102. Poison in your head

Castle stands up and wraps her in. She half-falls against him, which is not wholly reassuring. On the other hand, he manages to sit them both down comfortably, with Beckett safely on his knee and in his arms. But this is still not the time for sex: even were there the temporal space, which there isn’t; she’s tired, and there’s been enough trouble yesterday and today already. He surrounds her, and doesn’t pet, and doesn’t ask any questions.

“Julia was there,” Beckett drags out.

“Mm-uh?”

“At Central Park precinct. Collecting her husband.” Beckett stops, and breathes slowly, the pace of each inhaled molecule rigidly regulated. “She said she needed me and then got mad when I said no. I told her what she should do, all over again, but she hasn’t done it and she won’t do it. She still thinks there’s a better outcome.” Bitter knowledge taints the still air. “She’ll learn. Just like I did.”

“Her problem.”

“She told me I walked away. It’s true. But if I’d done it properly back then I wouldn’t be doing it again tonight. It would never have happened again. He’d be gone.”

Castle very deliberately doesn’t react at all. He’s been expecting that since she opened her mouth.

“He will be soon, anyway.”

But she’s tensed up as soon as she says it. Hardly the attitude of someone who’s desperate to walk away, and for whom cutting out her father from her life will be as easy as she says it will be.

“He’s just another witness, Beckett, and when you’ve finished we’ll go. D’you still want to go to the Hamptons?”

“Yeah,” Beckett says slowly, as if she can’t quite believe it’s still on offer.

“Okay. Your car or mine?”

“Yours. I… I’m not sure I’m going to want to drive, after. Dr Burke annoys me, and that’s not a good start to a journey.”

Castle thinks that that’s a very minor component of a much larger reason Beckett shouldn’t drive, but since it’s the right answer he doesn’t explore it.

“Okay,” he says again. “If you want to go, then you need to pack, and we can go straight away.” He forces a grin on to his mouth and hopes that it appears in his voice. “Please will you bring that lovely crimson dress? The strokable one? It’s soft and swirly and very pettable.”

“Is that a word?”

“Swirly? Of course it is. So is pettable. Pleeeasse?”

Beckett emits a half-hearted growl and doesn’t say no.   On the other hand she isn’t exactly leaping out of his lap to pack either.

“When do we need to be at Dr Burke’s?”

“Usual time. Six thirty.”

“It’s nearly five now.”

“Oh.”

Beckett sounds very tired indeed.

“I could help you pack. Ensure everything is suitable.”

“You just want an excuse to rootle through my underwear.”

“I like doing that much better when you’re wearing it,” Castle murmurs. The resulting growl is not half-hearted at all.

“You are not helping me pack.” She thinks of a diversion. “If we’re going straight from Dr Burke’s, then don’t you need a car?”

“Downstairs already. I was going to leave it here, but we can take it if you like. I guess we’d get out of Manhattan faster, if we did. But you still need to pack.”

“Okay.” Beckett aims for her bedroom, stalked by Castle. “No. You are not helping, okay?”

Castle pouts. “But Beckett, I need to make sure you’ve got the right dress.”

“If I promise to pack that same dress will you go and sit down and stop acting like creepy stalker-guy?”

“Yes,” says Castle, perfectly happily now that he’s got what he wants. Which want was not, in fact, the dress; but a more alive Beckett than the previous ghostly version.

Beckett carefully considers not packing the crimson dress. Then she thinks that, given that the crimson dress induces soft petting and cuddles and stroking, she does want to pack it; and therefore does. With appropriate underwear. And nightwear.

Shortly her bag is packed. Unfortunately this means that there is now nothing at all standing between Beckett, Dr Burke, and her father. She sits on her bed and tries to recreate Detective Beckett. She’s not Katie, that victim of abuse. She’s Detective Kate Beckett of the Twelfth Precinct, who can deal with unpleasantness, hostile witnesses, and liars without turning a perfectly groomed hair.

What’s in a name? An entire personality, that’s what. The personality she needs now to be done with this whole charade and pretence.

When she walks back out of the bedroom with her weekend bag she is perfectly, totally, and entirely Detective Kate Beckett.

