43. Nothing left to lose

In the bullpen, Ryan and Esposito are still squabbling over who can tell the best jokes, when Montgomery returns from 1PP with a Cheshire-Cat grin. He fixes them with a beady-eyed glare, whereupon they discover that cold case files are really excessively interesting.

“Where is Detective Beckett?”

“She was here a moment ago, sir, but she took a call,” Ryan shrugs.

“Hmm.”

“Should we tell her to come see you?”

“No. Just keeping an eye on you all.”  Montgomery smiles in a very I’m-the-boss way.   “Castle shown up yet?”

“No, sir. It’s a bit early for him. It’s barely ten.”

Montgomery harrumphs at the laziness of best-selling authors and retires to his office well-satisfied with his morning so far.

Half an hour later, as he’s perusing the precinct solve statistics with a warm, smug glow of happiness that they are still the best by a mile – top again, that’ll show Stannard at the Twenty-Third – he becomes aware of a noisy disturbance. This is not the way he runs his bullpen.  No sirree.  If he’d wanted noisy disturbances he’d have joined a Vice team.  Corpses are his preference.  Nice and quiet with no noisy disturbances. 

He emerges from his office wrapped in Captainly authority and stands ominously silent as he takes in the scene before him. Detectives Ryan and Esposito, together with Castle, appear to be starting a free fight with Medical Examiner Dr Parrish, who has no business being here at all.  The one small consolation is that Detective Beckett is sitting at her desk getting on with her caseload and appears to be playing no part in this kerfuffle at all, despite the fact that it is practically on top of her.  At least one of his detectives knows how to behave.  She looks up, notices him, calmly caps her pen and waits for Armageddon to descend.  He notices in passing that she’s pale and looks unwell, but that can wait for a few moments.  She hadn’t looked too well last week either.  He’ll deal with that when he’s dealt with the rest of this ungodly mess.

“What is going on here?” he enquires dangerously quietly. There is instant silence.  The four protagonists look shamefaced.  Well.  Three of them do.  Castle does not.  “Explain.”  No explanations are forthcoming.  Montgomery decides to divide and conquer.

“Dr Parrish. What are you doing here?”  Dr Parrish says nothing.  “No reason.  I see.  In that case, get back to your morgue and stop distracting my detectives.”  There’s an instant in which her eyes flash.  “Now.”  She goes, though for a moment he’d thought she was going to say something useful.  No such luck.  She hisses something at Beckett as she passes her.

“Castle. What is going on?”  Castle looks blandly at him.

“Nothing. I just got here.”  Montgomery glares at him.  He recognises a complete evasion when he hears one – he’s had twenty-five years of practice in Interrogation.  A flicked gaze past Castle reveals that Beckett has returned to her case file.

“So why are you arguing with my Detectives?”

“Arguing is such a harsh word. We were having a lively discussion.”  Montgomery growls, but recognises that swapping semantics with Castle is very unlikely to get him anywhere.  He’ll deal with him later.

“Ryan, Esposito, my office. Now.”  They are there faster than light speed.  Einstein would have invented a whole new theory had he ever met Montgomery in this mode. 

By the time Montgomery has finished his words Castle is at Beckett’s desk, talking in a low-toned, urgent voice that, regrettably, means that Montgomery can’t overhear without moving much closer. That would be a little too obvious. 

As is Beckett getting up and running for the women’s restroom.  Okay, Castle can be very irritating, but that’s a bit of an overreaction.  He ignores Ryan and Esposito cowering in his office, and marches back to Beckett’s desk.

“What is wrong with Beckett?”

“She went green and ran for the restroom,” Castle says.

“When she’s back, both of you come see me.”

Montgomery goes to demolish Ryan and Esposito, from whom he obtains no more sensible answers than he had from Castle. He doesn’t believe for a moment that it was an argument about baseball, but when Ryan starts insulting the Mets and Espo retaliates by dissing the Yankees and it gets heated in no time, he’s left with nowhere to go except a comment that he prefers football, which gets him a disgusted look from both of them.  He packs them off with a few well-chosen words about appropriate behaviour in the precinct, as opposed to that which he might expect from sugar-hyped toddlers at a play centre, and then waits for Beckett and Castle to show up, passing the time by clearing forms from his in tray.

Ten minutes and five forms later he is still waiting, and none too happy about it. He looks out into the bullpen, and sees Castle sitting in his usual chair and no Beckett.  He returns to his forms.  Another ten minutes later he looks out again, to find them both missing.  He stalks out.

“Ryan!”

“Sir?”

“Where are Beckett and Castle?”

