90. Take it to the limit

It would be exaggerating to say that Dr Burke is surprised to be informed that Detective Beckett has arrived for her appointment. It would be more accurate to say that he is mildly perplexed.  Similarly, he is not relieved.  It is for his patient to decide whether or not to attend.  He is not a truant officer.  It is true to say, however, that he had not necessarily expected Detective Beckett this evening.  It is also true to say that he is mildly impressed that she has attended.  Friday’s session, while the truths revealed had been entirely necessary, had been gruelling, and Dr Burke would have been entirely unsurprised had Detective Beckett decided to take an intermission while considering the matters that had been discussed.

However, she is here.

There are four matters which concern Dr Burke: that Detective Beckett has never told Mr Beckett the whole truth about his behaviour whilst inebriated; Detective Beckett’s guilt at having, as she sees it, walked away from her father when he needed her; Detective Beckett’s propensity to remove entirely from her ambit those who have hurt her; and Detective Beckett’s equal, and related, propensity to remove entirely from her ambit those who have attempted to point out the truth.

Dr Burke wishes most earnestly for her previous therapist to be cast out of the profession. Had they done their job properly, Dr Burke would not be trying to show Detective Beckett that she has believed and acted upon a false premise for at least five years.  Given that she had been informed that all she needed to do was grow up and get over it, and having thought that she had done so, being told that in fact her actions have not allowed her to grow out of her issues must be a crushing blow.  It is hard to take the actions you have been told by a trusted professional are correct, and then find that they are utterly wrong.  It is hardly surprising that one does not wish to discuss the true position in those circumstances.

“Good evening, Detective Beckett.”

“Good evening.”

Dr Burke is not particularly reassured by the unusual formality.

“With what do you wish to begin?”

There is an entirely predictable silence. Dr Burke lets it draw out.

“I don’t like you,” Detective Beckett says angrily. “I don’t like your commentary and I don’t like your conclusions.  You haven’t shown me any evidence or proof, you’ve just thrown out unsupported theories.”

Dr Burke regards Detective Beckett calmly. “If you believe that you can disprove my theories, then let us by all means explore that.  I am very content to explore the evidence for and against each, and, as you are a detective, I assume that this will be acceptable to you.  If your evidence is better than mine, then I will accept that.  I have never claimed to be omniscient. Which theory would you like to attempt to disprove first?  Perhaps you should list them, and then begin.”

“Fine. One.  My father did not abuse me.  Two.  My father doesn’t care, and I don’t care about him.  Three.  Dealing with Castle’s family has nothing to do with dealing with my father.”  Detective Beckett glares at Dr Burke.  “We can start with the third.  I know you’re wrong because I had brunch with Castle and his family on Sunday and it was just fine.”

“Did you go to Mr Castle’s home for this brunch?”

“No, but that doesn’t matter. I spent Sunday morning with his family and we got on just fine.”

“That sounds remarkably promising, Detective. Do tell me more.”  Detective Beckett entirely misses the subtlety behind that question.  Dr Burke steeples his fingers under his chin, and watches her carefully.

“Castle invited me for brunch and I went.” Dr Burke does not, himself, partake of brunch.  He controls his waistline vigorously, and brunch would damage it.

“Where did you go?”

“Balthazar. Spring Street.  Typically Castle.  Packed out.  I don’t know how he got a table.  It’s really popular.”

“What time?”

“Ten.”

“What did you wear?”

“You’re a fashion consultant as well as a shrink?” Detective Beckett says unpleasantly. Dr Burke ignores her attempt to anger him.  It is merely another way of trying to push away the truth.

“I am interested in all of the evidence. What did you wear?”

“Shirt, pants, blazer.”

“And the others?”

“Castle was in a dark blue sweater over a cream button down and navy slacks. His mother” – she grimaces – “was wearing a multi-coloured kaftan, mid-length, probably silk.  Orange and green, in an abstract pattern.  Not easy on the eye – you could spot it a mile off and you’d still need sunglasses.  Alexis had on a pretty cream top and black leggings, with a black bolero style cardigan.”

“So they were all relatively casually dressed, as you would expect for brunch.”

“Yeah.”

The need for a description has taken Detective Beckett into her professional zone, and removed some of the more obvious anger. Dr Burke does not think that this will survive his next few words.

“If you expected them to be casually dressed, why were you dressed more formally? Your description of your clothes sounds as if you were wearing similar garments to those which you wear to work.”

