A Better Fate


Kate checked the street before she crossed, lifted her head to look at the building. She hardly remembered it. Yesterday when Coonan hadn't answered, she'd thought maybe she'd gotten the address wrong, so she'd looked it up again to be sure. Funny, because she remembered so many things about the Coonan case - so many details engraved forever in her memory - but Jack Coonan's residence was not one of them.

She wondered if it was just that it'd been five years, or if it was that she'd gone back five years. Was her memory loss a product of traveling through time (oh, shit, she sounded insane, even to herself), or a product of time itself?

The building was actually fairly unnoticeable, six or seven floors, modern and rather nice-enough-looking; not at all what you would expect when you knew anything about Coonan and his Westies connections.

She pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, and climbed the flight of stairs that stood between her and the building's front door.

Today there was an official-looking guy in the lobby, unlike yesterday, a man in his sixties who had abundant grey hair and high eyebrows that made him look perpetually astonished - lobby security or doorman or something. She told him she was here to see Jack Coonan, and he shook his head.

"Sorry, lady, but Mr. Coonan ain't here. In fact, I haven't seen him at all in the last week. Got no idea where he might have run off to - you see, when people here go on holiday, they usually let me know, so I'll hold the paper so it won't pile up outside the door. But Mr. Coonan, nothing; not a word. He's a mysterious man, that one-"

"You're absolutely sure he's not here, then?" Kate didn't know what to believe; she remembered Coonan had died holed up in his place, which meant he had to be here at some point. He didn't answer the door yesterday, but he could just be avoiding visitors. Was he already here, and the doorman didn't know?

It was possible.

"I'm sure he's not here," was the answer she got.

Kate bit her lower lip, considered her options.

"I'm sorry," the doorman told her. "We've got a pretty strict policy about not letting people up without the tenant to ID them. I mean, I told exactly the same to his brother who was here the other day-"

"His brother?" Dick Coonan. Kate's stomach flipped.

"Yep. Doesn't matter if you're family or not; if the person you've come to see isn't in, Joe can't let you through."

Shit. Shit. Dick Coonan had been here. What if Jack was already dead up there?

But if the doorman hadn't let Dick in-

Oh, who was she kidding. Dick Coonan probably know other ways to get in, ways that didn't include sweet-talking good ol' Joe. Joe who hadn't even been here yesterday to guard the elevators.

"Joe," she said, moving closer, choosing her words carefully. "I'm...a little worried about Jack. See, I was talking to his girlfriend just yesterday-"

"Oh, Molly, you mean? Molly's such a sweetheart. Always stops to talk me, always a kind word. Really, if all girls were like her-"

"Yes, yes, you're right. Molly's wonderful. And, you know, she's very worried about Jack. He hasn't called her, and she hasn't seen him around - she's afraid something's happened to him."

"Something. You mean - something bad?"

"Yes, Joe, something bad." She was fairly sure that getting sneaked up on and then stabbed multiple times by your younger brother counted as something bad.

"Oh," the man said, obviously processing the information. He lifted a hand to his forehead, scratched his temple.

"You-" Kate hesitated, but she might as well give it a shot. "You probably have a master copy of all the keys, right? Do you think you could maybe use it, just check that he's passed out upstairs or worse?"

Joe looked absolutely torn. She almost felt bad for him.

"Ah, see, I'm not really supposed to do that... I might even lose my job if people found out. I mean, I suppose I could let the police use the key, but..." He mulled over that, and she didn't offer up the information. "Then again, if it's for darling Molly, and she's worried sick-"

"She is," Kate confirmed with a nod. "She's really afraid."

Joe heaved a deep sigh, relented.

"Okay. Okay. You wait for me here, yeah? I'll grab the key, go upstairs. It won't take long."

"Sure," Kate said with relief. "Thank you."

"Anything for little Molly," the man said with a fond, begrudging smile, and then he was retrieving a keyring from a drawer, heading for the elevator.

Kate leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and prayed.


The place was empty; no trace of Jack.

Kate stared at Joe, disbelieving but oh, so grateful. She remembered the body sprawled on the living room floor, the pool of blood underneath it; there was no way even Joe could have missed it.

"Oh, Molly's going to be so relieved," she said, earning a smile from the man. "Thank you so much."

"Ah, don't mention it. And tell her I said hi."

"I will," Kate assured, although she had no plan to see Molly again. "Thanks."

