Part One: Storm, Castle, Heat
The river always finds the sea
So helplessly
Like you find me
We are paper boats floating on a stream
And it would seem
We'll never be apart
-Red, Paper Boats (by Darren Korb), Transistor
Chapter One
Thursday, July 13, 2006 (Kate is 26, Rick is 35)
You will not cry in public, Kate, she told herself sternly. This is not the end. You haven't failed. She weaved blindly between the people on the sidewalk. She bumped into a few of them, brushed shoulders and arms, but most ignored her. She ignored the few that turned back with "Hey!" or "Watch it!" and even one who must have noticed the watery quality of her eyes and asked, "Are you okay?" She kept her head bent, arms holding her purse protectively across her chest. You haven't failed her.
She let the throng of people on their way home from work guide her into the subway entrance, let them push her through the turnstile where she swiped her card with the accuracy of habit. Then she swiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
Nobody in the crowded station paid any attention.
Pull yourself together. It's not the end of the world. Her thoughts were already spinning out of control, spiraling into a mess reminiscent of her state of mind while trying to put aside her mother's murder. So what if I got fired? Screw them all, I don't need the NYPD. The traitorous part of her mind, which hadn't been entirely silenced in therapy, added, More time to work the case. No regulations, nobody to report to. What else are you going to do with all your new-found free time?
Montgomery would be so ashamed.
He'd fought tooth and nail for her to keep her job. He told 1PP she was the best he'd ever trained, probably the best he'd ever seen, told them that given time she could be the best homicide detective in the city. He'd put his own name and reputation on the line for her, and it hadn't been enough for those idiot IA detectives.
Royce, too, had stood up for her. He told IA that it wasn't her fault she missed so much work, that she had a medical condition, but her performance during periods of remission more than made up for the absences. IA had said her missing hours, days, and weeks interfered with her performance. And then they'd fired her.
The more logical, less emotional side of herself was halfway resigned to the fact that they were right. A suspect had escaped because of her condition. A suspect had escaped and taken her service piece and badge along with him, and both officers and civilians had been put in danger. So yes, maybe there was some reason to it. Even if no one but the suspect had ended up hurt, because he tried to escape and knocked himself out in traffic.
The more emotional, still logical side of her mourned the loss of the job that had been her life for the past five years, the job that had been her best chance at solving her mother's murder.
Kate was pulled out of her spiral by the screeching of subway breaks. The crowd had carried her onto the platform, and she now stood shoulder to shoulder with her fellow New Yorkers. She blinked back the memories of the afternoon's meetings and raised her head. She quickly read the number on the train car and, seeing it was the correct line, searched for a way forward.
Desperate to get home where she could fall apart in private, she forced her way onto the train, once again taking no notice of the people around her. She didn't notice the people still exiting the subway car, didn't notice the man among them who glimpsed her face and did a double take. Didn't see his attempts to swim upstream through the flow of people leaving the train, or how he jumped up and down and waved his arm above his head to get her attention. Didn't hear his shouted, "Kate! Hey, Kate! Please..." before the doors slid closed behind her.
The train squealed again and lurched forward, carrying her and the other passengers packed around her into the dark tunnel. She didn't make it all the way home.
Saturday, May 20, 2006 (Kate is 26[from July 2006])
Disoriented, naked, and hungry, Kate tried to stand up. Her knees shook but the walls and floor of the dim hallway were covered in grime so she closed her eyes, counted to ten, and gained her balance. Damn subway. There was so much noise and motion on the underground she could never feel it coming.
She peered around in the darkness, relived to find she was alone. With a glance behind her she discovered it was actually daylight, but the hallway was darkened by the amount of smoke and dirt on the window at the end. A crooked number 33 was nailed to the nearest doorway, which was peeling bright green paint.
"Oh no," she whispered. This was the building where Victor Daniels lived.
"Daniels open up!" She heard a booming voice demand from around the corner. It was Detective Gutierrez, her former lead detective, banging his fist on number 38 in the adjacent corridor. Kate drew further into a shadow on the wall.
Not only had she come back to Daniels' apartment, she'd come back to his arrest. The case that had gotten her fired. But what if I was here the whole time? What if I didn't get fired?
Luckily, she'd been over this case and this arrest so many times in the past month for IA she knew all the details. For example most of the police officers went with Gutierrez to search Daniels' apartment on the third floor, and a few went up to the fourth floor where his cousin lived. Only she and Esposito had stayed on the second floor, where his friend's boyfriend was reported to live. Those three apartments were judged the most likely places Daniels would be found.
If she could find herself before she Traveled, she could fill in for herself. She'd done it before. She only had to get past Gutierrez and his officers and Esposito. She could take her own clothes, secure her gun and badge—this would work. Screw the consequences.