“Are you criticising my dress sense now?” Detective Beckett emits in incredulous fury.

“I am sure you looked perfectly stylish. I am merely pointing out the incongruity between your style of dress and theirs.”  Dr Burke decides to point his moral.  “Why did you feel it necessary to dress as if you were at work?”

“What?  How did you” - Detective Beckett stops very hard on that sentence, but she has already given away the key point.

“So you agree that you were dressing as if you were at work?”

Detective Beckett looks as if she is about to deny it.

“The truth, please.”

“Yes,” she bites out. “So what?”

“That doesn’t imply that you were treating this as a normal, casual brunch. Why were you approaching it with a work mentality?”

“I… I…”

“Were you treating this casual brunch as if it were an investigation?”

“No.” Dr Burke produces a gaze that, from her expression, Detective Beckett last saw in her own mirror, practising her interrogation stare.  “Fine.  Yes.  I can deal with families at work, so I guessed it would make it easier.”  Dr Burke notes that the word is not easy.

“It does not appear to me that you were able to take it entirely in your stride, nor that it was, as you described it, fine? But, as I said, I shall be happy to be proved wrong.  Please provide more of your evidence.  For example, what were the subjects of conversation at this brunch?”

Detective Beckett is quite clearly gritting her teeth. Dr Burke takes that as a sign that she is realising that she is losing the argument on this area.

“Castle’s writing. His house in the Hamptons.”  She stops.

“And?”

“His family wanted me to come back to the loft.” Detective Beckett’s teeth are clamped together.

“How kind of them. And of course, since you now have no issues with seeing his family, you accepted?”

Detective Beckett regards him as a cornered wolverine regards a hunter. “No,” she says bitterly.

Dr Burke does not place any undue stress on his next words. “That does not sound as if this issue is wholly solved.   Substantially progressed, undoubtedly, but not solved.  So, while you have made progress in coping with Mr Castle’s family, you have not yet shown that you have wholly resolved that issue.  You may wish to consider why you still feel unable to go to the loft.” 

He pauses. No answer eventuates.  Dr Burke had not expected one.  “Perhaps we should consider a different issue?  Which would you prefer?”

“My father did not abuse me.”

“Your evidence for that?”

“I’m not a victim. I walked away from it and didn’t come back till I had independent evidence that he was dry.”

“Suggestive, certainly, but simply walking away does not prove that abuse did not occur, it simply proves that you were strong enough to leave a situation producing similar results to an abusive situation.”

“And he didn’t mean any of it. It was the alcohol, not him.  Abuse is deliberate.  This wasn’t.”

“An interesting distinction. Please expand.”  Dr Burke perceives once more Detective Beckett’s desire to believe that her father was not deliberately cruel to her while apparently simultaneously believing that he does not care about her.

“When he was sober, he didn’t tell me he didn’t want me, he said he wanted to be a family. So since he only did it when he was drunk, it was part of his alcoholism.”

“Let us look at that more closely, then. Which of those statements did you believe to be true?”

“Huh?”

“When sober, your father wished you to be a family. When drunk, he told you to leave because you were not your mother.  Which of those did you believe?”

There is a protracted silence. It appears that Detective Beckett has not considered the inconsistency of these positions.  This is hardly surprising: it is well known that the pattern of deliberate emotional abuse involves enough apparent kindness to balance the unpleasant reality, until the victim’s behaviour adapts.  As it happens, Dr Burke is quite certain that Mr Beckett was not deliberately abusing Detective Beckett, however it is necessary to disentangle the behavioural patterns in much the same way as if he had been.

“I believed…” another pause “… I don’t know,” Detective Beckett emits.  “In vino veritas,” she quotes bitterly.

“Mm. You seem to me to be more inclined to believe that he did not want to be a family.”

“Yeah. Well.  He’s said so now.”

“Before he said so, what would you have believed?”

“Family.”

“Why?”

“That’s what he said when he made amends. He was sorry and he wanted to be a family again.”

“But you did not tell him that he had said the opposite when he was drunk.”

“No.”

“That implies that you believed that he did want to be a family. Until the recent statement, how did your father behave?”

“Like he wanted to be a family.”

“You are a detective of considerable ability. Would your father have been able to conceal his feelings from you for five years?”

“He did, though, didn’t he?” Detective Beckett says acidly. “So clearly I didn’t treat him like a suspect.”