She walked out of the building, stunned, heart pounding in her chest. Jack Coonan wasn't dead in his apartment. Jack Coonan was...alive somewhere. Oh, god. So she'd managed, right? She'd managed to change things?

For now.

She needed - what was today's date again? December 29th. Shit, shit, she couldn't remember when exactly she had gotten the Coonan case; she had been trying all day yesterday to pinpoint it, but she couldn't be sure.

There was another issue, too, the question of how long Jack had been dead when she'd been called to the scene; as long as she remembered neither of those things, she couldn't really hope to-

Oh god.

She was walking up the street where Jack lived, slowly, trying to decide what to do, and right in front of her, right here - was Dick Coonan.

Her breath stuttered in her lungs; he was coming towards her, long, efficient strides, his face ducked into the collar of his coat as if he were trying not to be noticed. He probably was.

The man who had killed her mother.

Oh god. What was she supposed to do?

She wanted nothing more than to grab him, drag him into an alley, put a gun to his temple and ask Who hired you over and over and over again, until she got him to answer something other than, Forget it, you'll never touch him; he'll bury you.

Until she got the truth from him. Even if she had to kill him for it.

But doing that would get Beckett in trouble-

And yet, what better way to keep Jack alive. Kill Dick. Be done with it.

After all, what did she have to lose?

Her blood sizzled in her veins, whispered in her ears, called for justice, answers-

Dick Coonan walked right past her.

For a split second, he looked into her eyes; she saw calculation and cold nothing there, dead eyes, the eyes of a man to whom the word life had lost all meaning, if it had ever held one. And then he was gone and shit, he had noticed her-

He would remember her face. He would put it together just like he had last time.

She was certain of it.

Shit.

She kept walking, smothered the part of her that yearned to follow him, corner him, take him out - it was bad enough as it was. She had to think of the present Beckett.

He had noticed her.


The Other Kate didn't have a phone. It made Castle nervous, which made Beckett irritated with him, which meant he flinched every time she lifted her hand - flinched and ducked to cover his tender ears.

"Castle," she gritted out, glaring at him. "Stop fidgeting. Stop looking guilty. I know you're worried about her - no use trying to hide it."

"I'm worried about her because she stopped breathing twice this morning and then-"

"Castle."

He shut his mouth and straightened up in his chair. Beckett was reviewing the log notes from the locker because she thought her counterpart was trying to trick them. Vong was deadly silent on the names of those involved in his drug smuggling, and Castle knew that was pissing her off.

"What if we let him go?" he said suddenly, an idea coming to him.

Her head snapped up, eyes darting to his. "What do you mean?"

"Let Vong walk out of prison. We could follow him - I bet he runs straight to whoever is supplying him the heroin."

"Whoever supplies him the heroin is somewhere in Hong Kong. Not here."

"But he gives that heroin to someone here. He's not selling it himself, is he?"

Beckett's face cleared a little, eyes on some inner vision. "He's not. You're right. He's the middleman; he's the shipping company and that's it." She bit her bottom lip, then gave him a fierce look. "Honestly whoever is getting the drugs here - they probably own the whole line, the warehouse in Hong Kong where Vong's dvds are made and whoever it is here that receives it."

He grinned at her, feeling proud of himself. "So. Cut him loose. See where he runs."

Beckett grinned back. "I gotta get permission from Vice to mess with their guy, but I bet they'll let me. Since we collared him."

His whole face broke into a smile at we even though she could mean her and her team, but still. Hope. More hope. There was a we.

"Then let's go."


Beckett sweet-talked the guys in Vice who had taken over the case. She laid out their plan, made up some b.s. about a potential murderer in the operation, and discovered that the Vice guys had been plotting out the same idea so they could flip Vong - not just follow him.

Castle kept shooting the coterie of detectives these testosterone-laced looks, but Beckett elbowed her way past their machismo posturing and headed for the elevator.

Castle hurried to follow her, but one of the Vice detectives called her back. She gave Castle a nod to keep going and stepped towards the guy's desk, crossing her arms and hoping this wasn't some kind of stunt.

"I got a friend in Robbery who's noticed you, Beckett."

He what?

Beckett blinked hard and opened her mouth, but sounds weren't coming out.

"Good guy, single. Saw you beating the shit out of a punching bag. Might try talking to him."

Her heart slowed to nothing. "You trying to set me up?" she laughed, felt it fall flat even as she tried.

