Chương 136: 136. The eye of your mind
Castle leaves Dr Burke to deal with Jim. Judging by the abrasive tone Dr Burke had taken, Castle thinks that Jim is about to hear a few home truths in the same take-no-prisoners way in which Dr Burke has frequently dealt with Castle’s Beckett. He doesn’t think that that particular talk will require any sort of an audience. Anyway, he has permission to find Beckett and take care of her, which care will definitely involve a short walk to the same coffee bar which they had visited the last time this had been necessary. Perhaps he can persuade Beckett to a calorific and soothing hot chocolate, rather than coffee?
He taps on the restroom door, hears nothing, taps again more loudly, and uncomfortably enters when there is no reply. “Beckett?” he says doubtfully.
“Need a minute.” That sounds disturbingly fragile.
“I’ll wait here.”
“Outside.”
And that’s not wholly reassuring either. However, he obediently leaves, and waits outside as directed. It takes a further minute or two before Beckett emerges, unpleasantly green-tinged and somehow crumpled and fragile. Heedless of the receptionist, who is very obviously ensuring that she is paying them no attention, Castle gathers her in and enfolds her completely for a few seconds, allowing her unobtrusively to sag and lean on him.
“We’ve been told to go for a walk, Beckett. I think Dr Burke wants to talk to your dad. Well, talk might be a bit optimistic. I think your dad is in for a bit of a telling-off.”
“Uh?” Not one word of that appears to have made it from Beckett’s ears to Beckett’s brain.
“C’mon. Dr Burke called recess. We’re going for a walk.”
“Why?” she says dully. “I don’t want to.”
“Because I say so,” Castle says cheerfully, and is further not reassured that his next exhalation is not caused by an elbow to his solar plexus. “You need a drink, and a break, and a hug, and I’m not hugging you in front of the receptionist. I’m scared of her. C’mon.” He wraps an arm round her waist and manoeuvres her out the door. It’s not quite manhandling. In the elevator, it’s quite definitely hugging. Beckett recovers a certain amount of composure and life on the short journey down, but unfortunately that also means that she’s recovered a certain amount of independent thought.
“Why are we going for a walk? And don’t tell me because you say so, or I’ll shoot you.”
“You can’t shoot me. You left your gun in the precinct. And your handcuffs, which I think was very unfair.”
“Shut up, Castle. Why are we going for a walk?” He doesn’t say anything. “Why are we going for a walk,” she says with irritation. He still doesn’t say a word. “Castle! Answer me.”
“You told me to shut up. So I did.” Beckett emits a formlessly enraged growl. “You did.” The growl intensifies. “You’re always complaining I don’t listen to you, and now you’re complaining that I did.” He looks at Beckett’s suffused face and decides to drop the annoying façade. “Okay. We’re going for a walk because Dr Burke is reading your dad a lecture. He – Dr Burke – wants us out the way for a bit. Your dad’s temper was rising – he’s really very like you, you know – and Dr Burke was getting irritable. So I guess they’ve sent us out the way while the grown-ups talk.”
“I am a grown-up. You’re the child here.”
Castle watches Beckett work out the trap into which she’s just fallen.
“I’m not a child, Beckett.” He smiles suavely. “I’m all man.” Since there’s a handily quiet corner, he pulls her into it and pulls her right against him. “I can demonstrate,” he murmurs, and kisses her hard, “later.”
She leans against him, but it’s not really an invitation, more tiredness. “Where are we going?”
It’s clear to Castle that she only means right now. However, it seems like a good opportunity to both lay down a marker and provide some solid reassurance.
“Now? The nearest coffee bar. Later, your apartment. Long-term?” His arms come around her, and her head falls on to his shoulder. “Long-term, when this is all fixed, anywhere we want to go. We’ll work it out. Together, Beckett. That’s where we’ll be.” She sinks against him, as much relieved, he thinks, as romanced. He keeps one strong arm round her waist, and walks them both the short distance to the coffee bar, orders hot chocolate for Beckett and mocha for himself. He doesn’t think that adding more caffeine to an already over-tense Beckett is a good idea.