“Detective Beckett, it seems that you yourself cannot decide what your father meant. We therefore have no conclusive evidence one way or the other as to whether he cared or not – we have moved from the question of abuse to the question of caring,” Dr Burke points out.  “The two are very closely linked, so this is not at all surprising.”  There is, of course, a way to resolve this, but Dr Burke wishes to extract any further evidence or assumptions before introducing that suggestion.  “However, I should like to return to the question of abuse, or not.”

He steeples his fingers. “Allow me to describe to you the pattern of deliberate emotional abuse, and then we can consider the evidence for or against your father’s behaviour.  Note that I am not, in doing this, drawing any conclusion as to whether it was abuse, or whether it was deliberate.”

“Okay,” Detective Beckett mutters resentfully. Dr Burke observes her dislike of being proven wrong, and sympathises.

“Emotional abuse, at its core, is a pattern of behaviour which is designed to lead the victim into behaving in a way which affords the abuser gratification. In its simplest form, the perpetrator conditions the victim into reacting in a specific way.  This may be by informing the victim that they are behaving unreasonably, unlike other people, or stupidly – when in fact they are not; or by becoming angry or tearful when the victim wishes to take some action which the perpetrator does not wish them to; and, most importantly, by rewarding the victim with kindness and/or the similitude of love when they behave as the perpetrator wishes.  The outcome which the perpetrator desires is that the victim will behave exactly in accordance with their wishes, which generally involves subordinating the victim’s own needs and desires to theirs.  That tends to result in the victim going out of their way to please the perpetrator and ensuring that any behaviour which might trigger the reaction of the perpetrator is minimised or absent.”

“Bullying.”

“There are considerable similarities, but one substantial difference. In bullying, the unpleasantness is generally not masked, and may or may not involve a situation where strong emotional bonds are expected to exist.  In emotional abuse, it is more subtle and insidious, and takes place over a longer period.  It will often present within a family unit – parent to child, or child to child, or spouse to spouse – or in a situation where close friendship is assumed.”

“Oh.” Dr Burke allows Detective Beckett to consider his words.  “But that’s still deliberate.  My father wasn’t acting deliberately.  So it can’t be abuse.”

“If a perpetrator commits manslaughter, not murder, does that not produce the same outcome?”

Detective Beckett fails to find an answer to that thesis.

“You said he abused me.”

“No, I said that the way you have behaved with him exhibited similarities with the way in which victims of emotional abuse react to their abuser. I have not said that your father was, or was not, an abuser.”

“Is it painful sitting on that fence?” Detective Beckett jibes. Dr Burke ignores that.

“There is, of course, a relatively simple way to deal with all of these evidential requirements, and for you to prove your case.”

“Yeah?” Detective Beckett says, extremely sceptically.

“This Gordian Knot would rapidly be cut were you to conduct an interview with your father, here, under my supervision.”

“What? You can’t possibly be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious. Witness evidence is always better than circumstantial evidence, is it not?”

“My father couldn’t cope with it.”

“I have interviewed your father and I am content that he will be able to withstand the truth. If I am there, if it is apparent that he is struggling, I will step in and pause or stop the interview.”

“When did you speak to my father?”

“Yesterday. You will recall that you gave me permission.”

“And I know you’ve spoken to Castle too,” Detective Beckett says bitterly. Dr Burke wonders whether Mr Castle will still be capable of speech after he sees Detective Beckett again.  It does not presently appear likely.

“You do not have to decide now, Detective Beckett. I am perfectly content to continue treating you without such an interview taking place.  I merely suggest that it would accelerate your healing.  If, or when, you consider you are ready, then we can arrange it.”  He considers briefly.  “It might be best to wait until you have considered matters for a little longer, with my guidance.”

“No. We are going to deal with this once and for all and you’ll see that you were wrong.”  Precisely as predicted, Dr Burke thinks, Detective Beckett has taken the bait.  He considers that this meeting must take place sooner, rather than later.  Detective Beckett’s state is not notably stable.  “But I’m going to ask Castle to be there too.”  This is not a surprise to Dr Burke either. 

“Then shall we attempt to arrange this meeting for your normal time on Friday?”

“Fine.”

“Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“No.” Detective Beckett glances at her watch.  “Castle will be waiting for me.”

Dr Burke notices something. “That is an unusual watch for a woman to wear.”

