199. Shout, shout, let it all out

“Do you think he’s right?” Castle asks, shortly after they’re back at Beckett’s apartment with a very necessary coffee, a small side lamp the only light.

“The infallible Dr Burke?” Beckett says sardonically. “If he’s not, it’s probably going to be on the front page tomorrow.”

“Seriously, do you think he’s right?”

Beckett looks more closely at Castle. She can’t imagine that the irritatingly always-right Dr Burke is wrong now, especially as – though she will take revenge for the comment about intimidation – she can see his logic quite clearly. However, Castle is obviously worried. She puts a hand over his where it lies on his knee.

“Yeah. I do.” She regards Castle very seriously. “He really hasn’t been wrong yet. Lanie heard who I was seeing and pretty much genuflected. He’s the best. I still don’t much like him – though I guess he’s better outside work – but if he isn’t right about what you should think about, then no-one’s going to be able to do any better.

Castle grunts unhappily. “It fits,” he drags out, “but I don’t like it.” Beckett pats his hand, and then intertwines her fingers with his.

“It’s up to you,” she says, in deliberate echo of his words to her. “But I think you should try it.”

“You do?” Castle turns to her. “Really? Why?”

Beckett gathers herself. He’s asking for the truth. She just hopes that he’s ready to hear it.

“Yes.” His expression asks the question. “If you don’t, you’ll never clear the air. You’ll just keep on feeling guilty and trying to make up for it and never managing. You’ll resent her for not understanding you. Just like I never cleared things up with Dad. You’ll be right where I was, and you’ll hate it. And” – she breathes deeply, and hopes – “I’ll hate it. We can’t get anywhere if this isn’t fixed too. You’ll say you want me to move in, and you’ll even mean it, but every time I turn round you’ll remember the fight with your mother and it’ll poison it before we’ve begun.” She breathes slowly, again. “I’m not going to start down that line. I wanna get this right. I wanna move in, sometime, and… all the rest… but not if this isn’t fixed. I’m not setting us up to fail from the get-go.”

Castle stands up and walks to the window, staring out, his shoulders stiff and set. Beckett slumps back on to the couch, drinks her coffee and descends into gloom. It had to be said, and it had to be said in unequivocal terms, but it’s crunch time, and Castle has to do this for himself. He’s picked up her little red stone, and is turning and stroking it. She’s done that, too. She hopes he sees the point she’s making: not trying to force him to anything, but pointing out that this needs fixed for them to have the future she wants them to have. He keeps staring out, and twisting.

Castle couldn’t stay sitting down. He had to move, to separate, to think: undistracted by touch. Staring out over the city, night falling and streetlights sulkily pushing back the darkness, he automatically reaches for something for his hands to do: finding the small stone beneath his fingers and sliding it over and over, unconscious of the similarity to Beckett’s actions, weeks ago.

He doesn’t, yet, know what to think. He can hear the truth in Beckett’s desire to move in, and more – and he wants that: he really does want that too, and she’s saying flatly that she wants it – but he’s scared of the fight he has to have with his mother to achieve it, because after all, what if she says she never loved him? It doesn’t matter that he’s forty, a successful adult – he still, deep down, needs the security of his mother’s love.

Or does he? He turns the small stone, unseeing. Does he need it, or does he want it? Not quite the same. And isn’t the truth, whatever it is, better than no truth? He’s seen the damage lying about relationships has caused Beckett, and how it nearly broke them before they’d even begun. Her blunt words are no more than the truth of her experience: an attempt to save him the pain which she’d felt. He remembers, abruptly, that her relationship with Will (whoever he might have been) had broken on her failed relationship with her father.

She knows whereof she speaks. But yet it hurts: the truth hurts. She’s right, but oh, how it hurts. It had all been different, watching from the outside, and that had been quite agonising enough. He doesn’t want to be another Katie-and-Jim, though.

His broad shoulders slump, and as if that had been the signal for which she waited, Beckett pads softly across the floor and curls arms around him from behind, leaving his hands free to fret and fidget.

“You’re right,” he says heavily, not looking at her. Her head leans on the back of his shoulder, lips a breath away from his neck. “You’re right, but I hate that you’re right. I hate that Dr Burke is right again.”