“Castle went to find her. He hasn’t come back.”

Castle had known it was going to be a bad morning from the moment he woke up an appalling two hours later than he’d meant to, with no communication from Beckett. He’d hoped that she’d let him in, but by the time he’d got there he suspects she’d been so deep in her own guilt she wouldn’t have even if she’d wanted to: punishing herself for breaking under intolerable strain.  But she’d answered the text…and she’d asked for space, and he’d said at least tell me – and she did.  But she didn’t answer the later text, and he knows that’s because she wasn’t okay at all.  He should have gone after her immediately so that she didn’t have to be alone, but then he’d not been able to leave Jim.  If Jim had been left alone, he might have…relapsed.  Choose your poison.  Leave Jim to fall, and watch Beckett fall apart.  Leave Beckett to run, and watch Beckett fall apart.

This had not been the plan at all.

As if that had not been bad enough, as he’s getting into the elevator Lanie rushes in.

“I was looking for you,” she says. “Don’t you answer your phone?”

“Uh?”

“Been texting you.” Oh.  Yes.  Those would be the texts he’s been ignoring in the hope his subconscious would work out what to do with them.

“I’ve been busy.”

“What’s up with Kate? What happened Friday?  Why didn’t she call me?  Why didn’t you call me?”

Fortunately they reach the bullpen before Lanie stops firing questions at him long enough to wait for an answer. Castle sees Beckett’s head flick up at the elevator’s ting, note both of them, turn an unpleasantly sickly, pallid shade of white, and drop her head again.  Had she really thought he wouldn’t be here today? 

Lanie whips across the floor to Beckett’s desk. Castle could have told her that would be a bad plan, but at that point his phone rings, and he stops to answer it.

“Rick.” Oh, hell.  Disaster number three, arriving on track two.  “Rick, did you manage to talk to Katie last night?  Because she wasn’t making any sense this morning and she lost her temper with me.”  Jim sounds outright scared.  “She never loses her temper.”  Castle chokes.  That’s not precisely his experience.  “Not with me.  I thought she’d grown out of it.  She used to have a temper.   She said she wasn’t enough… She’s always been more than enough.  She could never let me down: I’m her dad.”

Castle ignores the question and answers one that wasn’t asked, instead. “I’m at the precinct with her.”  It’s true.  Not quite as Jim will take it, but it’s true.

“Good. I… should I come by?”

Castle casts a glance at Beckett’s desk, where Lanie has now been joined by Ryan and Esposito. “I don’t think so.  I’ll…”  He doesn’t know what to say.  “I’ll let you know.  Not now.  I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

He joins the others, who are already some way into an argument.

“I want to know where you ran off to on Friday.”

“None of your business.”

“You stood me up.”

“You could have had me instead,” Espo flirts. Lanie looks him up and down assessingly.

“I’d rather have a puppy. Better looking and more fun.”

“What? I’m much more fun than a puppy.”

“You’re a macho idiot. I want someone who knows the difference between Merlot and Malbec.”

“Both machine guns, aren’t they?”

Ryan laughs. Lanie doesn’t.  Castle notices that Beckett is pretending to deal with her case file and playing no part in the argument.

“Girl! Where’d you go on Friday?”

Ryan looks at Beckett’s tight face and thinks it might be his turn to take a hit for the team. Whatever’s up, Beckett’s theirs, and he and Espo have swapped two glances that say keep Lanie off her.  They’ll ask their own questions later.

“I went to the theatre,” he says. Esposito splutters disgustedly.

“Wuss. Why weren’t you in a bar like a real man?”

Ryan smirks. “Because she was really cute.  I can put up with a lot of bad acting when I get to cuddle up to a cute girl.”

“That’s disgusting.”   Lanie’s been effectively distracted.  Unfortunately it only lasts for a moment.  “I wanna know where you ran off to.”  She looks round, and spots Castle.  “And you.  Why’d you put the phone down on me?  You know what was goin’ on.  Start talking.”

“You called at a bad time,” Castle smirks.

“Don’t you give me that shit, Castle.” She jabs him in the chest.  “You ran off faster than Usain Bolt.  Why?”

Tempers and voices have risen spectacularly. Maybe that’s why nobody notices Montgomery prowling up until he speaks.

“What is going on here?”

Oh, Lordy. Now they are all deep into shit bayou (which lies some way past shit creek) without paddles.  Castle watches Lanie being despatched condignly, and takes mental notes for later use.   As Lanie passes Beckett, she hisses, “This conversation is not done.  You need help, girl,” in tones promising pain and suffering.  Beckett doesn’t even look up.

