Chương 166: 166. Teen spirit
Castle trudges after Beckett, still deeply unhappy. At least Beckett isn’t enacting histrionic scenes, making demands, or doing anything other than listening to him and cuddling into him. Back to that quality of stillness; a safe haven, or the eye of the storm. Right now, he needs that. He recalls that he can stay, all night: slide into sleep alongside his Beckett and wake with her still there.
Suddenly he needs to hold her, catch her in and keep her: draw on her as he has let her, so often, draw from him. He spins her, and brings her close into him, burying his nose in her hair once more and pressing her ever closer till her muffled squeak tells him it’s too tight. He eases very slightly, but doesn’t let go: the scent of her hair, and simply her, soothing him. Somehow Beckett’s arms have sneaked around his waist and her hands are clasped behind him. She might be leaning in, but it’s he who is taking strength from her.
“I don’t want coffee,” he says. Beckett looks up, surprised. “I just want you.” And he takes her mouth without compunction: raids and ravages and possesses; desperate to find the reassurance that he needs, that there’s a new family possible if his mother’s blown his apart. He’s some way past assertive and tending to aggressive, but Beckett melts and flows and suddenly she’s his Kat: open and soft and always, only, the woman he loves and needs.
Her hands come up to slide round his neck, cupping his face, but he’s too far gone to be gentled: takes and captures and owns with no questions and no stopping. Her silky top flies over her head and lands who-knows-where; her pants puddle on the floor; he spins her round and traps her against the counter, still dominating her mouth. Her fingers bite into his shoulders and back; her tongue and lips fight back and suddenly it’s incendiary: his hands roaming everywhere, hard fingers finding soft heat and that fast he’s taken her in one hard thrust, pushing flimsy fabric frantically aside; fingers finding sensitive nerves and she’s whimpering into his mouth morphing into now Castle don’t stop Castle Castle! and he’s right there exploding with her.
After only a brief moment, he picks her up and carries her through to the bedroom, drops her on the bed, strips himself in swift, efficient movements and then denudes her, buries them both under the covers and continues to kiss her as if there’s nothing and no-one else on earth. He can’t get close enough, hold her tightly enough, or then be deep enough to quell his hurt and guilt and misery.
She stays close, afterwards, once they’re all cleaned up, lying across his chest and holding on to him, still not trying to talk. It’s all up to him: she’s simply his soft, strokable Kat, happy simply to let him lead and take everything, anything, he needs. He rearranges her to be spooned into him, where she can be pressed against him from neck to knee. She mumbles sleepily at him, and then speaks more clearly, “Love you.”
“Love you too,” he whispers as her lashes drop and her breathing evens out in sleep. After a long, heavy time, he follows her. Curled together with his Beckett-Kat, if there are dreams, they’re not nightmares.
Castle wakes to the soft breathing and occasional murmurs of still-somnolent Beckett, currently attached to his hand. He slides an arm gently over her, and snuggles back down. This morning, though his wounds are still raw and bitter-edged, there’s a certain distance that a good night’s sleep has brought. He bites down on the acid pain of being so fundamentally at odds with his mother, and tries not to fidget restlessly. He’s having second, then third, fourth and fifth thoughts about what he’s doing. They skitter round his head like lab rats on acid, chasing each other’s tails. He closes his eyes again, and goes back over everything that’s happened, everything he’s thought and said, and everything Dr Burke has said and drawn out of him.
Finally, he comes to only one conclusion. He’s done the right thing.
However much he loves his mother, however much he respects the sacrifices she made, he is still allowed his own life and his own boundaries. Being a parent doesn’t impose a responsibility on your child. As long as he ensures that she’s taken care of, that she need never be in want of anything, then he needn’t feel guilty.
It doesn’t stop it hurting, though. It really, really doesn’t.
Beckett’s still asleep next to him, under his arm. For a moment, as he looks at her, he has a brief flash of resentment and annoyance. If he’d never met her, or left her to it when he’d walked away in January, he’d still have all his family all together just as they had been.
Would he truly have preferred that? Short term liaisons with women who wanted ten minutes of fame and the paparazzi money shot on page six? Writer’s block and living off past glories?
No.
In the end, no. But it doesn’t stop it hurting.
He turns away, but leaves his hand in hers, hides his face in the pillow. He’d never wanted this.