“What’s this?” she says.
“Hot chocolate. Cures all known miseries. Look, it’s even got marshmallows. And cream. Everything a good hot chocolate should have.” Beckett looks a little less tired, and takes a sip, carefully ensuring that the cream doesn’t land on her nose. This is very disappointing. She is astonishingly cute with a dab of cream on her nose. Castle keeps holding her, and waits for her to relax a little.
“What’s going on with Dad?” she asks, instead of relaxing.
“He’s mixed himself up,” Castle settles on the least inflammatory wording of which he can think. Telling Beckett any of what Jim said after she ran for the restroom won’t help anything. “Dr Burke’s about to straighten him out.”
“At least it’s not just me who has to put up with it.”
“I think he does it to everyone.”
Beckett takes a much larger slurp of her drink. “How could he say I should have let him die?” she asks very quietly. Castle moves on to high alert. “How could I ever let anyone die if I could save them?”
“You told me that you could only save yourself, Kate.” He uses her first name deliberately: a mark of the importance of the moment. “You told Julia Berowitz she could only save herself. Everyone has to save themselves, you said. You tried to save him till you were half-drowned yourself, and then you had to let him go.” He stops, breathes, hopes against hope that she’ll hear his next words as he means them. “How would it have helped for you to kill yourself? That wouldn’t have saved him either. If you were dead, he’d have drunk himself to death. Whatever he said when he was drunk, the thought of seeing you again was what eventually brought him back. He said he never blamed you. He wants your forgiveness.”
There is no answer. Beckett is staring into empty space, hands locked around her cup, utterly motionless. Castle buttons his lip through main force and leaves her to it. All she needs from him is to know that he’s there, and she knows that. He intends to stay in close physical contact with her until the session is over, and then beyond.
Dr Burke has infused a pot of tea for both himself and Mr Beckett, in an effort to allow them time to consider the position and return to calmness. He recalls that, initially, Detective Beckett’s apparently wilful blindness had irritated him, and that he had resolved to allow himself more time to uncover the issues before letting his feelings have free rein. Mr Beckett is almost as difficult as his daughter. His inability to choose his words carefully has led to this latest interruption. Dr Burke thinks, still irritably, that if Mr Beckett were to be this imprecise in his working life as a lawyer he would have been dismissed forthwith. He takes a sip of his tea, inhales the delicate scent, and undertakes a short meditative exercise to restore his normal imperturbability.
Mr Beckett, he notes, is not drinking his tea. On the contrary, he is gazing into the depths of the fine porcelain cup, apparently examining the pattern of the few tea leaves which have escaped the strainer. Dr Burke does not expect that an educated man will be seeking prophecy or divination, but it is entirely possible that he is seeking enlightenment.
“I didn’t mean that everything she did was wasted,” Mr Beckett says desolately. “I just meant that before I got dry she should have stepped away much earlier. Nothing she’s done since then was wasted.”
“Mmm?” hums Dr Burke, sympathetically. His tea has really been most restorative.
“I love seeing her. And then she bought me that game – really thought about what I’d like, even if it had been Rick’s idea she played it to make sure it would suit me before she got it. We played it a lot.”
“What do you think you need to do now?”
“If I knew that, don’t you think I’d be doing it?” Mr Beckett bites. “You think I like seeing my daughter look at me like she hates me or disappearing out the door like she just did? It’s not me who’s here for treatment, it’s her, but I don’t see her getting any better.”
“Are you suggesting that this session is no better than the first you attended?” Dr Burke says very coolly. “It appears, in my professional judgment, that there have been significant advances. Earlier in her treatment, your daughter had no intention of contacting you at all. Her sole purpose in continuing to attend was in order to further her relationship with Mr Castle and to remove any hindrance to her career. She now wishes to re-establish a relationship with you. Would you prefer” – Dr Burke’s tone is equally as biting as Mr Beckett’s – “that I ceased any effort to assist that?”