“Yeah,” Beckett emits in bitter agreement. “Me too.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Castle whispers. “What if she never did?”

“Someone said to me, not so long ago: you need to tell your dad the truth. It’s the only way you’ll move on. I’ll be there. I’m on your side, whatever it is. Were you wrong?”

“No-o.”

“So. You need to tell your mother the truth, and make her understand. I’ll be there for you. Same as you were for me. You said: Truth hurts, Kate, but nothing ever works if it’s built on lies. And, God yes, it has hurt, but look where we got to.” She’s almost pleading with him.

“But what if she doesn’t?” he asks again.

“I’ll be here. Right here with you. Better to know. I’ll still be with you, whatever.” Somehow, standing in the almost-dark together, only the small side lamp puddling dim light on the floor, she can say these things without embarrassment. “Always with you.”

He turns in her arms and holds her hard, dips to take her mouth, the small stone smooth against her back, suddenly no doubt, no hesitations, no-one in their way. “Always with me,” he agrees, “and always with you.” He kisses her deeply again, possessive and sure, and then lifts back off and leans his brow on hers, more peaceful now than at any time these last few days.

“I still don’t want to,” he says, a long while later. “I know I’ve got to, but I don’t want to.”

“Sounds familiar,” Beckett says with a quiet edge. “I didn’t want to go to therapy. I didn’t want to see Dad. I didn’t want to meet your family, or go for brunch, or come to dinner, or deal with your mom or Alexis.” Her hands tighten on his midriff. “But I did it all, because I wanted… I wanted to have us.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Castle admits. “I know. I’ve got to do it, because I want us too. But…”

“Look, I can’t be there tomorrow ‘cause of work, and anyway I don’t think you’d want that, but… as soon as you’re done, come to the precinct or call me, and we’ll work it out.” She looks up into his face in the faint light through the window. “There are enough of us there to form a cordon,” she says, and smiles mischievously.

“Might need it,” he replies gloomily, but there’s a tinge of dry humour below the gloom, brought into full view when his stomach rumbles loudly.

“C’mon, let’s get some takeout,” Beckett says, and instantly turns to her stack of menus, riffling through them. “What d’you want?”

“Chinese,” Castle decides. “Let’s see that?”

Chinese is ordered. Nothing much happens while they wait, except some peaceable snuggling. Mostly, it’s Castle who snuggles. Well, maybe. What actually happens, Castle being rather wider than Beckett, is that he decides that the best form of snugglement is to treat her as if she were a teddy bear and snuggle around her. Beckett simply has to consent to being snuggled, and is perfectly happy to be so, if it will reassure Castle now. Anyway, she could do with some snuggling too. She hadn’t been at all sure that she’d taken the right tack, and the reaction is setting in. She needs to be sure that they’re still sound, and this cuddled closeness is the best truth of that. She nestles closer, and keeps her arms around him, as his encircle her.

Dinner arrives, and is eaten; cleared away, and replaced by more coffee. Castle doesn’t want to leave: so much is clear; and Beckett is not precisely encouraging him to go. She is quite content to stay nestling for some considerable time. How convenient that Castle likes being nestled into as much as she likes being nestled, and that therefore both of them are wholly comforted. She leans her head on his shoulder, her hand on the other shoulder, and is quiet.

Castle idly plays with a tress of Beckett’s hair (it’s longer now, he notices. Not much, an inch or so, but just enough to notice), cossets her close, and is content. Now that the tide of emotion has ebbed, he recognises the risk she thought that she’d been taking to speak as honestly as she did. He hopes he wouldn’t have taken it wrongly, whatever she said, but… it’s been a bad few days, and he couldn’t swear to it. He feels the need to hold her, simply to hold her, and regain equilibrium.

Eventually, he has to go. He doesn’t ask Beckett to come with him, and when she manages a very coded reference, he declines.

“I need to think,” he explains, a little unhappily. “I won’t think if you’re there.”

Beckett curls back into him. “’S okay,” she murmurs. “I get it.” She hugs him for a moment, then slides away towards the door. Castle collects himself together, but before leaving kisses her softly, not, tonight, the ready, blazing desire that’s so easy and so good, but simply comfort taken and thanks given.

