A Better Fate

Agent Forrest had explained that Jack Coonan had come to the FBI to play the informant - pretty open and shut then, wasn't it? Finn Rourke had handed out the death penalty to his former enforcer for his betrayal.

She needed to talk to Finn Rourke.

Vice wasn't relinquishing the Vong/Coonan drug case, but the fact that Jack Coonan had been trying to inform to the FBI was more than enough proof for her. She just needed the solid evidence. And she couldn't get it standing around the murder board.

She hesitated as she looked at her phone, debating whether or not to call Castle. But she wasn't sure she wanted Castle showing his face in front of Rourke twice. She wanted to confront the bastard about what he'd done to Jack Coonan, push his buttons, see if someone at Rourke's bar might have an attack of conscience and offer him up.

"Ryan, I'm headed to visit Rourke," she said, slinging her jacket over her shoulder as she moved for the elevators. "Gonna see what shakes out. You guys stay on top of the Vong drug stuff - I want to know how far Dick Coonan's drug running extends. And the moment our guys on his office or home catch him coming back - you let me know."

"Soon as they've got him," Ryan said, affirming her statement.

Beckett slid her jacket on, but Esposito hurried up from the hallway, grabbed her by the arm. "Wait. Don't leave yet."

"What?" she said, jerking her arm away from him with a frown.

"Lanie's on her way up."

"She have the prelim on Jack Coonan?"

"She has - something else."

The elevators dinged open but instead of Lanie, it was Castle.

He looked like he had that night he'd come to find her in Will's hospital room; too serious, sick with knowledge, his face blanched.

She stepped back, felt the wall hit her back.

Her phone rang.

She answered mechanically, her eyes on Castle's face as he came slowly down the hall towards her. "Beckett."

"Kate, honey, I need to talk to you."

"Lanie."

She swallowed hard and couldn't tear her eyes away from Castle, from that damn look on his face. Funeral. Funeral look.

"I'm on my way up to talk to you," Lanie said again.

"About Jack Coonan," she whispered, pressing a hand to her eye.

"I have a forensic pathologist here, a Dr. Clark Murray. I asked him to consult because he's familiar with this kind of case."

Beckett leaned over at the waist, locked her knees to try to stand back up, felt Castle come to her elbow, his face twisted with terrible knowledge, just like that night.

He knew. Kate had told him.

"Lanie?" she whispered.

"I'm so sorry."

"My mom," she choked out. "This is about my mom's murder, isn't it?"

Kate felt the icy tendrils of time sliding down the back of her neck and stumbled out of his kitchen, her knees hitting the island before she could reach the couch.

She sucked in a breath that wouldn't come, clutching the counter to stay standing, the numbness crawling along her ribs, spreading from her chest outward. Her hands, her feet, everything became like ice.

She managed to close her eyes, felt the darkness swoop down on her in a rush. Nauseated, Kate sank her forehead to the granite, but it wasn't there.

"I have a pulse!"

Her heart pounds hard, fast, out of her chest. She moans on the grating edge of pain.

"Detective Beckett? Can you hear me? We're taking you in to surgery."

The scrape of light against her eyelids and her body is pitched up and down on the wave of seasick chronology. The quick punch to her arm and then fire burns a clear, finite path up her veins.

This time when she collapsed, there was no one to catch her.

"Beckett," he called quietly, his voice the only sound in the precinct's conference room.

She wouldn't look at him at first, and then she did, turning her eyes to him with such doom, such unrelenting grief that he actually flinched.

And then she closed her eyes and turned her head away from him.

She pushed up from the chair, swayed there a moment.

Lanie sucked in a breath. "Kate, honey-"

"I just need. . ." Beckett trailed off, but Castle stood, reached for her hand, intending what, he didn't know. She shook him off and headed for the door.

"Beckett, wait." He started after her, caught the door of the conference room as she swung it open.

"Castle," Lanie said with warning.

He waved her off and hurried after Beckett, finding her at the elevators. When she saw him, she altered her course and made for the stairs. He followed, happened to see the faint sheen in her eyes.

"Beckett," he called, stopping at the landing as she rounded the stairs and kept going. "Kate."

She paused, looked over her shoulder at him. He could see the wide and dark beauty of her eyes as she finally let him catch up to her.

"I need to see my dad."

He took another step down, coming closer, and she didn't move. He remembered, almost like a shock, that he had nearly kissed this woman in the break room earlier today.

