7: distinctive dichotomy

He stared at her, stunned into silence, his eyes piercing, and her heart vaulted in her chest, shock setting in about what she just said. To this man, who wasn't-

"I… I shouldn't have said that," she backpedaled quickly, her voice unsteady, hoping that she had not just scared away the only person she trusted with her inappropriate comment. He was married. Married.

He was still staring; the silence between them heavy, and her throat was clogged with heartache, the taste of tears on her tongue. "I'm sorry."

"So we are…" He cleared his voice, waved a hand between them in a vague gesture. "I mean, you and he are… an item?"

"No," she admitted, caught the bewilderment in his eyes. "I mean, not yet. We're…" Kate dropped her head, staring at her fingers, kneaded together so hard that her knuckles turned white. She couldn't find any words that would explain the intricacies of their entangled lives.

"It's complicated."

"More complicated than this?" He asked incredulously. She looked up and stared at her, his eyebrows knitted together.

She sighed. "Good point." Feeling drained of words or coherent thought, she leaned back against the bench, closed her eyes for a moment. The bright rays of the sun danced along her eyelids, yellow warmth sinking into her skin.

Kate heard his breath hitch in his chest, as if he was gasping for air, and she gathered her courage, looked back over at him. Yet instead of the doubt she expected to see etched into his features, the familiar twinkle had stolen into his eyes. He was smirking at her.

It was so recognizable, so comforting, the mirth in his smile, the silent encouragement to not take herself too seriously that out of their own volition, the corners of her mouth quirked up.

"Stop it," she poked him in the shoulder, "it's not funny." He winced, rubbed his shoulder but the grin was still firmly planted on his face, and even she couldn't keep the smile out of her voice. She glanced at him and when their eyes caught, they both burst out in laughter.

The hilarity rolled through her in waves, laced with the ridiculousness, the incredulity over what her life had become. The tension she had held inside for days poured out of her in roaring quakes until her sides hurt and tears streamed down her cheeks. Kate laughed and laughed and when it finally subsided, she was left feeling weak with exhaustion, but her muscles had loosened, the tension in her shoulder lessened.

She wiped the moisture off her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Maybe a little bit funny…"

She sank back against the bench, looking out into the trees, mirroring his position. They sat in silence for a while, only the combined sounds of their calming breaths between them.

Eventually she swiveled her head, watched his profile for a few moments, her eyes tracing the shape of his nose, his forehead. Her fingertips tingled, needing to trail along his eyebrow and down his cheek, his face at once familiar and strangely foreign to her. He noticed her staring, turned to look at her.

"Why do you believe me so easily?" She asked quietly, her voice serious once more.

"Didn't you expect me to believe you?"

"Yes," she acknowledged. The truth was that while she had worried about it, deep down in her heart she hadn't been able to fathom that he might not have believed her. "Well the Castle I know would have. But you don't know me."

He winked at her, a glimpse of playful Castle shining through. "I have a thing for damsels in distress."

She snorted. "You do not. You like strong, self-assured women."

"And that's why I believed you."

"What?"

"You were just… so instinctual, about everything." He looked at her, earnest, serious as he spoke, and she couldn't stop her heart from hammering in her chest. "The way you interacted with me, the sense of familiarity I got when you weren't censoring your words or your looks. How you just 'knew' Gina, more than just her name. How accustomed you were with my loft, the way you moved around, like you had been there before."

She shouldn't be surprised how closely he had been watching her every move, and yet she hadn't even noticed. She had been so focused on trying to be careful, inconspicuous and he had still seen right through her.

"It just… added up. And then of course I googled you," he continued, a small grin now lacing his voice. "Didn't find any incidents of disconcerting behavior, no criminal record or history of mental illness, so here we are."

"Yeah. Here we are." She sighed, smiling at him quietly for a few moments; allowed herself to feel the warmth of his presence, the comfort of him by her side. Without thinking she dropped her hand on top of his leg, her fingers squeezing his thigh, the relief a tangible, fluttery thing in her voice. "Thank you."

"Eh don't mention it." He gestured a hand through the air dismissively, winking at her. "I'm a sucker for a good story."

She grinned at the truth of that, but couldn't stop the harsh stab of sadness that lanced through her simultaneously. Her Castle would've entwined his fingers with hers, would've held her hand. She could almost feel the ghost of the comfort of his touch. She swallowed hard.

"Tell me about your books."

The smile fell off his face, the same darkness that she had noticed earlier dimming the spark his eyes. An icy fist clamped around her heart and she clenched her fingers around his thigh subconsciously, watching him closely. Her touch seemed to draw him out of his reverie; he focused on her, his face relaxing incrementally.

"Well." He turned slightly more toward her, his body positioned in his 'storyteller pose' with which she was so achingly familiar.

"My characters are Sean Lighthouse and John Ossining, homicide detectives at the NYPD. Based on Ryan and Esposito, as you know." He caught her eyes, gave her a small head nod before he continued his tale. "In the first book they get partnered together; neither is thrilled about it for various reasons but over the course of their cases they grow to trust each other, become true partners. There's love interests for each along the way, different issues, but the main thread of the series is the development, the journey of their 'bromance'." Here he made air quotes, hiked an eyebrow at her, and she smirked at him, wondered what the boys thought of that.