The detective shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly, tried to aww, shucks her. But he still had those expectant eyes, and she realized he was running a message, acting as courier.

"What is this? Sixth grade?" she scoffed, but her tension spiked the moment she saw Castle step away from the elevator and back towards them. Like he was coming to check and see what the hold up was.

"Sure. So you got an answer for him?"

Beckett had a sudden flash of that ring on her finger, Kate's finger, and the way she'd looked at Castle-

"Tell your friend I'm not available," she got out quickly, and turned, knowing even as she did that her glance to Castle said too much, all the wrong things, it wasn't like that-

(yet)-

"I see that now," the detective said loudly, calling out to her as she headed for her shadow, her heart strangely pounding.

Castle gave her a look, an eyebrow raised and his gaze darting over her shoulder to the assholes in Vice, but she only shook her head and turned him around.

"Lock-up," she grit out.


"You can go, Vong." Beckett sauntered up to the cell, paperwork in hand.

But Johnny Vong didn't want to leave. He scurried away the moment they slid back the cage door.

"No. Not-uh. You cannot let me out there."

"What's the matter, Vong? Afraid?" Castle smirked.

"You let me go and that guy will think I've talked."

"That guy?" Beckett pounced, stalking forward as she eyed Vong. "What guy, Johnny?"

He swallowed hard and glanced past her to Castle, like Castle was going to save him.

"What guy, Johnny? Who're you afraid of?"

"No-no one. Nobody. No. I just think prison is the best place for me, right now. All those investors, you know, they'll think I've fleeced them, but the real estate scheme is solid, you tell Detective Ryan that I can-"

"Johnny," she said quietly, steel in her voice. "We're going to have to let you go. We didn't read you your rights-"

"No, no, you did. She did, right? You heard her-"

Castle shrugged. "Sorry man. Rookie mistake."

"No. No wait, I don't think this is a good idea-"

"Sorry," Beckett said, stepping back and gesturing towards the exit. "You're free to go."

"No. You shove me out there, and he will murder me."

Beckett glanced to Castle, a lift of her eyebrow. Was this what her future self prevented? The murder of Johnny Vong? Beckett couldn't see how it related to herself at all.

"Who's going to murder you?" Castle asked, stepping up at her side.

Vong ran a hand through his hair, leaned his forehead against the cage. "Oh man. Oh man. I am screwed. No matter how - you have to protect me." He lifted dark, fear-filled eyes to her, and she suddenly realized - in that flash of intuition she'd been missing since opening that locker - she suddenly realized that this was much, much bigger than she'd thought.

"We can protect you," she said.

"It's Dick Coonan. I run drugs for Dick Coonan."


Kate absentmindedly stirred her coffee, head tilted as she stared through the coffee shop window.

It wasn't the best place, but it did give her a view of Jack Coonan's building entrance. A narrow view, yes, but that was still better than nothing. And since she didn't have a car, this was as close a stakeout as she was going to get.

Her left hand was pressed to her chest, her fingertips making circles over her scar through her shirt. As if it could help. The ring felt heavy on her hand.

She'd had another one of those - episodes - when she was paying for her coffee; she'd fallen to her knees right there, had had to put her back to the desk, her chest so tight that no air would come through, no matter how desperate she was for it.

At least it'd eased up before the girl taking her order could call an ambulance, and in a couple seconds she'd been on her feet again, assuring everyone that this happened often to her, and she wasn't actually in any danger. Just asthma. She'd been lucky there wasn't a doctor in the crowd to refute that.

She wondered what Castle and Beckett were doing.

If she was right, if she was being - erased (even in her head, it sounded ridiculous) - then it meant that this present Beckett was...on a different track? That the path she was on was too divergent, at certain times, to ever lead to the place where Kate was in 2014.

That was good. Right? That was what she wanted - for Beckett to never get Castle shot right in front of her eyes, for her to never even go to that warehouse.

But she couldn't help the flickering sadness at the thought, because Kate had loved the place she was at with Rick, loved the relationship they had, and now maybe even that was being erased as well, maybe even their time together was being redirected, and the ring he'd picked out for her sometimes didn't look like it was supposed to, like it ought to-

Suddenly her eye snagged on the sight of a man of the same height and build as Jack Coonan walking down the street. She focused on him, bringing her cup of coffee close to her lips so it would partly hide her face.

It wasn't him. She winced as the too-hot liquid burnt her tongue, put the cup down in a brisk move.

Maybe she was wasting her time.