He exchanges compliments with Montgomery, who is clearly thoroughly displeased with them all, and as he watches the boys being sent to the principal’s office, slides up to Beckett, to balance on her desk. He hasn’t heard her say a word, and she’s doing a really, really excellent job of ignoring everything and everyone around her. 

“Beckett.”

“Please, Castle. Not now.  Let me… Can we not do this right now?”

“Beckett, you’re not right. Your dad called me.  He’s worried about you.”

“He needn’t. I’m fine.”  But her eyes say something entirely different.  They say: tell him I’m fine. Lie for me.

“Beckett, you know you’re not fine. You lost it at Julia’s, you’ve lost it with your dad this morning.  He went straight to his sponsor yesterday after you left.  I went with him.”

On balance, saying that was a mistake. Beckett turns a horrible shade of greenish-white and flees precipitately for the restroom.  Half a second later Montgomery arrives, no doubt to demand answers with menaces.  Great.  This is all about to collapse around their ears. 

This was still not the plan.

He waits for a few minutes, but Beckett doesn’t return. Castle gathers up his courage and decides to break all the societal taboos that have been ground into him for the best part of forty years.  He follows Beckett and taps on the restroom door.  There’s no answer.  He squirms uncomfortably – and goes in.  Somewhat to his relief, since he really does not want to explain this action, there is no-one else inside.  He can hear shuddering breaths.

“Beckett?” he says quietly. “Beckett, Montgomery wants to see you.  Us.”  He waits.  “You’ve been in here nearly a quarter of an hour.  If you don’t come out, likely Montgomery will start asking why.”

The stall unlocks. Beckett does not look good at all.  She’s still green, and her brow is damp, tendrils of her hair straggling across it.  There is dust on the knees of her dark pants.  When she turns to rinse her mouth and wash her hands, there’s a slight tremor in her movement.  Castle extends a hand to touch her stiff shoulder, and while she doesn’t shy away (which he had expected) she doesn’t curve into it either.  Her face in the mirror is terrifyingly blank, her eyes still empty.  Hollowed out.  He’s seen her hurt, upset, smiling or angry: sometimes two or three at once.  He’s never seen her… null. 

She looks as if she’s a dead woman walking.

He clasps her close, and it makes no difference at all. She’s so tightly wound together that he doesn’t think she’s noticing anything beyond the inside of her head.

“We have to go see Montgomery.” She opens the door, turns in the direction of her Captain’s office, forcing her feet across the floor.  Ryan looks up, opens his mouth, catches Castle’s negating stare, and looks down again. 

It’s Castle who taps on Montgomery’s door, and Castle who pushes Beckett inside, and Castle who closes the door behind them. But it’s Montgomery who takes one short look at Beckett and pulls a hipflask out his drawer.

“Drink, Detective. That’s an order.”  He thrusts the opened flask into her hand and watches her carefully to be sure she swallows.  She grimaces and coughs, but a little colour comes back to her face.  Montgomery repossesses his flask.  “Now.  Sit down before you fall down.  You look like shit, Beckett.”  His Captaincy has fallen away in the shock of apparently ill Beckett.  She’s never ill.  She only ever looks this bad on… oh, shit.  On 9 or 10 January.  Not that he’s seen her on 9 January more than once.

Montgomery is not stupid. He’s also not got to the position he holds without being able to pull a lot of half-hints and clues together very fast indeed.  Clue one: Beckett’s ghost-white, ghastly expression.  Clue two: Castle’s half-protective lean.  Clue three: ME Parrish and this morning’s argument, put together with last Monday’s rapid exit that had left ME Parrish looking very irritated indeed.  And clue four, bringing it all together, Sergeant Hardon’s report, a week ago.  Looks like something in Beckett’s locked down private life has risen up to bite her, and he is rapidly coming to the conclusion it’s to do with her dad.  He can’t think of any other reason for her to look like that.

“Now that you look as if you might live, Beckett, how about you explain what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sir. Just a bit under the weather.”  Montgomery isn’t watching her face – that’s a waste of time.  He’s watching Castle, who has just failed to control the rapid flicker of an expression of extreme worry.  So.  Beckett is evading, if not quite outright lying.  There’s a surprise.  She rarely reveals anything that isn’t directly relevant to her work.

“Why didn’t you call in sick?”

“I felt okay when I woke up.” Castle’s expression flickers again, but this time it looks more like puzzlement, cut with a fair helping of disbelief.  So that might be half true.

“Well, now,” he says, to give himself some time to think. “Where were you at ten?  You weren’t at your desk then either.”