She is still perfectly, totally, and entirely Detective Kate Beckett when she slips into the passenger seat of Castle’s very luxurious but discreet Mercedes, her notes in her purse; still perfectly, totally, and entirely Detective Kate Beckett when she teases Castle about letting her drive it and is firmly told no, it’s his toy; still perfectly, totally, and entirely Detective Kate Beckett when Castle parks at Dr Burke’s; and still perfectly, totally, and entirely Detective Kate Beckett when she walks into reception and then into the consulting room.

Her father is not there.

“Good evening, Detective Beckett. Mr Castle.” Dr Burke manages to infuse a trace of disapproval into the last two words. “Please be seated.”

“Where’s my father?” Detective Beckett raps.

“He is in another room. Is there anything you wish to discuss before he joins us?”

“No. Let’s get this done. It won’t take long.”

Detective Beckett’s tone would have been better used to sound the advance at Omaha Beach. Dr Burke hears its clarion call with misgivings. From his expression, Mr Castle not only recognises the tone but regards it with outright terror.

“Nothing? Very well. There is one procedural matter to explain before we begin. You, or your father, may at any time request a short recess for any reason. You need not state the reason. If such is requested, all parties must accept it. When it occurs, it is usual for the parties to occupy separate rooms for the duration. I may suggest a recess, if I consider that the situation warrants it. Mr Castle may not.”

“Understood,” Detective Beckett says, crisply. She takes two pieces of paper from her purse, smoothing them out. Mr Castle clearly recognises those, too.

Dr Burke fetches Mr Beckett, with considerable trepidation. When he returns, he observes that Detective Beckett is completely impassive.

“Dad,” she says coolly. There is no particular emotion apparent. The same is not true of Mr Beckett.

“Katie,” he says desperately. “Katie, what did I do?”

“Don’t you remember?” she says, still cool and collected. “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened?”

Dr Burke admires Detective Beckett’s ability to command the room. Every eye is fixed on her.

“Katie, you’ve heard it all before. I don’t know anything more. I don’t remember.”

“Don’t you mean I was too drunk to remember?”

“Yes,” Mr Beckett says desolately. “But I don’t know what I did now, either. We were just talking and you lost your temper and walked out.”

“And when you got dry?” Still nothing but dispassion. Detective Beckett might never have met her father before.

“We were a family again. I don’t know why you don’t see that.”

“We hadn’t been a family for five years, because the only family you wanted was a whiskey bottle. Why were you so keen on being a family again?”

“You were all I had. If it wasn’t for you I’d never have got dry. You know this. Why are we going through it? That hasn’t changed.”

Dr Burke considers intervening, and does not.

“I was all you had?”

“Yes. You were all that was left of our family.”

“Mm,” Detective Beckett says. “All that was left?”

“You were all I had left. All I had to remind me.”

Dr Burke winces. Detective Beckett does not. Interestingly, Mr Castle does.

“So you got dry because I was all you had left to remind you of Mom. You said I saved you. Wasn’t it your job to save yourself?”

“I did. But I needed to start. You were the start.”

“Because I reminded you of Mom.” Her voice is still terrifyingly dispassionate.

“I said that. You were my only family.”

“Because I reminded you of Mom.”

“Yes. What don’t you get about that?”

“I understand it perfectly.”

“Katie, what is this? I don’t get why you’re so upset with me. What happened?”

Detective Beckett ignores that.

“So I saved you. I was the reason you crawled out of a bottle.”

Dr Burke would have preferred anger, or contempt, to this cool analysis. Mr Beckett is already looking confused.

“Yes.”

“And I’m your only family.”

“Yes.”

“So why did you crawl into the bottle in the first place? If I mean so much to you. If I’m your family.”

“Because I couldn’t deal with how much you were like your mother. You were so like her so I drank to wipe out all the memories. Every time I saw you I saw her. Every time you spoke. You sound so much like her. And then I couldn’t stop.”

“But you don’t remember anything?” Still cool and calm, though there is an edge on the question that Mr Beckett clearly senses. Dr Burke notices that Detective Beckett’s knuckles are white in her lap.

