Holiday – Chapter 1
DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they were very memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe for a wonderful show that meant so much, to so many, and still does today.
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A/N: Hello again. This is the third story in the Wonder AU. It is a sequel to Hunt the Hunter. I know it has been a while since I have posted anything new. I did write a couple of stories that – for different reasons – I decided to discard and not post. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this story that, one that has been quite a while coming.
You might recall that Season 6 began with an episode called Valkyrie – where Castle and Kate were newly-engaged. This was the first episode after the Watershed episode that ended Season 5. In this episode that opened Season 6, following Watershed, Richard Castle was exposed to a deadly toxin. In this AU, however, Valkyrie has a very different meaning, as we discovered at the end of Hunt the Hunter; and Castle and Beckett are far from engaged.
A quick warning – if you have not read The Wonder, and Hunt the Hunted, please stop now and read those two stories first. For those who have read both stories – and have fantastic memories and remember where we left off – I apologize for waiting 23 months to continue this saga. I admit, I intentionally wanted to wait a bit before continuing this AU, but not even I thought it would be almost two years.
This story picks up roughly four and a half months after the end of Hunt the Hunter, when Kate Beckett was on a flight that she – at that time – thought was taking her to Russia.
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December 17, 2013, 8:47 a.m., Somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania: Day 107 of Isolation
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The old analog clock sits high on the wall, the familiar tick-tock filling the room with each passing second. It is the only sound heard echoing through the make-shift cell, besides the heavy breathing of the woman performing push-ups on the floor.
It is early in the morning, but she is beginning this morning – as she has for the past one hundred and seven days – with a now familiar and comfortable exercise regimen. The sweat from her brow drops to the floor below, mingling with the sweat that drops from her chin. Her beautiful features have an edge to them.
Her home for these past three-plus months has been this expansive, man-made room, carved into a cave high in the Carpathian Mountains in Romania. A large metal door contains her in her cell – one with no bars, and natural rock formations for walls. The room remains somewhat dark, with only a single row of soft lights built into the floor along the far wall opposite the large door providing illumination for the room. The walls are jagged, from the natural mountain interior. Along one of the walls are the counts, the stick and slash markings that Kate Beckett has written on the wall to reflect each passing day – to give herself some understanding of the time that has elapsed since her 'incarceration'.
She breathes hard into the floor as she pushes herself up, then down, up, then down, counting off each movement. Despite the lights on the floor, the room would be far darker if not for the five video monitors that are overhead, embedded in the surrounding walls of her 'home'.
When she first entered this dwelling that has been housed her for the latter part of the year, she figured these monitors would be her 'friend', keeping her in touch with the outside world. She had stared at the dark, black screens – waiting for them to come on – assuming she would be kept company with feeds from CNN or some other news feed from around the world.
Instead – to her horror – Elena had kept her word. Oh, had she kept her word . . .
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(FLASHBACK: 107 Days ago on September 1st, 2013 in Romania)
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Kate Beckett stands along the jagged ledge of the mountain, some six thousand feet above sea level, glancing down at the forest of trees spread out before her, leading down to the village over a mile below. The village that had been her home for the past month. She breathes in the clean, clear air. For a moment, she closes her eyes, taking in the sounds of her surroundings high up in the mountains. She turns and glances upward, knowing that the tall mountainous structures stretch high above, at least another two thousand or so feet. She turns her gaze back downward, to the village below. Her mind replays the past month.
For thirty days – as Elena Markov had promised – Kate has undergone easily what has been the most rigorous training of her life. College athletics, the police academy – both paled in comparison to the arduous routine that Elena and her crew have put her through for the past four weeks. And now, just when she was expecting to be placed on a plane and headed back to the United States . . . back to New York . . .
Back to him . . .
Instead, Elena handed her a pre-packed backpack and no explanation. The two of them had headed up the brown and green paths up into the mountains that rise high over the small town; mountains that Kate has – for the past month – stared at in awe and wonder. Four hours later, after zig-zagging their way upward, avoiding the brown bears that inhabit the area, they arrived here at this point, this ledge overlooking the valley below.
The opening in the mountain behind this ledge – with the parallel and perpendicular lines far to geometrically perfect to be natural – have already told Kate that her training is far from over. She glances into the darkness of the cave, recognizing it for what it is, and realizing that only one of them will be making the trek back down the mountain . . . and it won't be her.