Kate listened as Gutierrez paused to wait for movement in apartment 38. He announced again, "This is the NYPD, open the door!"
Kate knew he would kick in the door—she'd been able to hear it all the way from the floor below—and waited for the opportunity to slip past while the dust settled and the arrest team swarmed into the sublet.
When the crash and splinter of wood sounded, she dashed for the stair door, hoping she'd have enough time to catch herself. Knowing these moments could make or break her career, she took the steps as fast as she could in her bare feet. An echoing of footsteps up the stairwell forced her to stop, though, and she hid behind the railing on the landing between floors, peering through the space between the half-wall and the railing to see if the person was coming up further.
She sighed with relief as a man in a dark hoodie pushed open the door to the second floor, and began creeping her way down the stairs again, hoping he wouldn't return. Slowly she pushed on the bar so that it opened silently. The hallway was empty, except for a pile of clothes. Her clothes. Damn it.
She ran to the crumpled mess and her heart clenched as she saw that it had already been rifled through; her gun and badge were gone.
She pulled on the pants and then the shirt, and kicked the underwear and shoes into a corner. The window at the end of the hall was open and the metal of the fire escape glinted in the sun beyond it. Kate covered the distance quickly and descended to the street in record time.
A familiar blue hoodie was rounding the corner ahead of her, shoulders hunched and hood up. Damn it, I had him.
She tailed him as discreetly as she could despite her still bare feet, and was gaining ground when the suspect turned and saw her. At first, it seemed as though he would ignore a random shoeless woman on the sidewalk, but something must have given her away—maybe he recognized the clothes—and he spooked.
She chased after him, surprise now lost to her, and yelled, "Daniels, stop! Police!"
Daniels was like a rabbit, or gazelle. He darted forward, making random sideways jumps between obstacles that blocked the sidewalk. He reached an intersection and for a split second froze, deciding in that time which direction he was going to go. He chose wrong.
He didn't see the two pedestrians to his right and collided with them, sending all three crashing into a fruit vendor's cart. The cart rolled onto its side into the street, tossing the three people into the car lane. The speeding taxi didn't have time to stop.
Kate remembered the reports of the injuries. Daniels had sprained his wrist and fractured a knee—no. He'd broken the wrist and the knee, and gotten a concussion. And the two pedestrians...road burn, broken legs and ribs and...
Kate felt it start this time, with no rumbling of the subway to cover up the tiny vibrations that zipped up her spine, or the dizziness in her head that preceded Travel. Knowing officers would soon cover the area and that there was nothing she could do to help with the accident, she turned and looked for somewhere to hide. Across the street was an alley with a dumpster. She sprinted, fighting the growing nausea, and climbed in to wait it out. At least, just like her clothes, she could not take the dirt and stench of the trash with her.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006 (Kate is 26, and 26 [from July 2006])
Kate sank into her couch with a box of crackers. Travel always made her hungry, but it still wasn't enough to motivate her to stock her kitchen. Good thing, too, because her digital clock told her she'd been gone for three weeks. She'd only been in 1985 for about seven hours, but time travel was finicky that way.
Kate sighed. She knew she had to call her dad—she always did when she got back from Traveling. But three weeks was an unusually long time for her to be gone, and she knew he was still getting used to it again. She just really hoped he had turned to his sponsor and not the bottle. She wasn't sure she could handle it if he went back to drinking because of her. Still, there was nothing she could do about the Travel, and her job was just as much a part of her life, even if both caused him to worry.
She pulled the phone from its cradle on the wall and dialed, taking the headset with her back to the couch where she folded herself into the corner.
It rang eight times before he picked up, so when he answered with "Hello?" she had a mouthful of cracker to speak around.
"Hey, Dad."
"Katie, thank god."
"I'm back."
"Where were you? Why were you gone so long?"
"I was in 1985."
There was a long pause in the already awkward conversation.
"Did you," her father started. He took a breath and timidly asked, "Did you see her?"
Kate wanted to cry. She hadn't even thought of that. She'd been there for seven hours, and— "No."
Another pause.
"I'm glad you're home, Kate."
"Thanks, Dad. I'm sorry I was gone so long, I was only there for a few hours—"
"No, don't apologize. You can't help it, I know."
"How are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm actually—I have to go. I have a meeting."
"That's...that's great, Dad. Good. Okay, I'll see you. Maybe now I'm back, we can get lunch this weekend?"
"I'd like that, Katie."
They hung up, and Kate curled further into her couch, fighting the knot in her throat and the tears in her eyes. She'd tried before, of course, to find her mother. But she never did manage to get it right. And this time she hadn't even tried looking.
She fell asleep on the couch, as exhaustion and the feeling of loss all over again overwhelmed her.
xXx
The next morning she awoke to someone pounding on her door at seven o'clock.