But if she was, Dick Coonan was too.

She had seen him again, not five minutes ago. He was buying a newspaper at the small kiosk right next to Jack's place, utterly unrecognizable in his grey sweatshirt and baseball cap; if she hadn't had his face in front of her a moment before, Kate wasn't sure she'd have even known him.

She was used to Dick Coonan, the man in tailored suits with the poised demeanor, who supposedly built orphanages; this guy, hunched and awkward-looking, was only remarkable in how different he looked.

It made her throat dry; it made her wonder how many selves he had.

She had never felt more at peace for having killed him.

She took another sip of coffee; it wasn't strong enough, was nowhere near the delicious cups Castle always provided her with, but she swallowed it anyway.

This was her life now - for however long it lasted.


They had Dick Coonan's address; they were waiting on the warrant for his home and office. It was easily the part of her job Beckett disliked the most, second only to paperwork - the waiting.

She glanced over the bullpen, her lower lip curled between her teeth in impatience; she didn't even have a murder board to distract herself with.

And where had Castle disappeared to?

Her eyes swept the room again. The break room blinds were almost completely closed; Beckett had to take a few steps forward to get a glimpse inside, and sure enough, there was her shadow, his broad shoulders, his back turned to her as he obviously worked his crazy-expensive espresso machine.

Mmm. Coffee. Her body hummed at the thought, and since they couldn't do anything else anyway-

She half expected to find Ryan and Esposito in the break room with him; but he was alone, and so absorbed in his task that he nearly jumped when she reached his side, called his name.

"Jeez, Beckett," he gasped, the coffee sloshing in the cup he was holding, splashing over his hand. He hissed at the burn, put the cup down as he licked the liquid off his scalded skin; she couldn't help staring, a little breathless at the sounds he made, the glimpse of tongue that she got.

Right.

Thank goodness he didn't notice; he was too busy whining and being a baby about it. Beckett smirked, felt her heart slip back into her control. Good.

"That for me?" she asked, nodding towards the now half-empty cup.

He gave it a dejected look. "It was, but now-"

Beckett reached for it, shrugged lightly. "I don't mind."

"No, no, no," he opposed, trying to yank back the cup. The coffee swayed dangerously; she arched her eyebrows at him, gave him a look that meant Let. Go.

"Fine," he grunted. "Have your half a cup. I'll make myself a better one."

Beckett smiled, hid it behind the mug, watched his arms move as he pushed the buttons, then reached for an empty cup, muscles rippling under his shirt.

He was in pretty good shape for a guy who wrote for a living.

Damn it. Where did these thoughts even come from? It was that ring, that damn ring on her future self's finger, and the way that woman looked at him - so open and loving, a look Beckett had never expected to see on her own face.

And the echo of Kyra's ridiculous words. He's all yours.

It wasn't like Beckett had said anything; it wasn't like she had even asked-

She didn't want Rick Castle. She didn't want to be told she wanted him. She wanted to be left in peace, left to enjoy her solitary life and her cases and the quiet and the taste of Castle's coffee. She didn't want to have to wonder, every time he smiled at her and that flickering warmth erupted in her chest.

She wanted to not wonder. She wanted to not think about it. But apparently that was too much to ask.

"Like what you see?"

Castle's low voice brought her back to the moment; she realized she'd been staring at him, opened her mouth to answer him with some smart-ass comment. But it got stuck in her throat when she noticed the heat in his eyes, hidden under the layer of humor; his shoulders were tense, too, and it could have been from holding the coffee-

Except she knew it wasn't.

His eyes held hers, mirrors for her hesitation, her doubts, and that breathless attraction that she couldn't deny was there - had been there since day one, even when she thought he was a smug, self-centered asshole.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. And then, at last, at last, Castle unfolded his arm to set his coffee cup down on the table, took a step towards her - another - he was so close and her eyes flicked down to his mouth, came back up to his eyes-

He lifted a hand and it settled at her waist, his palm hot through her shirt, and she took that one step closer.

Voices sounded outside the door; Beckett snapped back to reality, her heart pounding in her chest, her almost empty cup trembling in her hand.

She got rid of it, dropping it too briskly in the sink, and skirted Castle - why wasn't he moving - so she could flee the break room.

Shit. Shit.

She'd almost kissed him. Wait, wait, no. Not true.

But she'd almost let him kiss her.

What was wrong with her?