She turns back, her eyes now open again as she glances out over the darkness that has only now begun to creep in, as the sun has now dropped below the horizon. A quick chill raises goosebumps on her arms – arms that are covered by a long-sleeved shirt and a fairly heavy coat. She knows it is not the cool air, but rather the sound of the wolves howling below them that has caused her physical reaction.
She doesn't hear the silent movement of her companion, who now stands beside her. Her voice startles her.
"I should not be able to sneak up on you so easily," Elena tells her, shaking her head with disappointment.
"I . . . well . . ."
Kate allows her words to hang in the air, knowing that there is only one acceptable answer to the statement of fact that Elena has laid out.
"I have no excuse," Kate remarks, repeating a refrain that has been drilled into her for the past month. It has been a military boot camp of sorts. Mornings filled with exercises and physical drills. Afternoons filled with psychological training and historical classes. Evenings spent – surprisingly – in a very relaxed, very casual setting with Samantha, Daria and Regina. Of the almost twenty women that have been in 'training' with her during these weeks, these three women have become more than comrades to her. They have become friends. Their evenings have been filled with smiles, laughter and good eating . . .
. . . Only to be followed by the harsh, physical brutality of the next morning. And through the physical and mental calisthenics of the past month, one thing has been made painfully clear to every woman. There is no room for mistakes, and there are no excuses for those mistakes when they occur.
"No, you do not," Elena reminds her, snapping Kate's attention back to the present moment, here on the ledge, overlooking the world below.
The two women are quiet for a moment before Kate speaks again.
"Why?" she asks. It is a simple question, one that brings a smile to the face of her Russian friend . . . comrade . . . captor . . . she isn't sure what Elena is anymore. Elena knows what she is asking. She is asking why the need for incarceration. Why is she getting ready to be imprisoned? What purpose will it serve?
"Because you are not ready," the Russian replies, matter-of-factly. "Not yet."
Kate merely nods her head, in acceptance if not agreement. The howling just south of them, some four hundred yards to their left causes both women to alter their gaze to the sounds below.
"You're sure you're going to be all right?" Kate asks, and then chuckles as the words leave her mouth. She hears the similar response from the woman standing next to her. Elena ignores this question, choosing instead to answer the original question.
"Why?"
"You still assume too much, Sister," Elena begins, using the term that Kate Beckett has – not surprisingly – come to truly appreciate. A term that, for some reason, resonates with her more than any other term that has been placed upon her during her life.
Daughter. Detective. Agent. Best friend. Lover.
Yet 'sister' is the term that has somehow touched her heart in a way that none of the previous designations had been able to do.
"One month ago, you thought we were going to Russia, simply because I told you we were going 'home'," Elena reminds her.
"One month ago, you thought that the reason I was bringing you here was exclusively to train you to avenge your loss," she continues.
"One month ago, you thought this project to be nothing more than some comic-book fantasy-turned-reality, where you were joining a sisterhood of Amazons of sort . . . the kind of thing the author would have come up with," she continues, noticing that Kate still – damn her – flinches at the very mention of the man she left behind in New York.
"Well, it is kind of a sisterhood," Kate argues amiably, folding her arms in front of her chest in mock defiance. Both women smile once again.
"Remember, Kate," Elena remarks as she gently touches Kate Beckett's shoulder, subtly guiding the former detective/federal agent into the darkness of the cavern behind the ledge. Kate subconsciously turns her head – to take one last look at the beautiful world below as the two women walk deeper into the cave. She has no idea how long she will be here.
"Remember - the majority of people, even those closest to you, they will not understand us," Elena begins. "They do not understand you. They do not understand that there is something inside you more powerful than the desire to love . . . or be loved."
She helps Kate extract herself from the heavy backpack as she speaks, pulling it off of her back, freeing Beckett's arms. Kate windmills and stretches tired limbs as Elena continues.
"There is a calling inside a person that cannot be satisfied solely with the emotions of love, or with the trust of one's friends and comrades . . . even those you have met here. There is a passion that burns inside a person that supersedes the creature comforts that life affords. You have this calling – this passion. Your mother had it. Her husband – your father – he did not understand this. He did not understand why she would risk her family, her life, for strangers . . . for an ideal."
The tall Russian allows this thought to sink in. She isn't sure whether or not this is even a topic that Kate Beckett has ever let her mind even consider. No matter. It is time now.