“It was Dad’s. He gave me it when he got dry.”

Dr Burke says absolutely nothing further. He considers that if Detective Beckett is still wearing that particular watch it is proof positive that she cares about her father.

“Good evening, Detective Beckett. I shall inform you about Friday.”

“Thank you.” Detective Beckett grits out.  Dr Burke does not consider her to be thankful at all.  He, on the other hand, is.  It may have been a little manipulative, but reverse psychology works extremely effectively on Detective Beckett.  He will need to have a further conversation with Mr Castle, and preferably with Mr Beckett, in order to ensure that all proceeds smoothly in a proper direction on Friday.  He makes a note for his receptionist to contact both of them, and smiles in a satisfied manner as he prepares to leave.

Beckett finds Castle planted in the reception area, scribbling in his notebook and then, inspiration clearly failing, he sucks the end of his stubby pencil and humphs.

“Hey, Castle.”

“Beckett!” he bounces. “Just in time.  Stand there for a minute.”  He runs eyes up and down her appreciatively.  “Got it.”  He scribbles some more.

“Care to explain?” Her voice is a little sharp.

“I ran out of inspiration,” Castle says simply, “and you showed up at just the right moment to supply some.” He smiles beautifully.  “Dinner?”

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Castle slings an arm around her shoulders and snugs her in. This has the happy effect that she’s comfortably close and the less happy effect that he can detect every last tension knot in her back, of which there are many.  He walks her down to his car, settles her into the passenger seat, and pulls out smoothly.  As soon as they’re in the flow of traffic in the direction of Remy’s, he puts a large hand over her knee and squeezes.  Automatics are so convenient.

“Rough session?” he rumbles.

“I don’t like him,” Beckett complains. “He’s a smug jerk who thinks he knows it all.  He can’t prove anything.  He thinks he’s a better investigator than me.”  Her voice is rising.

“That’s dumb,” Castle manages to insert. “No-one’s a better investigator than you.”

“He said I should prove him wrong,” she growls.  “He has to prove his dumbass theories.  I don’t have to prove anything.”

“Okay,” Castle says, more to sound supportive than anything else.

“He wanted me to prove I was right.”

“So you did.”

There is a very uncomfortable silence, followed by a very embarrassed and completely inaudible mutter.

“Beckett?”

“Couldn’t.”

Castle nearly fails to stop at the intersection because he’s too busy trying to retrieve his dropped jaw from the footwell.

“Uh?” he manages, while trying to avoid causing an accident. What has Dr Burke done this time?  He’d privately bet money – okay, a single dollar with himself, but still, money, that Beckett could have proved Dr Burke wrong.

“He had a smartass answer for everything.” This time the growl has fangs.  “But I’ve got him.  On Friday he’s going to have my dad there for me to talk to and then he’ll see he’s wrong.”  She descends into blackly furious muttering.  “Thinks he can prove me wrong?  Witness evidence?  He’ll eat his unsupported theories without ketchup.”

“Friday?” squawks Castle. “I thought we were going to the Hamptons on Friday night.”

Beckett stops muttering. “I’d have to go to therapy first anyway, or face Montgomery.”

“But… if you’ve been talking to your dad…” or interrogating, Beckett, and which will it be?

“Don’t you want to go?” she says. “I still want to.  Don’t you?” She suddenly sounds painfully uncertain again.  “I don’t have to go.  If you need peace to write… I shouldn’t come.  Friday isn’t going to be peaceful.”

“You’re coming,” Castle says very decisively and very firmly. “You don’t get to wriggle out it and hunker down in your apartment being miserable on your own.”

“So we can both be miserable? That’s dumb.”

“No, because you won’t be miserable with me. I’m a guaranteed cure for misery.”  His hand creeps north of her knee.  “I know just how to make you happy,” he purrs seductively.

“We can’t spend all the time in bed, Castle.”

“Bed? Bed?  No, no, no.  Walks on the beach, followed by hot chocolate and toasted marshmallows, make you happy.  That’s what we’re going to do.”

“You won’t want to, after Friday’s session.”

“Why not?”

“I… I… please would you be there on Friday?”

When Castle flicks a glance across Beckett is hunched in the corner of the passenger seat. Asking clearly cost her something, and it’s equally apparent that there’s more to her concern than simply interrogating her father.

“Sure,” he says, in a comfortably reassuring rumble.