"The precinct calls them 'Lightning,' so the first book is titled Lightning Storm and the second Lightning Strikes Twice."

"No third book yet?" Kate questioned, remembering Heat Rises and that, in her universe, he was already working on his fourth installment of Nikki.

Castle's eyes turned stormy, dark blue and knitted brows, and he turned away, stared at the trees in the distance. He shook his head. "I'm writing on the third now, but I was… blocked," he admitted in a tortured voice.

Her heart hurt at his stark pain, dark ruthless strands that seemed to strangle his happiness and boyish excitement. Despite the warmth of the sun, chills crawled over her skin.

"What happened?" She remembered the other day – had it been just yesterday? Espo and Lanie, Karpowski, but no- "Ryan?" Kate croaked, his name a question even though she suddenly, vividly knew.

He turned, lifted his eyes to her, pools of wretched, stormy blue. "He's dead, Kate."

She gasped, the rush of tears flooding her eyes, hot and unstoppable. Ryan… Oh God, her friend, her partner, her- brother.

Dropping his forearms to his thighs, Castle sat hunched over, dropped his head. "Got killed because of me," he continued, low and agonized. "Because of the books. It's my fault he's dead."

She couldn't breathe, felt like she was suffocating, her lungs squeezed tightly with the clogging pressure of tears and she dug her nails into her thighs, the pain stark, the only thing that still seemed to ground her. "What… I mean, how…," she stammered, gasped, the sorrow threatening to swallow her whole.

"Psychopath focused on them, sought them out, played with them like they were prey…" His voice was pained, disgusted, his fingers clenched together so rigidly that the knuckles turned white. "Espo was okay, but by the time they figured it all out, it was too late for Ryan. He had walked into a trap; got electrocuted. Hit by lightning, so to speak."

The words seemed to echo through the silence between them. Kate sucked in a harsh breath, painful as it expanded in her chest, trying to suppress the images that flooded her brain, trying not to see the gruesome fate that had befallen Ryan. Hatred, boiling anger welled through her blood, for this world, this universe that had taken him away. Had taken away everything that made her her.

"I didn't even know." Castle's words drew her from her reverie, his voice lowered, resigned while he stared at his fingers, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the nail of the other in small circles, over and over again. "Had to find out from the paper." He spat out the last word with disgust, and she could only imagine how much the tabloids would've focused on the connection between his books and a psychotic serial killer.

"You weren't there?"

"No. I had stopped shadowing them months ago. I mean, we talked occasionally, but… you lose touch, you know." He kept kneading his fingers and suddenly she couldn't stop herself, she reached over and cradled her palm over his hands, needed to feel the warmth of his skin, a tangible connection. It seemed to center him and he drew a deep breath into his lungs, finally looked at her again.

"I went to his funeral. And then I couldn't write. I never intended to put either of them in harm's way but he died because of me, because I put them in the spotlight. I was drowning; couldn't forgive myself for my arrogance, insinuating myself into their lives like that."

She didn't think she had ever heard Castle sound quite as defeated and her heart felt cracked open. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, draw his wide chest against her. "What changed?"

"His girlfriend, Jenny, met with me one day, told me how much he had loved my books, how proud he had been to be a part of them, how he wouldn't blame me, wouldn't want me to quit."

The corner of her mouth quirked up at that, recalling the sweet connection that had always been palpable between Jenny and Ryan, and how well the young woman had known him, even though their relationship must've been much fresher when he died. The thought froze her once more.

"And Gina," he continued, and Kate blinked up at him in surprise. "She's my editor too, oh but I guess you know that?" She nodded. "Yeah. She kicked my ass in gear, pushed me through… She was there when I needed someone. It helped, you know?" He remained contemplative for a moment; she wondered if he expected an answer from her but she had nothing. "We got remarried a few months after that."

Remarried? So even in this life they had been divorced before. It occurred to her that she could never figure out what had really drawn him back to Gina; what happened in their realm that made him need to hold on to her? Her heart hammered, the thoughts wild in her mind, speculative as she recalled his offer to the Hamptons so shortly before. She ruthlessly pushed the idea from her mind, couldn't fathom… Not here, not now where he wasn't hers.

"It wasn't your fault, you know." Kate squeezed his hand, her tone insistent as she offered him what she had, what she knew to be the truth. She had told him the same once before, when they were them.

Castle tilted his head at her, acknowledging her words. "I know. Now. I realized that had it not been for the books, the killer would have simply fixated on other victims. Might still be out there killing people, with a lesser team of detectives working the case. So I'm writing again. To honor them with my words."

She nodded, a soft smile widening her mouth almost automatically at the steely determination in his voice. So much of this felt eerily familiar that she consciously had to remind herself where she was.

"You know, in my universe," she admitted, needing to give him this. "You were the one who figured it out in time, and you saved my life."

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes so clear and blue that her heart tumbled, her skin prickled. A smile spread slowly across his face, tentative and tender, all heart, and her breath caught in her chest. "Really?"