Not just Kate in the alley. But this woman. Kate Beckett.

He stopped just above her on the stairs; she half-turned her body to him, but moved her head, no longer looking at him.

"I just need to. . see him first," she said finally. "I need space and time to think."

"And after?"

Her jaw was hard.

He sighed. "Come to the loft. We need to - she told me enough to know - we need a plan, Kate."

Her eyes flashed to his. "I thought I was Beckett."

His breath caught.

She started back down the stairs, wordless now.

Castle came to his senses and reached out for her, grabbed her by the elbow. "The loft. When you're done. You don't have to do this alone anymore, Beckett."

And then when she kept going-

"Kate. You're not doing this alone. You said it, remember? We do this together."

She turned her head back to him as she stepped to the first floor. Her eyes were shuttered. "The loft."

He hoped that was an agreement.

She got to the diner early; her dad wouldn't be here for another half an hour. She sat in her car with the heater running.

Beckett could have crossed the street and claimed a table, ordered a drink. But it was pouring outside, and she didn't feel like facing the crowd, the light, the noise; she was too much like her father. The man who'd drunk himself into oblivion in the privacy of his own home, lights turned off, no one to watch the show.

She gritted her teeth and tried to shake the image from her mind, slowly breathed through it, the painful flow of memory, the darkness still ever present, still so ready to well up.

Her mother's case.

Strangely enough, she found her thoughts flying to the woman currently in Castle's loft, this older version of herself; she couldn't help but wonder. How had that Kate done it? How had she managed to keep her life together, to keep this from - from ruining everything?

Castle.

Beckett felt like she was drowning, and the problem was, she wasn't sure she wanted to be saved. She had hoped for this, prayed for this - a break, a new lead - and now that she had it...

God, she was so scared.

She was so scared of screwing it up. She couldn't let her mom down. All this time, and now-

She closed her eyes and leaned back into the headrest, struggling to keep it together, to focus on the good things. Her future self was here, after all, wasn't she? She knew how it went. She could make sure Beckett did the right thing.

Maybe. Hopefully.

And then.

There was Castle. Beckett rubbed a hand down her face, pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a reason she'd asked him to stay the hell away from her mother's case, a reason she'd almost cut him loose for looking into it, and it wasn't because the idea of not catching her mother's killer made her sick.

It was because she wasn't sure she would make it out of the rabbit hole a second time. And if she couldn't make it - if the darkness swallowed her whole - then she didn't want Castle to be there watching.

Or down the hole with her.

She let out a long exhale, looked at her left hand resting against the steering wheel. No ring.

She brushed her thumb over the empty space around her finger, tried to imagine what it would feel like, the cool metal that her skin would warm, the promise of it, being so certain.

She'd done this alone for so long, done life alone, and then Castle had showed up and he said stuff like You don't have to do this alone and she just-

She'd known before she'd seen the ring on Kate's hand. She had, but she had been so intent on ignoring it, pretending it wasn't there, because she was - afraid? Will had left for Boston, had chosen his job over her, and she was... She wasn't good at this. Love. Life. Any of it. Probably because of her mother's case, yes. And then if you looked at his track record - Castle wasn't much better than she was.

So they were a terrible idea; they were too different; they would never make it. She had been telling herself that for some time.

But deep down she'd known.

She'd known he might be-

Beckett sighed, pulled her lower lip between her teeth, looking at the rain that trickled down her window, pooled in the street.

She would talk to her dad about her mom's case; he would help, would know what to do. Her father would know where the line was, how far was too far - because he'd been there before, he'd been down that rabbit hole.

And when her mind was clear, when her heart was - a little less jumbled - she would go to him then. Castle.

You don't have to do this alone anymore.

Alexis called.

It was so good to hear her voice; Castle lingered in his lobby, selfishly wanting to keep his daughter all to himself as she told him everything about her day.

She and Meredith had eaten in this amazing Tibetan restaurant that he absolutely would have loved; they had had their picture taken by a renowned photographer that Meredith was good friends with; they'd gone shopping and Alexis had stopped her mother from buying a thousand-dollar dress, a fact that she seemed to take great pride in.

Castle grinned, loving it, and imagined Meredith's reaction as their sixteen-year-old daughter lectured her on the cost of things. He honestly had no idea how Alexis was so grounded a kid, but boy, was he grateful for it.

He told her a little about the case, didn't share the details, only the possible connection to Beckett's mother's case; his daughter showed all the appropriate feelings, shock and interest and compassion for the detective, and he hung up feeling considerably lighter.