Alexis cautiously comes downstairs on Saturday evening, fresh from her dad’s call, searching for a hot drink to soothe the tedium of studying her English text. She’d liked A Midsummer Night’s Dream, when she’d seen it performed. Studying it and deconstructing it isn’t nearly as enjoyable. Totally not how a play should be done. She hunts down the hot chocolate and marshmallows, sneaks a couple to eat – her dad would disapprove: he’d have eaten lots – and is just about to go back to her study text when she notices her Grams swishing down the stairs.
Alexis stays quiet. She totally doesn’t like her Grams much right now, and she’s not in the mood for another round of Grams knows best. Grams makes straight for the wine, pours a large glass, downs it, refills it, downs half of that, and only then spots Alexis. The wine glass is filled further.
“Sweetie, what are you doing?”
“Hot chocolate,” Alexis says, briefly. There is an awkward pause. “I need to study.” She takes two steps toward the stairs.
“Why is Richard doing this?” her Grams says. “I was only trying to help.” Alexis bites her tongue, hard. “I never thought he’d do this.”
Tongue-biting fails to prevent the stream of words. “Dad told you what would happen. He told you not to interfere. You’re the only one who didn’t get it. He never wanted this to happen but you totally ignored him. You’re the one who’s messed up here and you still don’t get it. All you had to do was butt out.”
“All I wanted was Katherine to be part of our family.” Alexis bites her tongue again. “All together. It’s obvious they should be together.” Alexis becomes aware of a tremor in her Grams’ voice, which doesn’t sound as if it’s entirely the result of the wine. “How can Richard ever be happy with someone who won’t be part of the family?”
“She totally would have been, when she was ready!” Alexis yells. “If you’d just waited it would all have worked out. Why couldn’t you wait?”
There’s no answer.
“No-one wanted this to happen. Why did you do it?” Alexis has a sudden, horrible thought, and being fifteen not twenty-nine immediately lets it out of her mouth. “You were jealous that Dad’s in love with Detective Beckett. You thought he’d stop caring about you. You thought if you made him choose he’d side with you. That’s so totally wrong.”
“No!” Martha emits, horrified. “I thought Katherine would be on my side.”
“What?”
“If” – Martha’s voice falters as she looks at the sentence in front of her, all her confidence and theatricality gone – “she thought of me as a mother she’d make sure I didn’t have to move out.”
“What? How could you think Dad would make you move out?”
“He just has.”
“Yeah, after you deliberately ignored every single warning. Dad always carries through.”
“That was bringing you up. It’s different.”
Alexis stays quiet. If Grams hasn’t worked out that Dad always keeps his promises, she hasn’t been paying attention.
“Instead I’m being evicted.”
“You get to pick the apartment, Dad’s still going to give you your allowance, and you’re calling it evicted? You’re unreal, Grams. Most people would kill for that. If Dad did that for me when I’m in college I’d be delighted.” Alexis stops dead and allows her brain to catch up with the conversation so far. “Why didn’t you just tell him you were worried?” There’s no answer. “Why didn’t you tell him?” More silence. “Grams! Stop with the wine and talk.”
“Because he’s still a success and I’m a washed-up has-been actor.”
“You’re jealous of Dad?”
“I only get parts because they want to meet him.” The wine, Alexis deduces, has gone to Grams’ head already. On the other hand, what’s that quote of Dad’s? Oh yes, in vino veritas. “I know the shows won’t run, but those are the only parts anyone’ll give me. Theatre’s an unforgiving mistress, sweetie.”
“Why don’t you try for better parts?”
“Who’d choose me? No-one remembers Martha Rodgers.”
“You won awards. You” –
“Twenty years ago. That’s a lifetime.”
“That’s pathetic!” Alexis yells with all the confidence of a teen who’s never been turned down or knocked back, who’s never had a single failing grade. “You spent all your time telling me that I had to get out there and try, no matter what. Take your own advice, Grams! How’d you know that you wouldn’t get anything if you don’t even audition?”
“What would you know about it?”
“At least I know about not giving up and turning into an old woman!”
“How dare you speak to me like that?”
“It’s true. You’re just giving up.”
“I am not!” Martha says in high dudgeon.
“Yes you are. You won’t even choose an apartment, will you? Like you won’t even try for a better show. It’s pathetic. You might as well be eighty and in seniors’ housing.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I could get any part I wanted.”