Still wearing the sweats she'd pulled on last night when she got home, she approached the front door while reaching for her side table with her spare gun. She checked it was there, and then looked through the peep hole. It was Esposito.
Wiping at her no doubt red-rimmed eyes, she pulled the chain and flipped the deadbolt.
"Esposito, hey, what are you doing here? I'm on sick leave right now—"
"Cut the crap, Beckett." Straight to the point then. Great.
"Come in, then," she gestured him in through the door, and bolted it behind him. "What are you doing here?" she repeated.
"Three weeks, Beckett!"
"I know, I'm sorry, I just really haven't been feeling well, and Montgomery—"
"You've been gone for three freaking weeks, Kate! Where the hell were you? Don't," he interrupted her protest, "say you were here. I stopped by during week two. You weren't here. You didn't answer any calls. Do you know how I know you're still alive? Your dad called me last night, because I asked him to let me know when you would be available. Lanie has been worried sick, because you haven't been returning her calls either. You guys were supposed to have a dinner date last week? You didn't even call to cancel."
When he paused for breath, she jumped on her chance to argue her case. "Esposito, I'm sorry, but I couldn't. I really was sick, I was in the hospital—"
"No. You weren't. I checked." He folded his arms across his chest, and she had no doubt that he had looked into every hospital record in the city.
She looked away from him, mumbled out, "I don't use my full name, I check in under my middle—"
"No. You didn't. I checked that too." His tone suggested that she ought to start telling the truth or he was going to drag her down to the station and put her into interrogation.
"Esposito, please..." She was running out of excuses.
He uncrossed his arms and stepped toward her. "I thought we were friends, Beckett." She cringed. "I know I haven't been at the Twelfth that long, but I thought we were friends. Colleagues at the least. But there we were, on an arrest, supposed to have each other's backs, and you disappeared. You disappeared for three weeks, and we found a suspect with your gun and your badge. What happened, Kate? How on Earth could some mysterious medical condition—that you won't talk about—cause you to leave in the middle of an arrest, letting a suspect get your gun, leaving your partner without backup?"
"He what?" she whispered, shocked. "Daniels... he got my gun? My badge? Where are they now, did you get them back? Did he... did he hurt anybody with them? What happened at the arrest?"
Esposito glared at her. "Oh, now you want answers. Well, how about we start with this: What the hell 'medical condition' do you have, Beckett?"
"Chrono-impairment," came the answer, but Kate hadn't moved her mouth. The response came from the naked woman raising herself off the floor in the entryway where she had just appeared. Esposito's eyes widened at the woman who looked exactly like Beckett and appeared out of thin air. "It's called chrono-impairment, Javi, and yes, it is a real condition, and I'm sorry for leaving you without a partner in the Daniels case and I'm sorry I didn't call, and—" Naked Kate Beckett in the doorway stopped trying to explain because fully dressed Kate Beckett had just caught Detective Javier Esposito as he passed out.
Friday, June 26, 2009 (Kate is 29, Rick is 38)
When Esposito recounted the story of how he found out about Beckett's disease to Ryan, Lanie, and Castle in the dimly lit bar, his version differed slightly from hers.
"And then he fainted," Kate finished for him.
"I did not. Faint." He glanced at Lanie and then at Ryan. They were holding back laughter, as was Castle. "You didn't see what I saw, I mean she just, and then, but—ah, you never believe me anyway. What did you do, Castle?"
"I was six," Castle said. "And I already believed in everything. She was awesome."
Ryan volunteered, "I still haven't seen it, just heard stories. And experienced Beckett missing for weeks and weeks and weeks—"
"Okay, okay."
Lanie spoke up next, when Esposito turned his eyes to her. "Well, I knew from before it started happening again. She told me around the time we started meeting at crime scenes. So I didn't actually witness... until one time she showed up at my doorstep. But I think she was from pretty far in the future, like maybe fifty or so, because she was—"
"Lanie, you've tried to tell me this before, and I've told you, I don't want to know. Knowing is dangerous. It makes bad things worse and makes my life miserable."
"Alright I won't tell them. Let's hear about the past, then. When and where was the first time you Traveled?"
A/N—Thanks for reading!
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Warnings for the complete story: If you've read/seen The Time Traveler's Wife, you know the story covers a lifetime. So this story may involve all the things that come with life, including heartbreak, marriage, children, and death. Also, some life things have happened so while this story will be updating, it will be updating slowly. Apologies.
Disclaimer, to be applied to this and all future chapters of this story—I do not own or profit from Castle, The Time Traveler's Wife, 8 1/2, Nine, or Transistor (or any other existing work mentioned in this story). Just borrowing words and characters for a while.
Cover art by dtrekker (Thank you!)