Alexis always had that effect on him.

He rode the elevator up, vaguely planning a menu for the night of Alexis's return; his mind was still occupied when he turned his key into the loft's door, but not enough that he didn't notice the surprising absence of light in the living room.

"Kate?"

He pushed the door closed behind him, flicked the lights on, an uneasy feeling weighing down his stomach. She'd told him she would stay here-

"Kate," he called again, his eyes sweeping the kitchen, finding no trace of her.

He couldn't see her either through the open shelves of his study, but he went in anyway, thinking she might be in the bathroom.

He nudged the door of his bedroom open and found her there - in his bed. Their bed, he remembered, a painful little twist to his heart. Kate was lying on her side, curled up between the sheets, and he was both impressed and alarmed that she could make herself so small. And for some reason, he was reminded of Beckett that first case - when he'd made up a story about her life and it had turned out to be true, and he'd seen the tears pricking her eyes, but she'd set her jaw against him.

She looked just as resolute, and just as devastated, as she did then.

"Kate," he said softly, and this time she moved, turned her eyes to him. It looked like lifting her head from the pillow was an effort. Concern pushed him forward, drove him to his knees in front of her.

"Castle," she acknowledged, her eyes dark, so alive in her pale face. Her breathing was uneven.

"Hey," he answered. He should have been glad to find her awake, conscious, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong with her. "What's going on?"

"I went-" she closed her eyes, licked her lips, "I went back there again, Castle. To my time. It's - I don't know. I don't...understand. Maybe I'm not supposed to be here at all."

He wanted to protest, wanted to argue, but she looked so wrung out. He couldn't even think of something reassuring to say. What did he know?

"Beckett," she said sharply, eyes opening again, finding his. "Did you bring her?"

He shook his head. "She wouldn't - she said she had to talk to her dad first, but I think I convinced her to come here afterwards."

A smile danced on Kate's lips, some color returning to her face along with that beautiful tenderness. "Good job, Castle," she breathed.

He wouldn't exactly have called it that, but at least it was something. He considered the woman in bed before him, tried to think of a way he could help this Beckett.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asked.

"No," she sighed. He didn't want to ask why; if she hadn't found the strength to walk to his kitchen, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"I'll make dinner for us, then," he declared. "Is there anything that you'd like?"

She pressed her lips together, thoughtful, then gave him a sly look. "You make really good mac and cheese," she said.

It was eerie, to have her say that when he had never cooked for her before, not once in his life, but he smiled back, determined to make her feel better. "I'll come and get you when it's ready," he told her, standing up again.

"Actually," she said, pushing back the covers and unfolding her legs, "help me up? I'd rather be in the kitchen with you."

Oh. Right. Because his presence helped. Shit, was that - was that the reason she was in his bed? He hadn't been here to help her this time, and the bed was probably the part of the loft that smelled the most like him.

Jeez.

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, his body immediately buzzing at her nearness when she curled her fingers around his biceps for balance; she gave him a faint smile and let go after a second, but she already looked - better.

If that was all it took - a touch from him, a physical reminder. . .

He let her walk out of the room first, but he followed her close, rested a light hand at the small of her back; she was Kate Beckett, the woman he would love - the woman he loved? - and there was no way he could ever deny her the comfort of his presence.

Beckett pressed her hand to her mouth and smiled through her fingers. Her father shook his head at her and hugged her again.

"I know you have to go." He nodded to her phone; she was still holding it after she'd gotten the text from Esposito.

She nodded. "Thank you."

He cupped her jaw and kissed her forehead, and then they parted ways outside the diner. She felt buoyed by her father's quiet strength, his core of steel. Not too long ago, he hadn't any of that; it had been washed away in grief. But now - he was steady, he was her rock again.

Beckett smiled at his retreating figure and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, headed for her car.

She took her phone out and called Castle.

When he answered, she could practically hear his grin. "Beckett. We have mac and cheese."

"I just ate with my dad," she answered. "Is - you have her there?"

"Yeah, hold on." She listened to him rustling on the other end, a door closing. He was going somewhere private then. For some reason, that made her feel better as well. "She's here. She's - not doing so well, Beckett. It's like she's fading out."

"Fading?" she hissed, unlocking her car and sliding behind the wheel. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It's so - it's terrible. She just - she's here but she's not here. The suffocating thing happens and then it's like her body is. . .less substantial. Happened twice while I've been here."