"I ask you to spend the next few months thinking about why you are here . . . on this planet . . . in this time period . . . born to the mother you were born to . . . walking through the experiences you have lived through," Elena tells her as she begins to walk toward the opening to the massive cavern. Suddenly, Kate feels a rush of artificial air hit her face, coming from the cavernous walls surrounding her. A soft hum from behind the walls reaches her ears.
It is time.
"Did she just say 'the next few months?!"
Elena recognizes the question before it can be asked.
"One hundred and twenty days, Kate," Elena tells her. More or less. History over the past few decades has told us that this is the right number, the right amount of time."
Kate simply stares at the woman, taking in her exotic features, her dark hair. She purses her lips for a few seconds before looking away.
"Did . . . did others face this . . . whatever it is I am going to face?" Kate asks, a bit of hesitation and yes, a bit of fear in her voice. Elena's laughter softens the blow.
"Surely you do not believe that – in the past few months – this space, over a mile above the village below – was carved into these rich mountains just for you, do you?" Elena chuckles.
"I suppose not," Kate replies with a knowing frown.
"Samantha? Regina? Daria?" Kate asks, and her captor knows what she is asking.
"No," Elena replies quickly. "They have a different path to walk."
Kate simply nods her head in affirmation, unconsciously wrapping her arms around herself against the sudden cold.
"You?" Kate asks.
Elena turns back to her, now two full steps outside the cavern and blocking the now-diminishing light from outside.
"Yes," she replies simply, and reaches into the edge of a crevice to touch a hidden lever outside the cave. A large metal wall suddenly – and quickly – slides into place, closing the cavern from the outside.
"Good luck, my sister," the Russian says softly under her breath. She hears the wolves singing in the distance, and smiles as she begins her long trek back down the mountains.
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Back to the Present, December 17, 2013, now 9:03 a.m., in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania: Day 107 of Isolation
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Her morning exercises now complete, Kate Beckett walks toward the stainless steel refrigerator built into the cavern. For the umpteenth time since her incarceration, she marvels at the foresight, the planning, the thought-process that went into the building of this cell. While nothing can change the fact that this is a cell and she is a prisoner, she has to admit that they have done all they can to make things more than comfortable.
Modern appliances, from the kitchen area – with a refrigerator, a stove-top range with two burners for cooking, and a large pantry that had been stocked with hundreds of canned goods – vegetables, beans, crackers.
A very comfortable twin bed, with a set of sheets and two heavy blankets. Only one pillow. That had taken some getting used to.
A stand-up shower, and a toilet. In the open. No walls to create individual rooms. Yeah, that had taken some getting used to also. She again smiles at the sheer construction ingenuity to bring plumbing and electricity to these heights.
In fact, if it weren't for the video monitors and open-space toilet, this wouldn't have been too bad, she chuckles to herself - not for the first time.
Yeah, those damn monitors.
She glances upward, once again at the nearest wall, taking in the monitor closest to her. She sees the images displayed, closing her eyes, taking slow deep breaths. The images – at first, all those months ago – initially assaulted her. Her response had been what you would expect; anger, horrification, heart-breaking sadness. She lashed out and cut knuckles, bruised flesh, and broke a bone or two in her hand to escape the madness.
The monitors have – for the past one hundred and three days – been replaying images of her mother – Johanna Beckett lying on the ground, blood seeping from the wound in her lower back. The images play on a constant loop – sometimes as close-ups where you can see the agony on the face of death that paints the once-beautiful woman's features.
Thankfully, those images eventually cease, but the replacements do not illicit any joy either. Initially the images were of one Richard Castle – sitting somewhere in New York City at an author's signing, autographing books and interacting with fans in his own unique way – and yeah, typically for some attractive woman who hangs just a little too closely, for just a second or two too long.
Those images have – over the weeks – given way to videos captured more recently. Richard Castle at lunch with a beautiful blonde – one Kate recognizes. Serena Kaye. And a small child with them.
Other images have followed. Pictures of Richard Castle, standing outside an old demolished pub in the city, the warm smile he shares with an attractive red-headed woman unmistakable as the two watch construction workers rebuild the establishment in front of them.
Still other images of Senator William Bracken – a speech here, a few snapshots there. A few videos with polling numbers rising as a hopeful electorate encourages him to run for the nation's highest office.
And when these images finish cycling?
The crime scene with images of her mother, lying dead on the street, return to the monitors. There is no sound accompanying any of the images, any of the videos. Only the visuals.
