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Change of State
Back in the car, Castle drummed his fingers on the center console with impatience.
"Mr. Castle," she said.
She didn't snap. The even-keeled energy level this Captain maintained was seriously impressive. Or well, if Castle wasn't so annoyed, he'd be impressed. Beckett in those early days would have shot him a glare and made some comment about it, but the Captain merely said his name - calm, contained. To the point. It brooked no arguments.
The crackle of tension that usually rode in the car with them like a third passenger just wasn't here. No crackle. No spark.
No Kate to her.
This wasn't his Kate Beckett, and it had never been more obvious.
He did, however, stop drumming his fingers. She was still scary. Didn't quiet his nervous anticipation, his sinking suspicion that this wasn't going to be easy, but he quit drumming.
He couldn't reach her.
He'd always gotten a rise out of Beckett, a growl that later morphed into a roll of her eyes that became a closed-lipped smile that then flourished in a gorgeous, sweet grin.
Those growls came back in bed. He'd been thrilled to hear-
"Mr. Castle." A warning. No exasperation whatsoever, just that steady warning.
He'd been running his fingers over his knee, around and around, but he stopped that too. The sensation died, and the sense of her - his Kate - died as well.
He didn't know how to get to her, this Captain Beckett.
They were going to arrive at the coal factory at any moment. End of the line. No other places to check, no avenues left to this investigation. He had half-hoped to somehow open her eyes by now, but there'd been only silence.
He didn't know of any other way.
Her mother's case.
Castle swallowed roughly, watching the streets pass outside his window.
Her mother's case. There'd been a reaction last night, a set to her jaw and tension in her shoulders, a ripple in her eyes when she'd dug the ring out from under her shirt.
His heart was pounding. He gripped the door handle and couldn't fathom how he started a conversation like this.
"You better not vomit in my car."
He choked on a laugh, shot his eyes to her.
She was - improbably - smiling.
"I will do my best to not," he got out.
"Do you often get motion sick?"
"Never," he swore. He released the door and folded both hands in his lap over his seatbelt, stared into the city traffic. Enough going on that it kept his mind occupied, distracted by the futile attempt to make patterns out of the random chaos of people and cars.
"If you really are feeling sick, Mr. Castle, perhaps I should let you-"
"No, I'm - just wrestling with a personal crisis."
"No doubt. Mid-life crisis? Writer's block? Another public, drunken fight with a blonde your daughter's age?"
He gaped at her, stunned by the nastiness of her barb. Kate had always been snarky but never outright cruel.
Had she?
Maybe she had, and he in his fog of love-at-first-sight blindness hadn't heard it, hadn't felt it that way. Maybe Kate Beckett had always been this, and he'd just wanted to love her past those very firm walls she kept putting up.
Her mother's case.
That death and its injustice had built those walls, and they'd been the surest shot over them as well. Demolished every brick and mortar between them, it had, one way or another. His clumsy stepping in where he hadn't belonged had been - maybe - the only way to reach her.
"None of those. Instead, I've got an ethical question for you," he started, "since you're the head of a whole precinct and used to maintaining the NYPD's integrity."
"Is this about your unsubtle art of supposed psychic ability?"
Wow. It hurt. It did. Was it because his own fiancee was so far removed that this pale imitation of her could wound him with her un-sparked snark?
Un-sparked snark. Good one; almost alliteration. He'd have to remember it. Un-sparking snark? Un-sparked didn't quite get across the full meaning of the flatness of Captain Beckett, her affect gone dim, her too-reserved demeanor. She didn't engage. She-
"You actually have a question, Castle, or are we going to sit in awkward silence?"
"Awkward?" he hummed, filled with bright, beaming hope. If she felt something-
"Socially awkward, considering you foisted yourself off on me."
"Ah. Well, on to my ethical dilemma."
"I'm all ears."
She drove a little recklessly, this one. He gripped the door handle once more. "If a person had knowledge of a crime, say a decades old crime, but said nothing-"
"Let me be very clear - speak up."
"What?" he murmured, chest catching.
"If you have knowledge of a crime, no matter how old, speak up. No one is served by silence."
He closed his mouth.
"Mr. Castle, did you witness - wait, did you do something?"
"Me?" he squeaked.
"Keeping quiet makes you culpable," she said. Her voice was fraught with emotion. Well, for Captain Beckett it was. The tiniest sliver of a crack threaded through her words. "Ethically and morally, if not legally. There's been too much left unresolved."
"Unresolved."
"Victims' families need closure. Victims need closure. Even if the 12th could do nothing to prosecute, what you know might be the key to someone else's life."
The key to hers.
He didn't want to do this. He couldn't do this.
"What if there was no proof?" he murmured. But even as he spoke the words, he realized, horrifyingly, that there was.
