191. I don't want to talk about it

Safely back at Beckett’s apartment, she flops down on the couch and tugs Castle after her.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she says, “once the boys stopped locking horns with O’Leary.”

“Mm,” agrees Castle. “Um… do you think you should explain just a little more to them about your – er – dealings with my mother before they come to this party?”

Beckett opens her mouth on a snap response of the order of Hell no, and then shuts it again. “Why?” she asks instead, not particularly comfortably.

“Because otherwise they’ll get my mother’s version? Or she’ll pull some other trick and it’ll all turn into a histrionic nightmare and the boys won’t know what’s going on to step in if they need to.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding flattened. Her face twists in an unhappy grimace, as if she’d tasted something foul. “I’d hoped…”

“You wanted to keep it all away from work.”

“Yeah.” She tucks herself into his side, and leans into him. “As if it hasn’t been bad enough them knowing what they do know.”

“They’re your team. They don’t think less of you.”

“ ‘S not the point,” she mutters. “I didn’t want them to know in the beginning and I don’t want them to know more now. As long as it doesn’t affect the job, why should I need to talk about it?”

“Because you don’t let it affect the job – except that you just worked harder and harder – they just want to help. They’re not looking for ways to undermine you. I think Ryan’s already guessed a lot of it, from what he was saying when I took him to the loft to prime Mother.”

“I know,” she says dispiritedly. “I know that. But I don’t like my private business being known about.”

Castle thinks for a second. “It’s going to be the lesser of two evils, then,” he points out.

“Tell the boys something, and Lanie, and O’Leary – or listen to your mother broadcasting it to hundreds of histrionic theatre types?” she says acidly.

“Yes. Though I hope it won’t be hundreds,” he adds, “since I’m paying and have you ever seen how much they drink?”

“I don’t like either option.”

“I got that,” Castle notes, cuddling her closer. “But your team is definitely on your side.” He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m on your side.”

“I know,” she says, and wriggles in. “I always know that.” She looks into his eyes, and then kisses his cheek. “Couldn’t do it without you,” she murmurs, blushes luridly and drops her head back on his shoulder.

“Nope,” Castle says smugly. Beckett growls gently under his ear. “So what’re you going to do?”

“Talk to them, I guess,” she says, dully. “Better than the alternative.”

“Mmm,” Castle rumbles soothingly into her hair. “But we don’t even have a party date yet, so you don’t have to do it right now.” He drops another kiss on her hair. “Let’s just be peaceful.”

“If you want,” Beckett says quizzically.

“You don’t want to be peaceful?” His voice drops into the velvet baritone that surrounds and strokes her.

“Depends how you define peaceful,” she replies, her own tones softening and becoming inviting.

“Right here like this,” Castle purrs, and pulls her up into his lap where she can be spread across his chest and kissed: deep and slow and sure; and in the natural way of things, deep and slow and sure continues until he’s deep and slow and sure within her.

Since there hasn’t been the decency to be any sort of a murder, still less a Beckett-flavoured murder, Beckett herself has no excuse not to quietly remove Ryan and Espo to a conference room some time after Castle arrives. She manages to delay the fateful moment (she is getting as linguistically florid as Castle, she thinks bleakly) by the production and consumption of vast quantities of coffee, but eventually she runs out of deferral strategies.

“Ryan, Espo?”

“Yeah?”

“You got a minute?”

“Sure. What d’you want?”

“A chat,” Beckett says, uninformatively.

The boys look at each other as she turns away, raising confused eyebrows, but follow her to a conference room where Castle is already ensconced with some more coffee. They look at each other again. Beckett, to their observations, has already had four coffees, and quite possibly one or two before they arrived. She isn’t obviously jittering, but there is an air of considerable tension that’s snapped into place as soon as Espo shut the door.

“Whassup?” Espo asks. “Shut doors an’ coffee made? Somethin’ you wanna tell us?” He fixes Castle with a piercing stare, and then flicks a glance at Beckett’s hands.

“Nothing like that,” Beckett says firmly, but then stops, not knowing quite how to start what she needs to say. She’d had a lot of thoughts about it, but they’ve all fled.

“So what is it?” Ryan asks, regarding her rather narrowly.

“Dad and I had some differences,” she blurts, elbows on knees and leaning forward. “Castle’s mom tried to get in the mix and I told her where to get off before the theatre case so it might be a bit difficult at the party because I don’t want her to start on the subject again and I don’t need her getting involved because the real shrink’s enough.” At the end of that she takes a breath, and drops her head towards her knees.

Ryan and Espo both notice that Castle’s arm is discreetly invisible, but it’s pretty clear to two trained detectives that it’s behind Beckett, and they are individually sure that his hand is somewhere in contact with her. They meet his eyes. Beckett’s barely said anything more than she did at the theatre or in the bar beforehand, so they don’t quite see why she needs a closed-door conference room to say it. There is a rather uncomfortable silence.