She has surprised herself – no, make that she has stunned herself with how far she has come. With how little these images bother her now. Has she simply become immune to their pain? Is she merely numbed to it all? Or has she evolved beyond them? She is not sure.
Brushing such questions aside, she takes out a carton of juice, along with two eggs. As she retrieves the eggs, she stares at the metal back-plate of the refrigerator – the back-plate built into the walls. She can see the perforated edges where – throughout her incarceration – someone has opened the fridge unit from the backside, and restocked her with essentials; milk, juice, eggs and meat. Considering where she is, how high up she is, someone has taken great pains to ensure she is taken care of.
She drops the two eggs into the frying pan, and takes a long swig of orange juice from the carton. She decided early into her time here that there was no need to use the single glass provided her. She drinks everything straight from the carton or the bottle.
Watching the eggs cook, she reaches into her pocket, and retrieves the hand-written letter there. Unfolding it, she reads it again. She has read it literally hundreds of times now – at least once a day, starting in the morning, and sometimes more. The words seem as new, as fresh this morning as they were that first morning so long ago.
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Kate –
Your mother is dead. Allow her that peace. Allow yourself that peace. You must move beyond this. It is done.
You have a great purpose, but that purpose is paralyzed. It is undiscovered, because you remain stuck in that moment of so long ago. Because of this – you search and search and are never satisfied. You remain in search of something just out of your reach. And when you manage to catch hold of whatever you are chasing, once that chase ends, you are off on your next mission. If you are to become a member of this family – to become my sister – you must be trustworthy. Everyone one of us must know – without question or hesitation that you can see through a mission regardless of its personal cost.
Your purpose on this planet is not to avenge your mother – but to prevent such abuse from touching others. To chase your mother's killer is selfish. To prevent it from happening to others is selfless. I beg you – choose the latter. No matter the cost.
I promise you, Kate, we will deal with the Senator. You and I. But your motivation cannot be personal. It can never be personal. Know that there are far greater reasons to take this man down than because he killed a single woman – no matter that this woman was your mother; no matter that this woman was a sister in our family. As you reflect on this during your time here, remember my promise to you. The pain from a fall from the lofty heights he is reaching will be unimaginable. And you will witness his fall. You will be there. That is my promise to you.
And Kate, never doubt this: I keep my promises.
Elena
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The sudden cranking of machinery – a sound she has longed to hear for months now – startles her out of her reverie. Her head quickly whips to the wall where her stick markings count the days. Elena had told her four months – she is easily a couple of weeks shy of that mark. No matter, if she is getting an early reprieve, she isn't complaining.
She turns the fire off underneath the eggs, and walks briskly – strongly – toward the door that is sliding open. She wears a tank top and sweat pants – her typical exercise clothing. Her newly-toned, muscular frame has changed her movements. She almost glides across the flooring, secure in her footing in the relative darkness. She notices now that the video monitors have shut off, presumably de-activated by the opening of the door.
With the cave now open to the outside, the cold December air rushes in. Surprisingly, it seems to have no effect on the cavern's inhabitant. Her still-beautiful face is, if possible, even more beautiful. No make-up, no added assistance. Just a natural beauty. The hair is longer, in a pony-tail reaching her mid-back. And there is a fire in her hazel-colored eyes that bring a smile to the face of Elena Markov.
"You're early," is all Kate says, and Elena's smile widens.
"It could not be helped," the Russian beauty replies. "There is trouble. In New York. Your immediate presence there is required."
Without a single thought of Richard Castle, of the 12th Precinct . . . without a single thought of Jim Beckett, Kate simply nods her head.
"When do we leave?"
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A/N: So, this begins our new tale in this particular AU. Clearly, we have so far glossed over what transpired between the end of Hunt the Hunter and the beginning of this particular tale. Rest assured, we will fill in the gaps during flashbacks, but after consideration, I thought that to be the best way to tell this story – to focus on the current storyline while using flashbacks to fill in the void.
I hope everyone is staying safe, and has had a good spring. I will post the next chapter sometime this week. And just a reminder – this entire AU is more about the re-birth of Kate Beckett, her finding her way – on her own. What that means for some of her past relationships – particularly that of Richard Castle – remains to be seen. But those of you who know enough about me know that I am a romantic at heart. I just have a wee bit of a dark side when it comes to story-telling :)