really very tired of the complications which Detective Beckett has brought to his door. The game of Sorry and his guilty pleasure in Mr Castle’s novels do not balance it out.

Dr Burke continues to watch for a short time as the group re-forms. Detective Esposito and Mr Beckett appear to have formed a temporary alliance. No doubt the common ground will become clear, although it is extremely unlikely to involve the theatre. It will most likely involve sport. Dr Burke has observed that this is almost always the case between men who are not otherwise acquainted, no matter their relative positions, ages, or social status.

Miss Castle has turned her conversational intensity on Detective Ryan, who appears more scared than sociable. This may, of course, be a result of Mr Castle’s hostile regard. Mr Castle’s overprotective nature is currently being applied to his daughter, in a manner that is completely unnecessary. Dr Burke is perfectly assured that, even were Miss Castle to behave inappropriately, which presently seems unlikely, Detective Beckett would deal with the situation in very short order.

Finally, Dr Burke’s regard falls upon Detective Beckett and Mr Castle. Detective Beckett is showing an unusual level of strain, although only Mr Castle, Dr Burke and, surprisingly, Detective Esposito appear to be concerned by this. Mr Castle is, very unobtrusively, very close to Detective Beckett.

Dr Burke decides that it is time to announce his presence. “Good evening, Detective Beckett.” He looks around. “Good evening,” he says to the other parties. “I am Dr Carter Burke.”

“Hello, Carter,” Mr Beckett says promptly.

“Hey,” comes with Mr Castle’s usual informality, echoed by Detective Beckett.

“Hi?” says Miss Castle, unsure of who he might be and why he is greeting them.

The two other Detectives make an even more distressingly informal noise of greeting and inspect Dr Burke extremely carefully. Dr Burke deduces that Detective Beckett has advised them of his role. He remains as impervious to their hostility as to that of Mr Castle.

“Okay, we’re all here.”

A bell rings.

“Time to go in,” Detective Beckett instructs, followed by a groan from Detective Esposito. Dr Burke finds himself on the end of the party, and with rather less interest notes that he has ended up next to the Hispanic detective who does not appreciate theatre. It does not improve his view of the production, as he had wished to observe Detective Beckett’s reactions.

“So you’re Beckett’s shrink,” growls the detective. Dr Burke sighs to himself. It appears that an unpleasant conversation may be in prospect. “Good. She needed one.” Detective Esposito relapses into a scowling silence directed at the stage. His conversational ability appears to be as limited as that of Detective Beckett. Dr Burke wonders, frivolously, how the team manages to investigate if they do not talk. It seems unlikely that they use sign language.

Fortunately, at this opportune moment, a cacophonous overture begins. Dr Burke turns his full attention to the stage, and, although he had certainly not expected to be so interested, he is wholly engaged. Had he been asked, and certainly on reading the synopsis on his programme, he would have suggested that the concept was a pretentious conceit having no validity except to stoke the ego of the previous director. However, seeing it played out in front of him, he is considerably impressed by Mrs Rodgers’ handling of it. Quite remarkable. While her attempts to psycho-analyse Detective Beckett had been erroneous and harmful, when applied to a theatrical production the correct applications of her talent have become obvious. He will so advise Mr Castle, at the interval, or afterwards.

Castle watches with considerable technical appreciation for the way in which Carl’s original “vision” has been converted into a coherent picture. While he is still not precisely convinced by the concept, he is impressed by the execution. He resolves to ensure that his mother continues to direct, and hopes that she will also find opportunities for acting roles. Beside him, Beckett’s tight-clasped hand has relaxed under his, and she also appears to be watching with considerable interest. Alexis is taking study notes. Jim is moderately interested, as is Ryan. Esposito appears completely bored. Dr Burke, on the other hand, is riveted to the stage, whence Castle returns his attention.

At the interval, Espo makes a determined assault on Beckett, and succeeds in cutting her off from the rest of the group.

“Beckett, I can’t take it,” he hisses viciously. “It’s so much bullshit. Why’re you making me sit through this crap?”

“Support.”

“You know I got your back. We all do.” Espo stops. “ ‘S not support, is it? ‘S telling us without telling us what’s been goin’ on. So since you’ve put me through this for an hour an’ a half, an’ you’re gonna make me sit through the same again, you can tell me what’s been goin’ down.” He scowls ferociously. “Spill.”

Beckett scowls back. It has no effect. “Been seeing Burke since Montgomery benched me. ‘Cause of my dad.” Esposito’s scowl dissipates. He knows about her dad. He always has.

“He been drinkin’?”

“No. Other stuff. We’re mostly fixed.”

“Castle know about this?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.” Espo turns back to the group.

“What d’you mean okay then?” Beckett whips out.

“If Castle knows, and he’s cool, we’re cool,” Espo says, like it’s no big deal. He exits, rapidly, before he can be grilled in return. Beckett glares at the wake his departure has left in the crowd, realises he has aimed tactically for the men’s restroom, and contemplates revenge. Before she can contemplate tangible actions, however, Dr Burke appears beside her. This is not necessarily an improvement.

“The treatment is quite fascinating,” he says. Beckett detects a faint air of enthusiasm. “It is clear that Mrs Rodgers’ talents” – ah. The good Dr Burke, she thinks very sarcastically, put a very interesting emphasis on the word talents – “are best employed in thespian endeavours.” When Beckett looks at Dr Burke, much to her amazement his eyes are almost – for Dr Burke – twinkling. “I consider she should be very much encouraged in this new career.” He regards Beckett with some sardonic amusement. “Were you intending that I should be introduced?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Beckett says, equally sardonically. “Know thine enemy.”

“Is that directed at me or at Mrs Rodgers?”

“Up to you,” Beckett grins. She is finding that Dr Burke, off duty, has a sardonic sense of dry humour which she can appreciate – in small doses. She will not be inviting him to dinner any time soon, or indeed any time at all. Dr Burke smiles back at her.

“I shall be pleased to be introduced,” he says, and resolves that he will not remain after the introduction. Detective Beckett is clearly intent on provoking a scene for the entertainment of the others, and Dr Burke is entirely disinclined to assist.

At that opportune moment, Alexis bounces up. “Detective Beckett,” she chirps happily, “Dad said that Dr Burke is a psychiatrist. Would you mind if I asked him about it?”

“Not at all,” Beckett says, and basely leaves Dr Burke to be grilled by the flamethrower formerly known as Alexis Castle.

Dr Burke regards the teen in front of him with detached interest. “You are Miss Castle?” he confirms.

“Yeah. I’m Alexis. You’re the therapist who’s been treating Detective Beckett.” Dr Burke nods, judicially and cautiously. “Would you tell me about how you get to be a therapist? Mr Beckett told me all about being an attorney but I think I need to keep all my options open.”

By the time the bell rings for the end of the interval Dr Burke is quite enervated from the effort of answering Miss Castle. Really, her interrogation technique is exhausting, and it is not necessarily mitigated by her clear interest. It occurs to Dr Burke that Mr Castle’s novels, the fourth of which he is now enjoying, had displayed, to the trained eye, a considerable level of underlying research. It becomes immediately obvious from where Miss Castle had acquired the ability. It is also fair to say that Miss Castle’s technique is considerably more pleasant than that of Detective Beckett, though less focused.

He returns to his seat, now exceedingly pleased that he is placed next to Detective Esposito, who does not, thankfully, talk.