Mr Beckett finally drinks a mouthful of tea. His shoulders slump. “No. I’ve got no idea what to do, though.”
Dr Burke reminds himself that he is not, in fact, treating Mr Beckett, and therefore, no matter the natural inclination to encourage him to seek his own insights, it would not be improper to assist him to reach a sensible conclusion.
“Your daughter ran out because she understood you to say that she should have let you die, if necessary. However, not only had she spent two years trying to save you, unsuccessfully, she then proceeded to enter a profession whose guiding principle is Protect and Serve. The motto of the NYPD, too, is, I believe, Faithful unto Death.”
Mr Beckett acquires a facial hue of almost the same green-tinged whiteness as Dr Burke had seen his daughter display, some sessions earlier. Dr Burke concludes that realisation is dawning on him, but continues, intending to drive the message home.
“By suggesting that she should have allowed you to self-destruct, Detective Beckett is likely to have perceived that you have not only devalued her original actions, but that you have also failed to understand the core of both her personality and her chosen profession. In short, you have cast doubt on both her previous and current behaviour.” Dr Burke pauses. “Jim, on the very first occasion on which we met, I told you that it was unlikely that your relationship with your daughter would be as it was before your wife passed, and that it was inevitable that as your daughter grew to adulthood, your relationship would change. If we are to navigate a new relationship, you must cease to regard her as the little girl or teenager whom you knew, and begin to regard her as an independent adult who has made her own choices and is living her own life.”
“But she’s my daughter,” Mr Beckett emits woefully.
“She is. No-one seeing you together could doubt that. However, she is also, entirely separately, Detective Beckett, and she is also, again separately, in a relationship with Mr Castle.” The grimace which Mr Beckett forms does not hearten Dr Burke. “She has a life which does not depend on being your daughter, just as you have a life which does not depend upon being a parent.”
Mr Beckett drinks his tea, and appears to be pondering Dr Burke’s words. Whilst he cogitates, Dr Burke considers that he has, at most, a few moments more before he can expect Mr Castle to return with Detective Beckett. He trusts that Mr Castle has restored Detective Beckett to some serenity. He is bolstered in this hope by the relatively calm proceedings in the earlier part of the session.
“I told you, Jim, when we first met, that it is very hard to watch your child establish a much stronger relationship with another in place of the parent-child bond. However, this is a normal, natural occurrence. You have previously indicated that you like and respect Mr Castle, and, while he is quite naturally closest to your daughter, it seems to me that he likes and respects you in return. Please also consider whether you are allowing your natural regret at the change in your daughter’s life to affect your reactions to the point which is actually at issue: repairing the damage caused both while you were influenced by alcohol” –
“Drunk.” –
“and by your inadvertent words a few weeks ago.”
Mr Beckett relapses into silence and thought once more. Dr Burke listens carefully for the sound of Detective Beckett returning: however, there is no indication that this is, as yet, occurring.
“Kate,” Castle says tentatively, when she’s most of the way down her drink and still silent and motionless, “c’n I tell you what I think your dad meant?”
“Why not?” she says bleakly. “Might as well try. Nothing else is helping.” She shivers, slightly. “I hoped that we’d be able to have a normal conversation, but he said I should have let him die, and never tried at all.”
Castle holds her tighter. “After you went out the room” – might as well start tactfully – “he said that what he meant was that he was unsaveable. Then. I think he meant that he wishes you hadn’t destroyed your life then trying to save him.” There’s an unintelligible noise from Beckett. “Then he said he loved seeing you – he meant after he got dry.” He stops.
“Uh?”
“I think what you heard wasn’t what your dad thought he said.”
“Oh.”
“I think half his problem is that he thinks he’s saying one thing and you think he’s saying another.”
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t read his mind,” Beckett says bitterly.
“Um…”
“What?” she snaps. “Just spit it out, Castle. We aren’t getting anywhere so it really doesn’t matter whether I like it or not.”
“You asked, okay? So you’re not allowed to shoot me.”
“No gun, remember?”