In those elephants on parade on the captain's desk.
Oh, God.
"Proof isn't-"
"Is Captain Montgomery-" Castle cut himself off, cleared his throat, tried again. He could see the story in this universe unfolding so well. "Did he die? You took over as acting captain and the rest was history?"
"Montgomery?" she asked, sounding bewildered. "He retired."
He wouldn't cry. Not for Roy. That would be worse than- "Is he here?"
"Mr. Castle?" She looked horrified and he turned his head away, eyes on the passenger window. They were blocks from the coal factory.
"He's not off in Florida or - is he here?" he got out. He cleared his throat again, clenched his fist over his knee to keep from reaching for her. "Can we see him?" What would he say? You better tell her what you did or I will.
"He's not in Florida. Although he often winters in the Hamptons. But how do you even know-"
"In the Hamptons?" he barked, surprise like a shock of cold water. "How in the world can he afford that?"
The Captain slid him a sideways look and his heart began to race.
Third cop. Montgomery was the third cop and did she know? No, no, she couldn't possibly have changed that much, compromised that much.
"The salary for Captain can't be that high," he got out. Nudging. He could nudge, right? Come on, Beckett, where did he get the money for the Hamptons? He could push Beckett towards the right questions. That was infinitely more appealing that flat out accusing a state senator and making her own mentor complicit in it. "That's a lot of money."
"And it's none of your business."
Total shutdown. Damn it. Castle unwrapped his fingers from the fists he'd made, took a breath to smooth himself out. Her mother's case. This was the furthest they'd gotten in the way of real emotions in hours, and he couldn't let up now.
He'd seen Kate in the interrogation room enough times to know when he was on to something.
"What about - has Captain Montgomery ever made mention to you about - your mother's case?"
The car snapped to a halt, jerking Castle so painfully that his head whiplashed and the seatbelt caught his chest like a clothesline. He wheezed through the lancing pain and slitted his eyes, certain they'd been in an accident with Captain Bat-Out-of-Hell Beckett.
They were in the middle of the street, untouched, cars behind and around them honking and laying on their horns, angry and nasty comments hurtled at them for obstructing traffic.
"Kate?" he croaked, glancing over at her.
She was staring at him.
"Kate, you should - pull over or - you're in the middle of the street."
She turned her head to gaze out of the windshield but she made no other movement. She looked - shattered.
"Kate?" he husked. "Hey, babe, you need to get out of the street. Or switch places with me; I'll drive us-"
"You - what do you know about my mother's murder? I never told you about that. Why did you say - if someone knew, if someone knew about a crime - what-"
He reached out and closed his hands around hers at the wheel, but she whipped her head towards him, her pony tail catching his cheek like a slap. The grief filled her eyes in dark pools and she was drowning in it.
But still she struggled against the tide. Still she fought it. There was some Kate left in her yet.
"What do you know?" she rasped.
"Nothing, nothing, Kate. Nothing at all. Just drive. Please? It's only a block away."
She sucked in a breath, another, and then he felt the car ease forward as her foot came off the brake. But her fingers were blanched on the steering wheel.
He sank against his seat, hand over his chest where his heart was pounding a violent tattoo, but he couldn't speak.
He was too much a coward to tell Kate Beckett the truth.
They approached the coal plant in silence.
He didn't deserve her.
If he couldn't do this, he didn't deserve his wonderful, beautiful partner in any world.
He had to do this.
At the gate, Castle reached out and touched her hand. "Beckett-"
She spun around, flinty no-nonsense in her eyes. She had her phone out, he saw, and he stepped back, surprised. Her gaze zoned in on him, but she ducked her head as she spoke into the phone.
"Signs of activity here," she said. "Ryan? Yeah, get a team out here to cover us. We're going inside."
Castle cast a bewildered glance towards the factory, the chainlink fence obscuring the view before them. He didn't see what she saw, but she'd been focusing on the task at hand while he'd been wallowing in his own misery and guilt.
She hung up the phone and pulled out her weapon.
"What did you see?" he blurted out, poking his head up to see past the fence. Looked the same to him. Same big face on the sign, same nasty look to the loading bays at the side, the black layer of coal dust that coated everything.
The chainlink clattered and Castle glanced back to her; she was nudging open the chainlink with her shoulder, weapon drawn, but she had one hand pressed up at her sternum in an unconscious gesture Castle knew all too well.
He had a terrible thought. "Kate, have you - ever been shot?"
She cast him a completely bewildered look. "What? No."
He shook his head. "I meant - no, I don't know."
"Is that more of your psychic-"
"No," he got out, interrupting her. He reached out for the fence and jerked it open. "That's not in your future." Unless I tell you about your mother.
Then it was her future. And no plucky sidekick this time.