Kate scanned the street for either of the Coonan brothers, came up empty. The dark, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't leave her alone; she drank more of the tasteless coffee, tried to drown the sense of foreboding.

When the cup was empty, she got up to get a second one; she kept glancing back over her shoulder, but it was useless. No sign of Jack or Dick.

She switched to tea after that, seeing no point in forcing more of the disgusting concoction that they called espresso down her throat. Her eyes relentlessly swept the street, up and down, side to side, afraid she was missing something.

She reached the bottom of her second cup of tea and sighed, chewing on her bottom lip as she massaged light circles over her temple.

Maybe she had missed him?

She'd been confident in her ability to recognize Jack Coonan's face - she had spent enough hours studying that case file during the summer when Castle and Gina had gone to the Hamptons - but maybe she'd been presumptuous, after all.

What if she'd just let Jack walk past her, right into a trap?

Kate closed her eyes for an instant and tried to weigh the risks, to talk herself out of it, but she couldn't. She stood up, grabbed her jacket, and walked out of the coffee shop.

Just a glance. Just a glance to make sure Joe was still in the lobby; it would tell her enough.

A glance and she would walk away, would go back to the coffee shop or find another place to observe from-

She stumbled to a halt, her heart stilling in her chest. The lobby of Jack Coonan's building was perfectly empty.

No. No no no-

She wanted to rush inside, but she made herself walk; she stepped into the building and her first instinct was to check on Joe, but she pushed herself past the lobby, towards the elevator instead.

She pressed the button for the fourth floor, stepped inside, watched the doors slide closed. And then her breath was gone, released like a punch in her gut, and she doubled over.

The pain was much sharper this time; Kate felt a wrenching nausea that seemed to rise from somewhere deep, somewhere that she wasn't even sure was inside her; she had to wrap her arms around herself, clutch at her stomach as she gasped for breath.

Oh god-

She dropped to the floor, on her hands and knees, moaning as she struggled, fought for her life, for oxygen - just one breath, oh god, just a gulp of air, she couldn't die, she couldn't disappear until her job was done, until she was sure-

Blackness swam across her vision; she squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her forehead to the floor, curled up.


"Beckett, can we tal-?"

"No," she hissed and slipped away from him.

Castle stood in the bullpen and watched her head for Esposito, checking on the progress of the ongoing interrogation of Johnny Vong. He was giving up his drug contacts left and right; they were waiting on a judge to sign the warrants.

"Beckett," he called out.

She ignored him.

Maybe Kate had given him hope, but it was still only hope for the future.

Not for now.


Suddenly, Kate could take a shallow breath. It scraped across her ragged, raw lungs and whistled out again. Her ears were buzzing, stars dancing behind her closed eyelids; but at last the darkness was receding. It left her trembling on the elevator's cold metallic floor, body curled in on itself.

The elevator door was open; the hall seemed empty - too empty. Too quiet. The stillness of death.

Whatever that - attack? - had been, she knew. . .she knew what it meant. She didn't have a lot of time.

Kate willed herself to move. Her body wouldn't listen; it was weak and shaking still, powerless, a vulnerability that she hated. Her fingers clawed against the wooden panels; she tried to drag herself upright, to crawl out of there, but after a couple of inches her arms gave in, rebelled against her commands.

Time swirled and stretched and shimmered before her eyes; how much time, she didn't know. Only that it was too much, too much. A door slammed; she heard voices; the elevator tried to close. Her torso was in the way.

Movement slowly returned, along with a simulacrum of strength. She could finally push herself up; her feet found purchase under her and Kate propelled herself into the wall, stumbled towards apartment 4B, the one that belonged to Jack Coonan.

The late Jack Coonan.

She had no doubt what she would find.

The door was ajar. She pushed on it with her jean-clad knee, careful not to leave prints, not to touch anything.

The living room was exactly as she remembered it. Stained with red, Jack's face turned away, the knife wounds violating his body.

Kate stared, took a flimsy breath; the sob caught in her throat, stuck in the too-tight space. Castle.

She had failed him. She had failed him. It had been her job to protect him; it was always her job, always, and now-

Her hands were tight fists at her sides; the tears fell, one after the other, trails of warmth against her cheeks, hovering at the edge of her jaw like a goodbye kiss.

She had failed him.

He would die in that warehouse, all that beautiful, beautiful love in his eyes, because she hadn't been fast enough, hadn't been strong enough-

She closed her eyes.

Castle, I'm so sorry.