“You already told us that,” Espo breaks the silence.

“Yeah.”

More uncomfortable silence happens.

“C’mon, Beckett. Spill,” Espo says. Ryan unobtrusively moves a little back, to leave Esposito on point. “We know that you spent all that time supporting your dad once he got dry. We covered it all the way, though you din’t need much coverin’. More like bein’ told to go home. You said you were seein’ that stick-up-the-ass shrink, an’ while I ain’t much on shrinks, seems like he’s fixed you. So say what you gotta say. It don’t make no difference to us but if it’s gonna help you with Castle’s mom at this bullshit party we all gotta go to” – Castle winces, but refrains from comment – “then spit it out.”

There might be no-one but Beckett and Esposito in the room. Ryan is silent and still, Castle pulled back into himself. Slowly, her head comes up.

“You know Dad got dry, because we’ve worked around it. You don’t know what it was like before that. Before I left him to it. He…he wanted Mom. He didn’t…he got upset that there was only me.”

She stops, and breathes slowly. Ryan and Espo exchange glances of realisation, and then look at Castle, who says nothing out loud but a great deal with a twist of his mouth and flick of his eyebrows. Esposito makes a few fast calculations and understands a great deal more than he previously had.

“Anyway. He got dry, after I left him to it. I thought we’d patched it up, and it seemed like we’d fixed it. Then we caught that case with the Berowitzes, and it threw up a lot of stuff. Turned out we weren’t fixed at all. Turned out that I couldn’t deal with normal families, outside the job.”

Esposito casts a quick glance at Castle, Beckett being fixated on the patch of floor between her shoes, and receives a small, confirmatory nod.

“So I found a shrink – no thanks to Lanie,” she adds, and Esposito winces in sympathy – “and I’ve been seeing him since.”

“So what’s Castle’s mom gotta do with any of that?”

“She wants to be my mom,” Beckett says baldly.

“Oh. So? She ain’t your mom.”

“So, she keeps trying to weasel in and lay a guilt trip on me that I won’t go round and won’t tell her all my life story and beg for her help and advice and won’t just marry her son and move in tomorrow,” Beckett says in one miserably exasperated breath.

“Oh,” Espo says again. “That’s shit.” He catches Castle’s eye and pitch-black, furious scowl. “Maybe not the marrying Castle bit,” he adds, with an evil grin. Beckett flips him the bird, though there’s no lightness or camaraderie to it. “But the rest. So you think she might raise hell at this party an’ you’ll up the ante and it’ll turn into a complete clusterfuck. So why the hell are you goin’ at all? I’d’a thought you’d emigrate to avoid it.”

“Yeah, Well.” Which doesn’t enlighten anyone at all.

“What d’you want us to do ‘bout it?”

“Nothing. Unless it all kicks off.”

“Okay,” Espo says. “We can do that. Ryan can run interference.”

“What?” squawks Ryan.

“She likes you. Castle’s mom. And you like all that theatre shit so you get to run interference.”

“The hell with that,” Ryan emits. “That mountain O’Leary likes theatre. He can do it.”

“Both of you can do it,” Espo says. “Tag team, like wrestling.”

“Why not you?”

“I don’t like theatre shit or actors. Make me reach for my gun.”

“I don’t think the party’ll be improved by you being marched out in cuffs on a murder charge,” Castle points out. “I think if I were you I’d leave my gun at home.”

“I’d enjoy that, especially since I’d be the one doing the arresting and marching out,” Beckett mutters. It’s the first leaven of humour they’ve seen from her all day.

“Don’t think you’re allowed to get out of it that easy,” Ryan says. Beckett grumbles indeterminately under her breath. Castle relaxes somewhat.

Coffee mugs are drained by everyone, and there is a certain amount of standing up and making for the door. Too much talk and emotion isn’t a cop thing. Beckett’s explained enough to them for them to appreciate what’s going on, though they don’t envy her the (they assume) likely chat with Lanie.

The boys exit first, mainly because Castle lays a delaying hand on Beckett’s arm.

“You okay?” he asks, as soon as they’re gone.

“I’m fine,” Beckett says, earning an assessing stare. “I am. Didn’t want to have that conversation, but it’s done.” Castle provides a swift hug around her waist, resists the urge to kiss her, and gently ushers her out of the conference room.

One down, one difficult one to go, Beckett thinks, as Castle messes with his phone, her paperclips (he appears to be making paperclip daisies) and anything else within reach except her elephants. The discussion with Lanie is likely to be hellish. On the other hand, she can only die once, right? And if she doesn’t die, she and Castle can go out with O’Leary, who knows almost all of it and really only needs some background on Martha, and have a relaxed evening. Okay. She can do this. She picks up her phone and texts Lanie, suggesting this evening so that it’s all over with and she’ll never ever have to mention any of this again. Far too soon her phone chirps with Lanie’s enthusiastic acceptance.