A nod was all she could manage. "Yeah."

His smile turned brighter, pleased, and he flipped his hand over to hold hers within his grasp, grazed his thumb across her knuckles. "Thank you."

It gave her whiplash, the dichotomy of this moment, when instead of Kate thanking him for saving her life, he thanked her for giving him words.

Kate stared, couldn't stop staring at the spark of his eyes, the wide, inviting slant of his mouth. She felt the air prickle between them, hot and charged, her head drawing closer.

He cleared his throat, drew away and her mind cleared at the same instant, flashing with bright warning signs. Shit, no.

"I bet Gates just loved that," he broke the silence, his voice raspy at first but firmer as he went on. "Me this close on a case with you?"

Her mind stumbled, trying to keep up with the unraveling thread. "Gates?"

"Yeah, she always kept a very tight lid on me. Barely ever let me out into the field with the boys."

But no, how? "What about Captain Montgomery?"

"Montgomery?" He looked at her questioningly. "I don't know a- oh wait!" He pulled his phone out of his pocket, started tapping at the screen. "Let me look real quick…"

Her mind was turning, her stomach roiling with nausea. This didn't make sense.

"Oh here, yeah." Castle turned back toward her, pointing at his phone. "I knew I had heard that name before. He was killed in action a couple of years ago. Big story on the news. Several people had shot each other at some hangar. He was the Captain at the 8th Precinct, I think…"

Castle trailed off, concern in his eyes as he focused his gaze on her. This was too much, she couldn't… This made no sense, for him to be dead unless-

Kate jumped off the bench as if burned, cinched the belt of her trench coat tightly around her waist. Her heart was racing. "Castle I've gotta go."

"What?" He stood up and faced her, worry in his eyes. "Kate?"

"I'm sorry," she stammered, but the churning of her brain wouldn't calm, overwhelming her with dark questions, the unstoppable force of the quest. She needed to figure out, to know… Kate lifted her eyes to him, hoped he would understand, find the apology that her words were incapable of conveying. "I'm okay, it's just... I have to go."

The world was a blur as it flew by the windows of the cab. Kate was staring at the buildings, lights and billboards flashing by, unseeing while she mentally catalogued, collected evidence, and tried to swallow the anxiety churning in her stomach. The ride was blissfully quick and she paid the cabbie, walked back into the university building. She had to force her feet not to run to reach the library.

Kate knew she'd find a wealth of information through the library's database and so she signed in to the system, began the hunt. She started with Montgomery's shooting, tapped into the various articles that she discovered related to the tragedy from the more reputable newspapers but there was nothing in them that she didn't already know. It had all happened in this world just as it had in hers, the same players left dead, gunned down in an airplane hangar with no clues, no leads, at least none that were reported.

Nothing of this made sense. If her mother didn't get killed, why did Montgomery die? She took a breath, tried to organize her thoughts into a timeline. She supposed that the mafia kidnappings must have happened years before just the same, the corrupt ring of cops bending justice to their whim, but if her mother was not the one to look into it, die for it, then how had it ever come to light again? Why the shooting, the sacrifice?

She went back in time, searched for the names of all the players she knew, Raglan and McAllister, Bob Armen and Pulgatti, then she moved on to the hired killers, Coonan, Lockwood, even Maddox though she knew it was just an assumed name. Her eyes flew over the lines, raced across article after article; she read and read, clicked through every new source that popped up but there was frustratingly little to find.

On a whim, she searched the database for stabbings, narrowed down her search to the first months of 1999. Then she found it, a small report; she almost missed it because it would seem insignificant to anybody but her: George Stevens, only 26 years old, a young lawyer barely out of law school who had worked for Legal Aid, had been stabbed in an alley in January 1999. The murder was chalked up to random gang violence.

Kate choked on the knowledge, tried to breathe through the nausea. So someone had looked into Pulgatti's case, someone had been killed just the same, only this time, it hadn't been her mother. Only one pawn had been moved differently in this random game of life, and all their existences were different, everything had changed.

The players were dead just the same.

No new leads.

The frustration rolled over her, like boulders that flattened her tenacity. Kate hadn't realized how desperately she had been clinging to the hope that she might glean something new, a different bit of information, just a small piece that would maybe, just maybe point her to a new direction, give her a new lead in her mom's case. Yet there was even less here, and what little information she could unearth told her nothing new, nothing tangible.

Kate pushed off the chair, hurried toward the nearest window and pulled it open, deeply inhaling the fresh spring air that streamed inside, tried to breathe, just breathe. To calm the ragged edges of her disappointment, the unending hopelessness of her quest.

Then it hit her, and how could she have forgotten, even for one moment? This wasn't her mother's case. Her mom wasn't dead! She was alive, happy at home just across town, and why was Kate sitting here, trying to solve this case all over again, and missing this, missing life?

Kate realized she was done. For once she no longer cared; it didn't matter who the Dragon was or if there even was a mysterious man in the background pulling the strings, she wanted to move past this, move on. She wanted to be done.

She went back to the desktop, closed file after file with almost meticulous precision. She logged out of the system, and then she left.