“No. Katie, why are you behaving like this? I don’t remember. I never did remember. I don’t remember any of it.”

“So you really don’t remember me coming home,” she bites, ice on each word, “and you telling me I should go away because you didn’t want me, you wanted Mom.”

Mr Beckett turns sheet white. “I said what?”

“Go away. I don’t want you. I want Johanna.” Each word, cold and clear, strikes like steel. “In vino, veritas.”

“I…” Mr Beckett clearly remembers Dr Burke’s earlier admonitions. “I don’t… I can’t remember, Katie.” It sounds like a plea for mercy. Mercy is not in evidence. “Why did you never say?”

“You really don’t remember saying that every time you got wasted? Every time I came to get you out the tank.”

“Katie, no! I never would have meant it. I don’t remember any of it. I meant what I said when I was dry again.”

“So when you were so drunk you were vomiting, you could still lie, but when you were sober, you always told the truth?” An elegant eyebrow lifts sceptically. Disbelief hangs heavy in the claustrophobic atmosphere of the interrogation room. “Usually when people are that drunk, they haven’t the coherence to lie consistently.”

Mr Beckett clearly thinks that there is a chink of light at the end of this tunnel.

“Yes, I told the truth when I was sober. You meant everything. You – just the thought of you saved me, and then I could do it. Every day, one day at a time.”

“You kept telling me that. That you did it because of me. That seeing me was really important. That it was really important to you to be a family.”

“It is.”

“So I’ve been there for you. Been your family. Never let you down. Saved you. Did whatever you wanted and whatever was needed.”

“Yes. Katie, why are you questioning this? That… I just wanted to be a family. Didn’t you?”

Detective Beckett ignores that question too.

“In fact, I did exactly what you wanted me to.” She changes topic. “I cut and dyed my hair, you know,” she says conversationally, “so I didn’t look so much like Mom. At least it stopped you making that mistake again.” That stiletto is still sinking in when Detective Beckett carries on. “For two years I tried to make you better, but nothing I did worked. I didn’t talk about Mom, because it made you cry, and then you drank. I wanted to talk about Mom. I wanted to remember her. But I couldn’t, because you just cried and got drunk again. So I stopped. I cleaned you up and picked you up and listened to you promise you wouldn’t do it again if only I’d be there. I was there, but you didn’t stop.”

She pauses: breathes out, breathes in. Dr Burke watches her control and waits, poised to step in at any moment. This cold dissection surely cannot last?

“But then you got dry, and you were – we were – happy again. Just as long as I was there to be a family with you. Just as long as we didn’t talk about it. After all, there was no point dragging up old scores. You were happy and as long as you were happy you didn’t drink. And I had my dad back.”

“So why aren’t you talking to me now? Why did you stop taking my calls?”

“But Dr Burke here” – that has a fine edge on it too – “showed me that it wasn’t all bluebirds and roses. I wouldn’t believe him, until I went back through all of it. I changed my behaviour and my appearance and didn’t do things I wanted to do because you were drunk, or because on the rare occasions you were sober you pleaded with me, or because you might have gone back to the bottle. I changed me to try to keep you happy. Dr Burke thinks that’s emotional abuse. I argued with him. I was sure that it wasn’t, because you were so drunk you didn’t know you were doing it. Because I thought that you needed me because you wanted to be a family. Because I thought that when you got dry, under it all, you still loved me.”

“Katie…”

“And then you met Castle.”

Dr Burke sees the sucker punch a fraction too late to stop it.

“And he had a much nicer family. They weren’t harsh to poor dear Julia Berowitz. They were kind and friendly and sociable. They liked you, instantly. You liked them. When you saw them, you didn’t have to worry about what they remembered or what they might think of you, because they didn’t know your past. They never needed to forgive you for anything. In fact” – she pauses slightly – “it was just like being part of a family again.”

Dr Burke emits a strangled gasp. Castle doesn’t manage the strangulation part.

“That wasn’t” –

“So,” Beckett says over her father’s half-emitted speech, “if you meant what you said when you were sober, if that was always the truth, that must have been the truth too. That you weren’t part of a family. You liked being family with me right up until a better offer came along. As long as I was your well-behaved, compliant daughter who was always there for you when you needed me.”