Beckett growled into the phone and slammed the car into drive.

"We need to-"

"Castle. I can't. I got a text from Espo. The Vong case-"

"Vong. Not Coonan?"

"I will deal with it later," she grit out. The truth will never hurt you, Katie. "But first, I have to get back to the precinct. They've pulled in a Latin Kings drug dealer named Trucho-"

She heard him suck in a breath and she paused.

"Beckett. Trucho? That - Kate said his name, when we were at Rourke's. What did she say? She said. . .something about when Trucho comes calling or. . .I don't know. It didn't make any sense to me, so I-"

"She knows about Trucho?" Back to the Vong case again, and for the life of her, Beckett couldn't figure out how Dick Coonan's drug smuggling operation had gotten Jack Coonan murdered by her mother's killer. "Listen to me, Castle. Try to get as much out of her as you can. I've got to talk to Trucho; the boys pulled him in after Vong gave up his street peddlers."

"Okay. But what about Finn Rourke?"

"I'll deal with him later," she grumbled. "One thing at a time."

Castle found her again in his study; she was running her index finger over the spine of the first Nikki Heat, and he suddenly realized that for her, there were more.

"Wanna tell me the title of the next book?" He was joking, but only partly, because his editor had been shooting down all his ideas, and honestly, Castle didn't like any of the suggestions that had been made to him. Frozen Heat, really? Never in a million years.

Kate turned to him, her hand falling back to her side, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. "Sorry, Castle. You gotta do this one on your own."

"Not even a tiny clue?" he pushed. Sadness shimmered in the dark depths of her eyes.

"Maybe you won't name it the same, Castle. Maybe it's going to be a different book."

Oh. "Right," he said, feeling like a complete idiot. He had no idea how to get Kate to explain about Trucho, Rourke, any of it. Pushing her right now felt wrong.

Kate's face was half in shadows, the light from the living room only touching her temple, her right eye, her cheek; she looked tired, and vulnerable, and so damn gorgeous it made him hurt.

"What will happen to you?" he asked quietly, afraid of the answer, his heart hammering in his chest.

She sighed, gave him that soft, patient look that said, You know just as much as I do. "If I succeed," she answered anyway, "then I guess I'll just cease to exist, Castle. The future version of me will be too different from what I am now."

Something inside him rose up, growling, protest and a fierce protective instinct that he just couldn't help. It propelled him towards her. "I don't want you to disappear," he murmured, his throat raspy at the thought. "Kate."

She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek lightly, rose on tiptoe until the softness of her mouth brushed his ear. "I'd much rather disappear than live in a world without you, Castle."

He gritted his teeth at that, met her eyes when she came down. The love pouring out of her, lighting up her whole being, left him speechless once more.

A world without him? That's what this was about. She'd come here to save his life. And she was going to leave just as quickly as she'd come, without even that reassurance that she'd made a difference.

He put his hands to her face and brought his mouth down to hers, hard, kissed her with all the desperation he felt at being left without her, without the certainty, the living proof that Kate Beckett loved him, needed him, wanted him. She moaned against him and her lips parted, the open wetness of her mouth welcoming him in a way that made his whole body thrum.

He kissed her neck, tracing the line of her jaw with his tongue, adoring the throb of her pulse with his lips; she arched against him, her hands feverish, jittery over his chest, the mewl of his name ripped from her breathless throat.

He wanted her. Kate Beckett. All of her. Now and then, what did it matter? What did it matter?

Her eyes opened, so dark, a little hazy, but he could see the guilt swirling in them. "Castle," she started, but he cut her off, worked his tongue between her lips.

"I won't ever tell her," he promised against her mouth. "She will never know, Kate. Let us have this, let me give you this."

She shook her head at him, but her hands clenched in his shirt, her head bowing forward.

He brushed his lips over her skin, back to her ear. "You want to change things? Then change this."

She lifted her head and stared at him, so very tempted, he could tell; he could tell how much she wanted him just from the hesitant line of her eyebrows, the dark depths of her eyes, the hands that still lingered on his chest.

He dropped his fingers to her waist, slowly brushed his knuckles across her ribs, up and down, rhythmic. Kate bit her lip hard, but couldn't stop the moan that escaped, raw and wanting and beautiful.

Castle slid his hand under her thigh, wrapping her leg around his waist. She didn't fight him, didn't protest; he lifted her up easily, an arm at her back, and made the decision for her as he walked them both to his bedroom.