"Mr. Castle," she sighed. Beckett elbowed him aside to go first, scowling at him for his forwardness. He followed like a good boy but knowledge weighted him down, made his steps drag.
He had to tell her and trust that a mellowed Captain of the 12th Precinct could investigate her mother's case smartly, even if she was wounded. They were only halfway across the yard, but he had to do it now or lose his courage. So he reached out and grabbed her by the sleeve of her jacket. She huffed and turned, and the look on her face was much more like what he loved in Beckett.
Gave him hope.
"You asked if I knew," he said gravely. "If I had knowledge of a crime. I do. I know."
Her lips went white. Too late he remembered that she was armed, and worse, already unholstered, but he couldn't stop now or he'd never start again.
"Captain. I-"
"Are you part of it?" she broke.
Deja vu slithered over him hot and queasy and he held up both hands in a wary appeal. She braced the butt of her weapon in her other hand but she didn't raise it.
"No. Kate. No. I am not a part of this. I did some investigating on my own. Research."
"You did what?" No thunder, no fury in her eyes. He had never seen Kate so achingly, bleakly grief-filled.
"There are - others. Other victims." He had to think fast; he had to do this right. He couldn't hand it over on a silver platter because she would never swallow it. Just enough, a plausible story. He had to give this thing skin. "Kate, it wasn't just your mother murdered; it's more than that - just as you've always thought."
"What," she whispered. "What are you saying?"
"They were all connected to one case - one case your mother had taken on. A mafia muscle man named Pulgatti. He was set-up for a murder he actually didn't commit and your mother was hoping for an appeal based on new evidence. Evidence of a conspiracy-"
"Stop," she husked, turning away from him. "Stop. A conspiracy? Not everything has to be as fanciful as your books, Castle."
"It wasn't just research for fiction. It was - I was helping you. We did this together. The Kate Becektt of my universe has-"
"You don't know me. You don't know my mother, no matter how good a google search you did."
"Kate," he gritted out. "Just listen. Listen and look for yourself. I've spent years with you on this and it only gets worse. I know who killed her."
"Then who?" she snapped, halting just before the building to spin around. "Who murdered my mother? Tell me. The one damn question of my life and you get to waltz in and just read it out like the end of a boring novel?"
"No, Kate. Never."
"Who?"
"William Bracken."
She broke into a hysterical laugh, pressing a fist between her eyes. "Of course," she said groaned. There was something so hopeless in her voice. "Of course. The senator. Right. And you have a gift. And a mystical universe in which your alibi for those murders is that we were-"
"Kate," he insisted. "Give me a chance to explain."
"Nothing you say can explain this," she rasped. "Digging into my personal life, using my mother's death like it's your playground. This isn't recess, Castle. This is my life."
"It's mine too," he choked. "Kate, it's been mine. I am right here. I have been right here. For every terrible discovery we made, I was your partner. The evidence is right there, right there on your desk, has been with you for all this time-"
"Stop. No more games-"
"I know; it's hard to believe. When Montgomery told us the truth about what he did that night, I couldn't-"
"Don't you dare drag his name through your mud," she hissed. She jerked away from him, stalking towards the afternoon shadows extending from the factory wall. "You should be gone by the time I get-"
She broke off sharply and he hustled the last step to reach her, to clear the piercing sunlight, only to step into the shadows and find a gun pointed at her head.
A man stood in the deep darkness of the front loading bay, his weapon steadily aimed at Beckett.
Castle halted, hands lifting in surrender. He eased a step closer to the Captain, but the man cast him a soulless look. "Don't move another inch, or I blow a hole in the lady cop."
Castle froze.
The man reached back and rapped on the metal of the garage door and it began to whine as it rolled up.
Back-up was on the way, he chanted to himself. Back-up was on the way, and the boys would save their asses just like they always did.
Castle swallowed as he faced the guns in the room.
A coterie of suits came flooding around the dormant machines and stopped before them. One man was particularly well-groomed, fingers twitching like the coal dust got to him. The immaculate man nodded. "That's him."
"Marcus Lark," Castle blurted out. "Lark Development. Really? You're behind this." Castle eyed the distance between himself and the briefcase in the man's hand.
That had to be it. Castle's ticket home.
He wanted, very badly, to go home. Okay, Clarence, it's a wonderful life and all that. Now send me home.
"What do you know about this artifact, Mr. Castle?"
"Lark, you're going to jail," Beckett called out. "Just have your men put their weapons down before it gets worse for you. We can talk about a deal."
But Lark was ignoring her. He opened the briefcase and, just as Castle had thought, the medallion was nestled inside the foam. "You know what this is. You know what it does. Tell me, Mr. Castle."
"He has no idea-"
"I really don't," he said quickly. No way was he letting Lark vanish with it; he'd never get home. "It belongs in a museum."