“What’s up?” Castle asks, presenting her with a paperclip daisy chain.

“Seeing Lanie tonight.” Beckett droops slightly.

“She’s not likely to be as dumb as she was a couple of months ago,” he points out reassuringly. “I think she worked out that was a bad idea.”

“I really hope so,” Beckett says in a very downbeat way. “Otherwise it’ll be me being perp-walked in handcuffs.”

Castle grins evilly. “I could arrange that,” he leers. “In some of that really sexy underwear right into your bedroom.”

“Shut up, Castle,” Beckett growls, but she’s smiling and there is a very come-on glint in her eyes.

“It’ll be okay. And if not, just call me and I’ll swoop in on my white charger and rescue you.”

Beckett raises an eyebrow. “Please tell me you’ll be wearing clothes. Specifically, modern-day clothes.”

Castle looks sulky. “I was planning on shining armour,” he grumps, not wholly sincerely.

“You do know how much jousting armour weighs, don’t you? Where are you going to find a horse that can take two hundred and fifty pounds? You’ll need a Percheron. Hardly the romantic ideal.”

Castle grumps even more. “You have no soul,” he sulks. “No sense of the proper way of doing things.”

“And you couldn’t sweep me up in front of you, either. Mediaeval maidens weighed about thirty pounds less and were eight inches shorter than me.   You’d drop me. If I were dumb enough to let you try to sweep me up, anyway.”

“I would not,” Castle squawks, horrified. Then he grins very nastily. “I could prove I can pick you up…” he says provocatively.

“Don’t you dare! If you try I will shoot you.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says smugly. “You’d be overcome by my manliness.”

Beckett splutters with laughter. “What, as you fell off the horse?”

“What horse? I could do it right now. I didn’t say anything about a horse.”

“No,” says Beckett quellingly. Castle smirks and makes as if to move towards her. She squeaks, and then puts her hand on her Glock meaningfully. He settles back, and smirks more widely. Beckett relapses into grumpy, then glum, silence.

The day progresses through current, but boring, casework, involving much cross-checking and detailed analysis. Castle remains present, but doesn’t help. The field of paperclip daisies eventually takes over the desk. This apparently represents a successful day.

Beckett does not feel that she is about to have a successful day. She’s meeting Lanie at Matilda’s, again. At least the food is good. She gets there first – she only has a short walk – and orders some crostini de taleggio to nibble on while she waits. She’s starving. Lunch had been minimal, which is her own fault, but she’d not been hungry.

Lanie doesn’t keep her waiting long. She bowls in at speed, bounces into a chair, spots the food and is right in there with both hands.

“C’n we get another load?” she asks. “I’m starving. Missed lunch because the Second sent me in some urgent case and demanded answers like yesterday.   Dude wasn’t even dead most of yesterday. How’m I supposed to do a Y-cut if he’s still alive?”

“I wouldn’t try,” Beckett says dryly. “You get arrested for doing that.”

“Not that I couldn’t have managed it.   He was a wussy little guy. I could have knocked him down with surgical thread. Wouldn’t even have needed the reel it came on.”

Beckett snickers happily, cheered by the thought and Lanie’s breezy style. “So what was the big hurry?”

“Apparently he was part of a drugs ring. They thought he had the drugs on him, and when they couldn’t find them they thought he might have swallowed them.”

“Had he?” Beckett asks, taking another piece of crostini.

“Some of them. They should have done a cavity search, though…”

Beckett makes a face. “So one of them burst?”

“Yeah. Death by dumb overdose. There’s a reason they call them mules” –

“They’re as dumb as them,” they chorus together.

A server appears: more crostini – taleggio and some mushroom ones – are ordered; Lanie asks for a glass of wine, Beckett has soda; and courtesy of Lanie’s imprecations about the Second, the ice is very firmly smashed.

“I wanna know about Espo at the theatre,” Lanie says happily. “How did you get him there? I’d have thought you’d need to sedate him.”

“I thought about it,” Beckett smirks evilly. “I didn’t tell him where we were going. We went for beers first. No problem getting him and Ryan out for booze.”

“I bet.” Lanie sniggers.

“He wasn’t happy, for sure. But he sat it out.”

“Bitching all the way.”

“Probably. I was at the other end of the seats.”

“Wish I’d seen him after,” Lanie says wistfully. “I’d have been smiling for weeks.”

“Yeah.” Beckett shifts in her seat. “About this party of Castle’s…”

“Yeah?”

“I need to warn you about his mom.”

“Yeah?” Lanie says, eyes brightly focused. “What’s the problem? Want me to slip her a dose of something not-quite-lethal?”

Beckett quirks an eyebrow. “Don’t think the AMA allow you to do that, do they?”