Castle doesn’t sleep particularly well, and breakfast with Alexis is likewise muted. He doesn’t want to burden his daughter with any more issues: she’s dealt with enough already, and besides which, stress before school isn’t helpful. He frets his way through the time until his mother arrives.

She looks, if possible, worse than yesterday. It wrenches Castle’s heart, but he’s had half the morning to think about Dr Burke’s words.

“Mother,” he says. “I want you simply to listen to me.” He pauses. Martha is silent. “Just because I don’t get emotional and loud like you do, doesn’t mean that I don’t have strong feelings too. You seem to think that because I’m not making a big fuss, it’s not as important to me. That’s not true.” He takes a deep breath. “Deciding that you had to move out really hurt me, because it seems like you cared more about being right than about the family. Seems like you didn’t love me enough to do what I asked, because you thought you knew best. You didn’t. You’ve said that you’ve given up everything for me, and all I hear now is that you resented it. Nothing else.” He swallows, hard. “If that’s what you’ve felt all these years, then whatever you say, it doesn’t sound like you loved me like I thought you did.” He stops.

“That’s ridiculous!” his mother cries. “Of course I love you. You were my baby and you’re my son. How can you think otherwise?”

“Right now? Quite easily. You haven’t done or said anything since I met Beckett to make me think you want me to be happy on my terms. The best you’ve done is said don’t screw it up. Not exactly a vote of confidence.” Martha gasps. “Everything you’ve done has been to try and make sure that you’re happy with Beckett on your terms.”

Martha opens and shuts her mouth twice, and then finds her voice. “How dare you!” she emits. “How dare you say I don’t want you to be happy? I only ever wanted you to be happy but you’d never be happy till Katherine came here so I wanted to make that happen.”

“I told you Beckett was seeing a shrink,” Castle points out, voice starting to rise. This time, he doesn’t try to bring it down. “You wouldn’t listen. We even tried to make him meet you, but he ducked out ten seconds after he did. He” –

“That was a therapist?” his mother screeches at him.   Castle doesn’t think that was the actual point.

“That was Beckett’s therapist. Who knows what he’s doing, unlike you. He’s fixed her, despite all your efforts to screw things up. If I’d listened to you it would have been a complete mess and she’d never have fixed herself. Were you trying to make it go wrong?”

“No! I want you to be happy!”

“Then why didn’t you just let me be happy?” Castle shouts at her. “Why didn’t you just butt out when I told you to?”

“I told you,” Martha cries. “I was scared and you kept not explaining” –

“It wasn’t any of your business. You just needed to trust me and you wouldn’t. How can I trust you if you won’t listen to me? How can I trust anything you say?”

“Because I love you,” she whispers, and begins to weep. “I love you but I made a mistake. I was scared. I knew you wouldn’t but it felt just the same and I couldn’t stand a third time and I couldn’t talk to you because it was already all wrong. I thought you didn’t want me, Richard. All you did was tell me off without any emotion. I thought you didn’t care.”

“Not everyone needs to shout to show their feelings.” His mother doesn’t seem to hear that. She’s sobbing, quietly.

“I just wanted it to be better and I thought it would be better if Katherine just started to come here.”

Castle sighs. He can’t disbelieve his mother’s tears, and he can’t bear to break her heart.

“I see. You almost ruined everything, Mother. If there hadn’t been that case…” He stops there. “Okay. I believe you didn’t mean it. But I don’t believe you really understand what you could have done by not listening. I need to think about that.” He sighs again. “I get that you love me. We’ve fixed that. The rest… that’s going to take some time. Alexis isn’t too happy with you right now either. Just saying you love me doesn’t change that you’ve really, really hurt me. It’s going to take time to fix it.”

He watches his mother’s devastated misery, and is hard put to it not to weep too. But somewhere in all this tangled emotion, he thinks she finally gets it. The test of that, of course, will be this damn party, but he’s not opening that can of worms now.

He stands up. For the first time in – well, he can’t think how long – his mother essays an embrace of her own volition. He returns it, tentatively. It’s better, but there’s work to do still.