Beckett’s control is beginning to slip. “And then it looked like I wouldn’t be because I’d finally met someone else.”

“No, it wasn’t” –

“You abused me overtly when you were drunk, but I used to think you didn’t mean it because you pretended you loved me once you got dry. And then you proved you didn’t. So. If you don’t remember what you said when you were drunk, then you couldn’t have been deliberately abusing me. You couldn’t have been trying to make me behave how you wanted. But I did, anyway.” She throws a take-that glance at Dr Burke. “But then you must have been doing so when you were sober.”

There’s a tiny silence. Jim opens his mouth and Beckett runs right over him: no filter, no care, no calm any more.

“So which is it, Dad? Abuse because you were too drunk to tell the truth and never cared about me anyway because everything was about you and Mom, and I was only important because I reminded you of her; or abuse because you wanted someone at your beck and call once you were sober and I was stupid enough to give up my life to do it? You didn’t care, either way. I gave up all my chances to look after you and it was all a lie. I came back from Stanford; I went to be a cop; I broke up with Will; I spent weekends and Christmas with you; I had to admit to my team and my Captain that they needed to babysit me so I could be there for you if you were away – all because I thought that you needed me.” She’s in full spate now. “And it was all a complete waste of time and effort because actually you never cared at all.”

“That’s not true, Katie,” Jim cries.

“I don’t believe you. You ruined my life the first time with whisky and you didn’t even notice. Then you couldn’t stand that I’d found someone else and might not come running whenever you called, so you tried to ruin that too. Of course you manipulated Castle into inviting you for dinner. That way you could weasel your way into his family and be everyone’s best friend because you don’t remember any of what you did. It’s just me who can’t stand seeing a happy family, thanks to you. You got forgiveness, and all I got was hurt.”

“I wasn’t. Katie, please stop. Let me explain.”

But Beckett can’t stop, now. Her voice has risen.

“You wanted to be best pals with Castle’s family because I’m not enough. You wanted Mom, and I’m not Mom. Fine. I’m done with trying to make you love me. Keep your memories. I’m done. You never loved me and you never will. I wish I’d let you kill yourself. Don’t call me Katie. I’m not Katie. My name is Kate.”

Both Becketts are white and crying, but it doesn’t look like Detective Beckett is going to stop any time soon.

“I think a recess is indicated,” Dr Burke says, before Mr Beckett can turn this outpouring of emotion into an absolute catastrophe by trying to argue. Dr Burke signals to Castle, and whisks Mr Beckett out of the room.

Castle doesn’t hesitate to pull Beckett into his arms and simply let her sob hopelessly into his shoulder. He’s pretty certain that Beckett hadn’t meant to lose control like that, but she has. All he can do right now is hold her while she weeps and wait. Ten years of agony, and everything she should have said five years ago, plus a very large dose of hurt and hurtful misunderstanding and misbegotten nightmare, spilling out over her shattered, devastated father.

“He never cared,” she sobs.

“He hasn’t answered, yet,” Castle points out, very gently. “If you don’t let him answer you’ll always wonder what he said.” He hugs her, carefully. He doesn’t ask about Will. He doesn’t want to know how close he’d come to never meeting an unmarried Beckett at all.

“What’s the point? He’ll just justify himself and come up with all sorts of bullshit reasons and it’ll all be just the same as it ever was.”

“Beckett… Kate, those weren’t crocodile tears he was crying. He’s really shocked. I don’t think he knew anything about it.”

“Whose side are you on? I thought you were on my side.”

Castle holds on to her, before she can try to run. “I am. I always am. That doesn’t mean that I can’t disagree with you, but what happens is always up to you. I just think you could do this all once, get it all out, and then it’s done. You’ll never have to do it again. We can go off to the Hamptons tonight with it all behind you and we can start clean.” He smirks into her hair. “Or dirty, if you prefer.” She doesn’t react.

“Let him answer. Maybe he’ll say something useful. Maybe he won’t. But listen to him, just for now, and then we’ll go.”

“I want to go now,” Beckett says, miserably. “I want to go away and never come back.”