"Castle."
He ignored Beckett too. "It's nothing to me. A medallion."
"I'm not buying that pathetic routine. Do you know how many years I spent looking for this?" Lark hissed. "I know what it does; I know its power."
"Its power? What is this? Indiana Jones?"
"Castle," Beckett hissed.
Lark was glowering; he advanced another step, intimidating only because of the fervor in his eyes. The zealotry. "I've heard whispered secrets. I've chased it halfway around the globe. Alien technology they said, quantum anomalies, someone else explained. I've spent millions of dollars and decades of my life untangling legend from truth."
"I could do without the grandstanding," Beckett muttered, so obvious in her ploy to draw attention that no one even looked her way.
Castle's eyes were fixed on that medallion. It would get him home. To his own universe. His own Kate. His life again.
"Incans believed that it was a gateway to the gods, but as you've discovered, Mr. Castle, we're not gods over here, are we? It's a doorway to infinite possibilities, all the universes, and it's mine."
"Sounds like cheating," Castle said. He was two feet from that briefcase now. If he lunged for it and it worked, he'd be home.
If it didn't work, he'd be dead.
"What does any of this have to do with Castle?" Beckett snapped.
Lark turned his eyes to her, a flickering measure of disdain. "My attorney overheard him at the precinct last night. I checked up on you, Mr. Castle. Wildly strange behavior for you, so either you've had a psychotic break, or this isn't your universe."
Kate, for all her bluster and determination to draw their focus away from the civilian, had suddenly gone quiet.
Castle shifted his gaze to her and saw her staring at him. Complete incomprehension.
His Kate would have at least thought about it. His Kate would never be this closed off, shut down.
Never.
He wanted to go home.
Castle turned his head. "I can show you but it's not precise. It's - I need to touch it, get a better feel for the power."
"No. You tell me how it works."
He hesitated.
Lark lifted an eyebrow, a gesture of his fingers to the men with guns. "Shoot her."
"No!" Castle lurched in front of Beckett. "No, wait. I don't know how it works. That's the truth. But I can guess. I can recreate what I did to get here."
"Castle," she hissed.
"Stop stalling."
"I just touched it. I grabbed it. I was thinking maybe she would've been better off without me, and it took me here where - where she is. It was random. You can't control the where-"
"It's not random," Lark bit out, his neck straining. "It can't be random. I need a specific destination; a time where I didn't - Tell me."
"I just held it in my hand. I can - let me hold it now and I'll try." Just let him get back to her. He could still finagle this; he could charm his way home. "Let me see if I'm right and then it's your turn."
Lark turned away. "This is pointless. Kill them both."
Castle spun at the click of the gun, saw the weapon leveled at Kate, and he dived in front of her.
Just as he'd dived for her in a too-green cemetery one summer.
This time, just as then, he was too late. His angle was wrong and his shoulder hit her chest and brought them down, but he'd felt the moment the bullets hit a body.
He felt the blood, the pain, he felt it clattering around in his ribs even as he heard the shouts from the cavalary - too late. NYPD! Get down! On your knees!
"Mr. Castle? Castle, look at me."
He opened his eyes and realized he was crushing her.
It was so hard to move. His shoulder had gotten her in the sternum, but his body had slumped half on top of her. He couldn't make himself move.
"Why would you do that?" she whispered. Her hands framed his face for an instant and then she was fumbling at his clothes.
"Not here," he mumbled. "Wait till we get home."
"Oh, Castle," she said. It was hard to hear; there was a lot of noise and rushing in his head. She was rolling him off of her and he hit the concrete with a jolt that knocked the breath from him. "No. no. Richard Castle. Look at me."
He felt her fingers and then the wicked pressure, her whole body leaning into his to staunch the blood, and he found her eyes as they skimmed his face. He'd been shot. This time it had been him.
"You saved my life," she said, as if determined. Determined for what? It was so hard to keep his eyes open. "Rick? Hey, look at me. Ambulance is on its way. You saved my life, Mr. Castle, and I will not let you die. You hear me?"
He really just wanted to go home. He wished he could see her, just touch her face. This Kate wasn't the same.
"Hey, stop. No, no. Mr. Castle. Castle, come on." She sounded so sad all of the sudden. "You promised - promised to be here. My mother's case. You said you've been right here. You can't leave me now - you've hardly told me anything."
He couldn't get his lungs to fill. He should tell her, while he could. Tell her the truth.
He shouldn't be a coward. Kate Beckett didn't love a coward; she pursued the truth. He had to tell her the truth.
He found his fingers smearing across her beautiful neck, bright trails of blood. "I love you," he garbled. "I love you, Kate."
It was the truth.
Even if he would never see her again.
X
(so ends part one)
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