“Who’d tell them?”

“Good point. Not yet, though.”

Lanie looks a little disappointed. Beckett, however, is enormously relieved. Lanie is not going to ask intrusive questions. Lanie, in fact, is simply going to be her friend. Just like she used to be. Beckett remembers when Lanie was in pre-med and spiked the drink of someone who’d been getting unpleasantly handsy with them both – with an emetic. She sniggers at the memory. The guy had thrown up on the biggest man in the bar, and been punched out.

“What?”

“Remember that guy you doped with an emetic?”

Lanie sniggers too. “Good times.”

“Yeah,” Beckett agrees. “So, Castle’s mom – without doping her. Yet.”

“Okay,” Lanie grumbles. “Yet. So start talking, girl. You gotta tell me why I shouldn’t help you out.”

“Lanie, you know and I know you won’t do that now you’re a real doctor. You’d be struck off. Stop pretending you’d do it.” Beckett grins. “But keep telling me about it. It’ll cheer me up.”

“You first. Start talking.”

“Okay. So…there was the Berowitz case, and the wife was propping up her drunk husband and wanted me to support her. So Castle thought maybe Dad could talk sense into her. Dad invited Castle and me for breakfast, and somehow worked it so that Castle asked us round for dinner. It wasn’t fun. Then Dad said he’d really enjoyed being part of a family again and I was so wound up I lost it with him. It sounded like he liked them better than me.”

“Oh, Kate,” Lanie says softly. She knows that covers a world of pain that Kate’s not mentioning.

“Yeah. Anyway, Castle got me to see the shrink. Or got me to see I needed to, maybe. And we’ve been working it out since and Dad and I are pretty much fixed, I think.”

“So what’s Castle’s mom got to do with any of it? Sounds like you’re okay.”

Lanie does not ask any of the worlds of questions in her head. It hadn’t worked before and it won’t work now, but Kate’s said more than at any time these last few months and anyway friends know when to keep their mouths shut. She wishes, rather uselessly, that she’d remembered that the first time round, but they’re tight again now.

“She was so freaking delighted to meet Dad and me that she kept pushing for us to come back. And she’s so freaking happy that I’m dating her darling son” – Beckett’s acid tone dissolves the air – “that she kept pushing even more.”

“Didn’t think Castle was short of dates,” Lanie observes, through a mouthful of crostini.

“I don’t think so,” Beckett says, with a wry grimace. “That’s not the point. She was absolutely desperate to be a mom to me.”

Lanie chokes on her crostini. “She what?” she squeaks and splutters. “She’s freakin’ insane. You’d met her once” – Beckett doesn’t correct her – “and she thought she could be your mom? That’s insane.” She stops. “Want me to get her committed?”

“I think you need a bit more evidence than that.”

“She’s an actor. Don’t need any more.”

Beckett sniggers, and considers the possibilities very obviously through another mouthful of food.

“So what’d Castle do?” Lanie asks interestedly.

“Told her to back off. Over and over. Then he said if she didn’t she had to move out. She didn’t – and he did.”

“Wow.” Lanie’s eyes sparkle. “You gotta marry him now. That boy’s a keeper.”

“Uh?”

“Throwing his mom out for you? When you’re not even going there? Marry him quick, or I might.”

“Paws off, Lanie.”

Lanie pouts, and then snickers. Beckett glares.

“So that’s why there might be trouble?”

“Mostly. Um… she came to my apartment to try and be motherly.” Lanie blinks in astonishment. “It didn’t go well.”

“You don’t say?”

“I threw her out. Then Castle evicted her. Um… I don’t think we’re on great terms.”

“You don’t say,” Lanie says again. “Wow.” Her sharp brain works. “So she might pick a fight, or she might try and mother you, or” –

“She might try headshrinking me.”

“But you got a shrink. Who is it, anyway?”

“Carter Burke.”

“Say what?”

“Uh?”

“He’s the best around. How’d you manage that?” Lanie regards Kate as if she’s caught the fabled unicorn.

“Um…made an appointment, like you do?”

“Wow. No wonder you and your dad are pretty much fixed. He’s legendary. Even us corpse choppers have heard of him.”

“Oh. Castle said he was really good – Castle researched him – but I wasn’t really paying attention. He’s got a giant redwood up his ass.”

“Yeah, but he’s the best. Lucky you.”

Beckett makes a face. “I guess,” she says. “Anyway, that’s the story. Just in case. Wanna stick with the crostini, or d’you want some real food?”

“Stick with these, and I need to get some more wine. Now, girlfriend, I want some answers.” Beckett looks terrified. “I wanna know all the juicy details about Castle.”

“Nope.”

“But Ka-ate,” Lanie whines.

“Nope. No kiss and tell.”

“You are no fun at all,” Lanie grumps. “Okay then. I’ll tell you about my last disaster of a date…”