“No killing me in any way at all.”
“Just get on with it.”
“Okay. Erm… I think you’re hearing everything the way you think your dad would hear you if you were him but knew what you felt.”
“That makes no sense.”
“You always assume that he meant the worst, most hurtful thing. I think you do that because you think he should be angry or hurt by you, because you would be if you were him, so you assume that he is and then you hear what he says through that idea and whenever his wording is sloppy you hear it as him – er – trying to get back at you.”
Beckett goes back to clinging to her cup and absolute silence. Castle supposes that this is better than a free fight, shouting, and walking out. Marginally.
The silence extends and extends until it’s like over-stretched elastic, ready to snap. Castle doesn’t take his arm from Beckett, though he’s pretty certain she doesn’t know it’s still there and wouldn’t notice if it was withdrawn.
“Let’s go back,” she eventually says. She doesn’t say a single, solitary word about Castle’s commentary.
When they achieve Dr Burke’s floor, Beckett approaches the receptionist, says something very quietly, and then turns to Castle. “I want to talk to Dr Burke on my own. Will you…” she trails off.
“Sure. I’ve got a pen and my notebook.”
He can’t decide whether he should be heartened or terrified, and ends up both, in a split-personality sort of way, as he watches the receptionist show Beckett into a different room, and then tap on Dr Burke’s door to advise him.
Dr Burke is somewhat surprised to be informed by his receptionist that Detective Beckett wants to talk to him alone. However, given the contrast between her general dislike of opening a conversation and her request, he will certainly not delay. Mr Beckett appears to be continuing to consider Dr Burke’s earlier words, and will not suffer should he, Dr Burke, not be there. He so informs Mr Beckett, and exits the room to another, soothingly light green, room.
Detective Beckett is sitting on the couch, still somewhat pale, still wearing her jacket. Despite Dr Burke’s carefully calibrated office temperature, presently a perfectly respectable 70 degrees, she appears pinched and cold.
“You wished to see me alone?”
“Yes. Castle said something.” Detective Beckett breathes slowly and deeply.
“Mm?” Dr Burke acquires a feeling of considerable uncertainty. Mr Castle has, in general, taken exactly the right course of action, albeit with one substantial mistake, but he is not qualified to meddle in extremely difficult and complex psychiatry. Dr Burke hopes very strongly that Mr Castle’s instincts have led him correctly. Further complications are extraordinarily undesirable. There have been quite enough of those for any psychiatrist’s lifetime. Dr Burke has but one life. He does not wish to spend the remainder of it treating Detective Beckett, professionally interesting as that might be.
“He said that I was hearing Dad through how I would feel about me if I were Dad,” she blurts out in one hasty sentence, and stops, looking down at her twisted hands.
Dr Burke converts that sentence into one which possesses rather more lucidity and certainly more precision of language. It appears that Mr Castle has, indeed, been led correctly by his instincts and, more crucially, he also appears to have succeeded in ensuring that Detective Beckett is considering this concept. That same concept had also occurred to Dr Burke during the previous session, but he had not intended to introduce it until Tuesday’s session, when Mr Beckett would be absent. Mr Castle has brought it into consideration somewhat before Dr Burke would have preferred, but that is not fatal, merely somewhat difficult.
“How do you interpret that?” he asks gently.
“I don’t know.” It is not quite a snap, nor yet is it defeated. “I don’t get what he means.”
Dr Burke is not particularly reassured by Detective Beckett’s lack of understanding. She has not previously been slow of thought. He observes her closely and decides that she is both tired and drained. He wishes that Mr Castle had kept his intelligent deductions to himself.
“Let us try to analyse it, then. Mr Castle, I believe, is implying that you are expecting your father to behave and react as you would if you were in the same position.”
“Uh?”
“If you were in your father’s position, what would you think?”
Detective Beckett begins to think. At least, Dr Burke assumes that she is thinking. The way in which her face contorts indicates that her thoughts are not entirely comforting.
“I shall confirm that your father is coping, and then return.”
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực