September 25, 2010
Kate kicks off her heels and leans back in her chair, the wooden base squeaking. It's been a long day. Like every day for the past three months in the DA's office. Everyone's left for the weekend. She pulls the golden pin loose from her tight bun and shakes out her hair, letting her scalp breathe. Exhaustion leaks out of her.
They had a nine month law program in the academy, and she's had experience in the courtroom testifying as a cop, but it's not enough. She's not an attorney. She didn't pass the bar. What she doesn't know, her parents spend their weekends tutoring her in marathon sessions, patiently coaching her through torts and helping her memorize precedents. There are even flashcards to keep track of who her co-workers are. She keeps up appearances in the office by asking for continuances on all her ongoing cases and delegating anything else to senior staff. Her mom comes in a couple times a week to help consult, but the mental toll of pretending is draining. She misses being a detective.
Massaging her temples, she releases a deep sigh.
"Kate?"
Beckett startles at the voice, straightening in her chair. "Sadie," she says to the blonde woman peeking her head in, "You scared me."
Sadie Brooks is a 33 year-old investigator for the DA's office and her best friend as her mom tells it. When the investigator was ten, her parents died in a car crash and she and her older sister had been put into foster care, shuffling from home to home for years until they aged out. Sadie reminds her a lot of herself. She used to work for the opposition before her other self convinced the savvy sleuth to join the prosecution's side.
"Sorry, I was just checking in. Are you heading out?" Sadie asks.
Beckett nods. "In a minute."
"You look like you need a drink. Do you want to go to the Archer?" she asks.
"I..."
Sadie waves her off. "You probably want to go home to Fitz."
"It's his dad's night with him, actually," Beckett admits and Sadie lifts a brow.
"So the rumors are true. You and Rick are separating."
Guilt flushes Beckett's face. "It's complicated."
"Is that why you've been avoiding me?"
"No—" Beckett rushes out but quickly pauses, thinking. Sadie's assumption was a better explanation than the truth. "I'm sorry. Just been dealing with a lot lately." She reaches for her bag and loops it onto her shoulder. "I could use a Scotch."
Sadie breaks out into a smile. "There's my girl."
"So what's been going on with you?" Sadie asks at the bar, "I feel like you've downloaded a whole new personality recently."
Beckett tries not to choke on her drink as she takes a sip of the amber liquid from her glass. She recovers quickly, saying, "A newborn will do that to you," the lie coming to her easily—a part of the script she's been repeating for the past couple months. "Fitz just started teething," she adds for good measure.
"It's settled then," Sadie says, raising her hand to flag down the bartender.
"Settled?"
"Two tequila shots," the blonde orders.
"Sadie, no—"
"You're clearly spiraling."
The bartender pours them a top shelf brand and the investigator nudges a shot glass into Beckett's hand.
"Really, I shouldn't," the brunette protests.
"Okay, explain to me why you and Rick split up."
The detective quickly knocks back the Patrón then, wiping at her mouth with her sleeve. The alcohol burns down her throat and the buzz hits her immediately, her brain fogging. It's been ages since she's really let loose.
"Tell me one thing," Sadie says, gulping down her own shot. "Did he cheat?"
"Is that what people think?" Beckett asks, slightly shocked, guilt lancing through her. He's not the bad guy in this.
"So it's not true," Sadie assesses from her tone.
"Castle would never do that," she says protectively, thinking of when he told her about finding Meredith in bed with her producer, a steely pain in his eyes.
"Why do you call him that now? It sounds so strange," the blonde asks.
Beckett fidgets, scratching the bar top with her fingernail as a distraction. This is why she avoided Sadie when she could. She doesn't know why she accepted her invitation for a drink...maybe because she was lonely or maybe because she was tired of hiding.
"Inside joke," Beckett says. At least that part's true. She didn't need to give the investigator more reason to think she was losing her mind. She was barely keeping the façade together as it was.
Sadie seems to sense her internal desolation and softens. "Are you okay?"
It's weird. She can't seem to remember the last time someone asked her outright how she was feeling. Of course, her parents have been nothing but amazing and supportive throughout all the adjustments. And Castle...well, he was another story. But the past couple of months have been a whirlwind that've sucked all the air out of her. And she's forgotten how to breathe.
"It hasn't been easy," she starts, pausing and figuring out what to say. "Being a mother is a challenge I wasn't prepared for...and it put a strain on our relationship." Another half-truth. Sadie shoots her an empathetic look.
"It sounds salvageable," she says consolingly. "Give it time."
Beckett arches a brow.
"What? I'm really rooting for you two," the blonde says, shrugging.
"How's your love life?" the detective asks pointedly, hoping to steer the conversation off of herself.
"Don't have much time for dating. I'm drowning in work and all my free time goes towards my sister's case. I have a new lead, actually."
"Your sister?" Beckett asks reflexively, racking her brain for anything her mom might've told her but comes up empty. Shit.
"I could've sworn I told you about her," Sadie says.
"Refresh my memory?" Beckett asks lightly.
"Yeah, sure," the blonds says, eyeing her curiously. "I have her file with me, hold on," the investigator says as she roots around in her sleek messenger bag. She eventually extracts a thick folder, fraying at the edges and held together by a large rubber band. She slides it over on the bar counter, saying, "They called it a slip and fall in the paper. But she slipped, hit her head, and fell into the water. Official cause of death was drowning. She had just gotten married earlier in the year."
Snapping off of the band, Beckett cracks the file open and glances over the first page of info. A chill runs down her spine.
"Diane Cavanaugh," she whispers. A name that's burned into her brain—one of her mother's paralegals at the Justice Initiative. Killed March 7, 1999. Same as Scott Murray, a law clerk at the courthouse. But the date's wrong. It says Diane died October 3, 2002. "Slip and fall in 2002," Beckett mutters, remembering her mother's words from months earlier.
"What? What is it?" Sadie presses. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I thought this was an accident," Beckett says, trying to keep her composure as alarm bells go off in her head. She hadn't thought to double-check. Not when she finally had her mother back and everything with Castle went sideways.
"That's what they wrote in the report, but she called me that night. We were supposed to go to the movies together but she said there had been a break in a case she was working on. That she was meeting with someone. Then the next day, her body is found by a dock worker."
"And you told the police?"
"Till I was blue in the face, but no one listened to me," Sadie says, frustrated. "That's why I've been pursuing it all these years."
It's like seeing a mirror of herself. A woman hardened by loss and driven by the injustice of it all. "Do you know what she was working on?" the detective asks.
"Not for a long time," Sadie says, "But a hacker friend of mine sent me something this morning."
"Your new lead?"
Sadie nods. "The Justice Initiative finally managed to digitize all their old files. She got onto their server and sent me everything associated with Diane."
"You weren't able to access it before?
"I've sent requests for years, but they kept saying they couldn't release anything to me because their work product is—"
"Privileged," Beckett finishes and Sadie smiles sadly.
"I went through it all, but the only thing interesting was this note she scribbled in the margin here," the blonde says, leafing through the file and tugging out a printout of yellow note paper. "Montgomery/Evidence," she reads aloud. "It's dated a week before her death."
Beckett freezes, the world blurring around her. "Montgomery? You mean…?"
"The police commissioner knows something about my sister's case," Sadie says, her eyes glinting with excitement.
But Beckett is filled with dread and a familiar panic presses on her chest, the weight of it making her head swim as a million questions run through her mind. Why would Montgomery be tangled up in Diane's death? Was Diane's death still a part of what her mother had been involved with in her original timeline? And if so, how did Montgomery fit into the picture?
"I have to go," she says hurriedly, taking a couple bills from her wallet and throwing them on the counter.
"Is something wrong?"
"Can I take this?" the detective asks, gathering Diane's file. The investigator nods and Beckett slips the information into her purse. "We'll talk later, okay?"
Sadie's face brims with question but she gives the detective another nod. Beckett heads out of the bar, her thoughts reeling. Something was very, very wrong.
She needs to talk to Castle.
When she knocks on the door to the loft, she can hear crying on the other side. A harried Castle opens the door, cradling a screaming Fitz in the crook of his elbow. Her heart squeezes.
"It's not your night," he says.
"No, I know. Sorry it's so late."
"Well, I'm glad you're here. I was just about to call you. He's been crying nonstop and I think he has a fever," Castle says.
Worry darts through her, and she reaches out to feel Fitz's forehead.
"Castle, he's burning up!" she exclaims.
"Heading to the hospital was my next step," he says, exhaustion lining his forehead. She bites down the retort on the tip of her tongue.
"You start the car, and I'll grab his diaper bag," she says instead.
In the waiting room, they sit side-by-side. Castle's leg bounces up and down impatiently.
"How are you doing?" he asks, glancing at her.
"Fine," she says stiffly.
"Right," he sighs. He gets up and says, "I'm going to grab some coffee."
Her heart aches.
3 Months Ago
She leaves him on a sidewalk in Harlem. Her parents track her down, toting Fitz, and insist she stay with them while she comes to terms with everything. But the next day, she finds herself at his loft, (or their loft as her parents say) shattered by a new discovery.
"What's wrong?" he asks immediately when he opens the door to her. She wordlessly hands him a print-out of a news article with a headline that reads: Homicide Detective Killed in Action.
"Javi," he registers, dumb with shock. "But...how?"
"The Racine case from April. With his old partner from the 54th," she replies, numb.
"Ike Turner," Castle murmurs.
"They got into a shootout when they went to find the ledger that could put Racine away. But Holiwell, the IA agent who was working for him, got there first. The article says that Espo jumped in front Ike. Saved his life."
"Damn it," the writer says, his voice cracking. And she realizes in that moment that she's never seen Castle cry before. He's always been the strong one, putting her back together when she's falling apart. She tugs the article from his grasp, letting it fall to the ground as she pulls him into her arms. His head drops into her shoulder and she holds him until he stops shaking and a new grief scars over her heart.
"I don't get it," he says, eventually, stepping out of her embrace. "He went without backup in our time and survived. Us being there or not shouldn't have mattered."
"But we're not in their world anymore. We don't know all the tiny decisions and moments we contributed originally that changed the outcome. All I know is we were supposed to be there, Castle," she says hoarsely. "He died because of us."
"Oh, Kate."
"It's our fault," she whispers.
"We didn't know," he says, guilt creasing his face.
"We thought we could save everyone. But we were wrong," she says.
Castle presses the tears from his eyes. "What about the others?"
"Ry got married to Jenny. And Cap's actually the Commissioner here. Someone named Victoria Gates runs the Twelfth."
"Lanie?"
"Pregnant," Beckett says, pained.
"Is it…?" Castle asks, unable to finish the question, the tragedy of it too much—a father never getting the chance to meet his child. But Beckett nods, confirming his fear, and his head falls into his hands. "I always thought they would be good together," he says quietly.
"I don't know how to deal with this," the detective admits. "We're in some screwed up Twilight Zone episode where our lives seem perfect but it all feels slightly off."
"We knew things would be different," he says, "That we wouldn't be the same people we left behind."
Beckett runs a hand through her hair. "Knowing it is one thing. Living it is another. I feel like we switched places with our other selves and took something that wasn't meant to be ours."
"You think they're in our time?"
"I don't know. I'm not making any sense," she says. "But that's my point. I feel out of place. Like I don't belong here. And we skipped five steps. Yesterday, we were us and it was easy and new. And now everything's—"
"Upside down," he answers and sighs. "I get it."
"Yeah?"
"I called Alexis this morning to check-in and it was like talking to a stranger. I don't know her in the same way, you know?"
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Sorry?"
"It's my fault. I wanted to tell my mom the truth. I messed it all up."
"Stop that," he says, "I was there with you. I could've fought you on it. It's just as much my fault as it is yours. Our choice came with a price, and we have to decide if we can live with it or not."
"What if we can't?" she asks, afraid.
"I know we can if we try," he says, ever the optimist. She used to find it annoying but now it's one of her favorite things about him. His indefatigable hope, always looking for the silver lining. "Your mother's alive. She's here. This is your chance to be happy, Kate. You deserve to be happy," he says, his eyes boring into hers, and her heart races.
That's when he closes the gap between them and presses his mouth over hers. Her body automatically responds to him, coming alive under his touch. She loses all fight and pours herself into him, tears mixing in with desperate kisses.
He breaks away, cradling her face in his hands.
"We deserve to be happy."
Beckett straightens when she spots Castle returning from the hospital cafeteria. He's holding two cups of coffee and hands her one of them. Her heart leaps.
"Thanks," she says, grateful.
"You wanted to tell me something. Back at the loft," he says.
"Yeah. Sadie, she—" Beckett starts, but she's interrupted by a tall woman with dark hair.
"Richard," the woman says, smiling.
Castle scrambles to greet the interloper. "Sophia," he says. He looks back at the detective. "Beckett, this is Sophia Turner."
"Hi," Beckett says, shaking the woman's hand, confusion flitting across her face.
"It's nice to meet a fellow muse," Sophia says in answer.
"Fellow…" Beckett trails off, and then it clicks. "You're Clara Strike."
A/N: Thanks for all the engaged and incredibly nice reviews! Excited to see your responses for this chapter.