“I…took a few moments.” Now Castle looks bewildered – and then suddenly realises something.  Ah.  That’s interesting.  That statement is all true, but he’s missing something.  Oh yes.  Ryan had said…

“That when you got a call? Who called you, Beckett?”

“My dad.” And that wasn’t a surprise to Castle, either.  Which – Castle’s lack of surprise, that is – is quite a surprise to Montgomery.  Several blocks fall into a pattern.  Element one: Castle has got closer to Beckett than expected.  Element two: he’s met Beckett’s dad.  Hmm.  Hardon had said there’d been a civilian with Beckett.  He’d known then that the civilian was Castle.  He should have asked a couple more questions at the time.

“He okay?” he says casually.

“Yeah.” Another wince.  Another – if not a lie, certainly not the whole truth.  Beckett’s looking sick-white again – as soon as he got on to the topic of her father.

“If you need some time to take care of him,” he starts. He never gets to finish.  Beckett turns as green as a Louisiana tree frog and hightails it for the restroom again.  Montgomery looks directly at Castle, who is now not even trying to conceal that he is looking very worried indeed.  “What in hell’s name is going on here, Castle?”

Castle smiles weakly. “Stomach flu?”  Montgomery’s face darkens into a scowl, and he pushes the door mostly shut and returns to his desk.

“Don’t. Don’t give me that crap.  You think I don’t know Beckett’s hiding something?  Tell me straight.  Is her dad still sober?”  It’s the one question Castle can answer truthfully, at least as of ten o’clock this morning.

“Yes.” Montgomery relaxes infinitesimally.

“Good.” He looks beadily at Castle.  “I know there’s a lot more to this.  I’m not going to ask you because I don’t think you’ll tell me and anyway it’s not your place to.  When Beckett comes back, send her in.  You stay out.”

Castle leaves, dismissed, and returns to his chair, to fiddle fretfully with paperclips and pens and his phone. No-one says anything.  Eventually Beckett reappears, face and lips still bloodless, eyes dull.

“Montgomery wants to see you,” Castle says, before she can sit down.

“I suppose you told him everything?”

“He didn’t ask. I didn’t tell.  Maybe I should have.  Maybe he’ll see there’s a problem anyway.  Throwing up in the restroom isn’t exactly normal.”

She says nothing. Then she walks away, a heaviness in her spine and step.  Castle returns to his fretful fiddling as she passes through Montgomery’s door.  All it needs to complete the scene is Abandon hope, all ye who enter here above it.

 “Shut the door, Beckett.”  She does.  Montgomery doesn’t speak, making it very obvious he’s examining her.  “You don’t look any better.  Do you need another shot of whiskey?”

“No. No, sir.”  Her face twists at the thought.  She doesn’t want any alcohol at all.

“Now. Sit down.  I told you Tuesday you should be easing off.  Either you’re sick, or something else is wrong.  Either way, I’m not having someone out on the job who’s not at full performance.  I’m benching you for two days because I don’t want the rest of us catching your stomach bug, if that’s what it is.  After that, you need to decide how you’re going to pull yourself together, because you’re not going out on a case till I’m sure you’re fit for it, and right now I don’t think you’re fit for duty.”

Beckett stares at him, aghast. “But sir…”

“No. You’re not right and I’m not taking the chance that you or anyone else gets hurt because of it.”  He gives her a very straight look.

“But sir, my work is fine.  No-one’s complained.  You haven’t criticised anything I’ve done.  I’ve done nothing wrong and you’re benching me.”

“I’m benching you because you’ve thrown up twice this morning and you’re not recognising that you’re not fit for duty. If you can’t recognise that, you can’t do the job.  Your judgement is impaired, Detective.  I know you’ve got problems at home, too.”

“I…” she can’t say don’t under Montgomery’s minatory stare.

“The minute I mentioned your father you ran for the restroom for the second time this morning. Don’t tell me there isn’t something wrong there.  You need to get yourself sorted out, Detective Beckett, and if that means benching then that’s what will happen.  I want you out of here in fifteen minutes, and on Wednesday morning you will report to me to discuss what is wrong and what you are going to do about it, after which I’ll decide what will happen next.”  He peers at her, and drops the hardass Captain for a moment.  “Beckett, we’ve managed to work around your dad’s…issues… for a while now.  No shame in asking for some help now if that’s what you need.  But you need to work out what you need.  Take the time.”  He leaves it there.  She says nothing. For a moment, Montgomery thinks she’ll break and tell him something.  And then she stands. 

“Dismissed.”

She looks as if he’d fired her. “Yes, sir,” she says, and leaves.