Once his mother has left, Castle doesn’t instantly call Beckett. He will do, because he needs to see her; needs to see the love hiding deep in her eyes, hidden by the snark and snap and sparkle of her precinct self; needs to know that later he’ll find soft, feminine Kat who’ll only want him. However, first he needs some time to himself.

He hadn’t stopped himself shouting, but he hadn’t exactly done a lot of it. Still, he hadn’t tried to calm emotions, and it seems to have worked. He hates that his mother was crying, but he hadn’t tried to fix that or appease her or stop it.

On balance, a win. Maybe by only a single point, but a win. He slumps back in his seat, tired of all this high emotion and drama. He doesn’t want to go into the precinct, suddenly. Too many people, too much going on, too much need to preserve a façade. Instead, he texts Beckett to meet him at Remy’s. She’ll give him that space of mental quiet that he needs.

Beckett reaches Remy’s first, manages to secure a secluded booth by dint of sharp elbows and familiarity (that is to say, the server recognises her and doesn’t quibble), and orders a milkshake to be going on with. She doesn’t order for Castle, who might need anything from soda through to neat whiskey, depending on the way the morning has gone. The one thing she can be sure of is that he’ll need consoling, and she’s dealt with that possibility in her choice of booth.

Castle lumbers in a couple of moments later, appearing tired, heavy-eyed and uncheerful. Even so, he’s not nearly as bad as she was expecting. He spots her and trudges across to the booth, sitting down opposite her. Beckett takes both his hands firmly in hers, makes sure he sees her assessing gaze, and simply says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he manages in return, with a dull attempt at a smile.

Beckett strokes her thumbs across the backs of his hands. “Let’s get lunch,” she says decisively, “and then you can tell me about it without anyone interrupting.”

“No interruptions? Did you put Ryan and Espo in Holding?” Castle says with a poor attempt at humour.

“Not quite. I sneaked out when they weren’t looking.”

At that point the server returns, orders are given, and Beckett notes that Castle is not so upset that he can’t face food. She pats his hands again, squeezes reassuringly, and has a slurp of milkshake.

“I didn’t shout much,” Castle says despairingly.

“No-one said you had to, just that you needn’t stop yourself if you wanted to,” she consoles. “Wanna talk about it?”

Castle makes an unhappy face. “She might have got it,” he drags out. “But I keep thinking that and she hasn’t so far. At least this time I got a bit more explanation. She just keeps saying she was scared and she thought she couldn’t talk to me.”

“Mmm?” arrives sympathetically.

“Then she said” – he digresses – “you know, I really hate how Burke is right every single fucking time” – he reverts to the main point – “she thought I didn’t care because I wasn’t emotional. And then she started to cry and I can’t bear it when she cries because she hardly ever does.” He stops, and sighs deeply. “She meant well,” he says, and slumps, head in hands, elbows on the table. “If only she’d listened.”

There is a pause, in which their burgers arrive. Eating his burger gives Castle an excuse not to say anything more, and Beckett, thankfully, doesn’t push. In fact, she does exactly what he needs: doesn’t talk, doesn’t ask questions, and doesn’t try to turn his head inside out.

“Have you got a few minutes more?” he asks, burgers eaten and not a single fry remaining.

“Yeah,” Beckett confirms, having checked her watch.

“Let’s go for a walk. It’s sunny. Tompkins Square Park should be nice.”

Beckett sneaks a look at him from under her eyelashes. “Should I be thinking up quiet, secluded spots?”

Her comment causes Castle to perk up somewhat. “Could do,” he leers more happily. “C’mon.”

They make it to the park without incident, though Castle insists on his arm arriving and then remaining around Beckett every step of the way. She tucks in, and doesn’t complain, or shoot him. He draws them to a seat in the sunshine, heedless of the heat of the early June day, and stays, silently curling her into him and with his head resting on her hair. She allows him to do so, for a while, but eventually looks at her watch.

“I need to get back. You coming, or going home?”

Castle looks pathetically at her. “Home.”

“I have to work. If a body drops, I’ll call.” She pauses, and hugs him quickly, adding a brief peck on his cheek. “Um… I could come round later. Text me,” she adds, already starting to stride very briskly away.

Castle stays sitting on the bench for a few minutes. Then he taps out a text, and for the first time since he woke up this morning, smiles with some genuine happiness.