“Really? You just said you couldn’t. Now you can?” Alexis adds a very sarcastic edge of disbelief, and watches her Grams explode in infuriated pride.
“Of course I can. Just watch me. And I’ll need my own space to rehearse in without anyone interrupting.”
“You could rehearse here. You always have before.”
“Here is detrimental to the artistic temperament. All that irritating tapping at keys, when it’s not game noises. I need peace and serenity. And I wouldn’t need to worry about bringing the cast round either. Your father can be very unreasonable about that.”
Alexis doesn’t say one single solitary word. Her on-the-fly plan has totally worked. Her dad would be proud of her improvised insanity. Grams has talked herself into moving out and trying for better parts. Epic win. Totally.
“I’ll want to see this place. We could decorate it. Bonding time.”
“Absolutely, sweetie. It’ll be fabulous. But isn’t it time for you to turn in? Tomorrow, see what you think about the apartments. You could come with me.”
“Sounds great, Grams. G’night.”
“Good night, darling.”
Alexis hears Martha drain the wine, and shortly thereafter hears her mount the stairs. She smirks happily. She’ll put up with a bit of apartment shopping to make this work out. She hugs her success to her, and thinks even more happily how proud her dad will be. For now, she’ll leave him with Detective Beckett and not interrupt. They deserve some alone time.
Castle detects the small sounds of waking Beckett but doesn’t turn back to her. She stretches out, not releasing his hand, and then turns over to flip an arm across him.
“You’re awake,” she notes, and wriggles into him. “Are you okay?” she adds, as he doesn’t answer.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Castle says bitterly, “so why do I feel so totally shit about it?”
“Because setting limits hurts,” Beckett spits. “Trust me, I know.” She unfurls from him and leans up. “It’s not easy, or simple, or comfortable. It’s just that not doing it is far worse. You said it to me, no-one else is where you are, and they’re not you, and you do the best you can. It’s nobody’s business but yours. I don’t get to judge what you do just like you don’t get to judge me.”
She flops back into her pillows, without further comment but with her arm still in contact. Castle props himself up and blinks down at her. “Really?”
“Didn’t you mean it when you said it?” Beckett asks, in a delicately enquiring tone which was last heard echoing in Interrogation One.
“Yes… but Beckett, you can’t quote me back at me. That’s cheating.”
“I can if you need it. Listen to your own words.”
“But…”
“But nothing. If you don’t listen I’ll set Dr Burke on you tomorrow.”
“No!” Castle protests. “That’s not fair. I already talked to him – more than once. I don’t wanna do it again. My brain’s been washed.”
“Ugh. I did not need that image.”
“It’s true, though.” He regards her carefully, and his expression changes. “Why are we talking about Dr Burke? Why are we talking at all?”
“Because you’re unhappy.” She peeps through her lashes, colour sneaking along her cheekbones. “Don’t like you unhappy,” she mutters, barely audibly. Aww. Beckett’s being sappy. He should frame the moment. There won’t be another one for about six months. She’s also right. He can’t simply avoid his upset by burying himself in Beckett, whether that’s literal or metaphorical. He needs to face it.
“Yeah.” He lies down again, still gripping her hand. “I have to do this, but… what if it’s just a knee-jerk reaction? What if Alexis hates not having Mother around? She says she’s on my side but she’s a teen.”
“A sensible teen,” Beckett inserts.
“Still.”
“No. She’s fifteen, not five. She can go see your mother, can’t she? If you’re happy, she can have sleepovers there.”
Castle looks sceptical. “Depends on Mother’s friends and cast parties.” Beckett rolls her eyes. “No, some of them are… um… unreliable.”
“Why don’t you just talk to Alexis. Stop theorising and ask her.”
Castle supposes that it’s a practical suggestion. It also twitches a thread of memory in his mind. “Okay,” he says slowly. “But while we’re on the subject, what was upsetting you so much yesterday? It’s not like you haven’t dealt with unreasonable people before.”
“Uh?”
“You disposed of Mother, and then you were really upset. Why? I thought you’d still be mad with her.”
Beckett turns her head away from him. She would have turned the rest of her away too, except Castle anticipated that and has draped an arm over her stomach, the hand of which cups her cheek and turns her head back again.
“C’mon. Did you think I’d be mad?”
“Yeah…”
Castle can hear that there’s more lurking behind that, and waits. “Mm?” he rumbles softly.
“She came here,” Beckett blurts out. “I didn’t want anyone here till I was ready. My dad barely comes here.” She tries to escape again, into the covers.
Castle suddenly gets it. His mother has invaded Beckett’s private space: the space which she has resolutely protected from any of his and indeed her family, which she was and is entirely unready to share with anyone except him, and where she has consistently retreated for peace and protection. His mother, of course, wouldn’t have given it the slightest thought, and has wreaked destruction. No wonder Beckett had been so upset.
“How did she know I lived here? I never told her. Alexis didn’t know. Surely Dad wouldn’t have said?” She turns away again. “You wouldn’t have…” That’s not a question: merely a statement of absolute fact.
“No,” Castle states. “I wouldn’t. But does it matter how she found out? She shouldn’t have come at all, but she did.” He cossets her in. “I can guarantee she won’t be returning.” He forces a smile into his voice. “You scared seven bells out of her. That’s my badass Beckett.”
Just as he’d expected and hoped, the possessive word and tone brings her head up.
“Yours?”
“Yep. Mine. My Beckett and my Kat.” Strangely, he is not yet dead or maimed. He’ll buy a lottery ticket, later. He takes full advantage and manoeuvres her into a more comfortable position. Unsurprisingly, this involves spreading her over him. Equally unsurprisingly, the atmosphere is not sexual at all. Too much tension, too much stress. Too much pain. Beckett has curled into him and insinuated a hand around his shoulder, and so he returns the gesture with arms around her. For a while, there’s no more talking, just togetherness, and taking, or giving, reassurance.
“Dad, Dad, you’re home. I want to talk to you. You need to hear this.”
“Okay.” Castle leads Alexis into his office. “What’s going on?”
“Grams has decided that it’s all her idea that she’s moving out so she can audition and rehearse for better parts without us getting in the way,” Alexis says proudly.
Castle goggles at her. “Uh?” he says, intelligently.
Alexis bounces impatiently, giving herself a remarkable resemblance to her father. “I came down for hot chocolate because I was bored with A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Grams didn’t see me and drank about half a bottle of wine before she did. So she was, like, still complaining and it just came to me that I could totally fix this, well, her.”
“What did you do?”
“Er…” Alexis peeks up at him. “Promise you won’t be mad?”
“Did you use physical violence?”
“Dad! No!”
“Probably not, then.”
“Okay… Er… I was mad with her so… um… we had a bit of a row and then I said that she was turning into an old woman” – Castle winces – “and she lost her temper and then she said she could get any part she wanted and she’d prove it” – his eyes widen – “and she’d need her own space to rehearse and then I said I’d totally want to see it and we agreed I’d go to view the apartments with her and I think it’s all fixed now.”
Castle regards Alexis with considerable admiration, though he also notices some considerable evasions in her tale, chiefly regarding the row piece. He’ll get to those in a moment. “Wow,” he says. “Impressive, daughter of mine.” He grins at her. “How much of that was planned and how much a lucky break?”
Alexis wriggles. “Er… half?”
“You can’t possibly be my daughter. You planned half of it? What happened to unplanned brilliance?”
“That always gets you in trouble. Remember the police horse?”
“Unfair.”
“True, though.”
“Hm,” Castle says. “Nice work. Now,” he says with emphasis, “how about the bits you carefully left out?”
Alexis squirms.
“What happened in the ‘row’?”
“Er…” – another squirm. She rubs her foot up and down the back of her calf, always a tell. “Um… I said she was jealous and thought you’d choose her over Detective Beckett but she said that wasn’t true and she thought if she was her mother” – Castle sorts through the confusion of pronouns and just about follows – “she’d make sure Grams would stay” – dammit, Dr Burke strikes again – “and I think she’s jealous of you being a success and her not being.” Alexis runs out of breath.
“Okay,” Castle says slowly. “I see. Okay. You go apartment shopping with Grams, then, and make sure it’s not too far away. I’ll make sure it all works out.”
“I know that,” Alexis points out with a considerable helping of teen condescension for the stupidity of adults.
“Be off with you, then.”
Alexis departs surrounded by a glow of conscious virtue. Castle sits down, leans back in his chair and plants his feet directly in the centre of his desk. He has some considerable thinking to do.
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