Homecoming: Chapter 1
.
.
DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
.
A/N: Hello, my friends. I hope all of you are doing well, and I hope you enjoy this new story in the Different Road Taken AU. For those of you new to this AU, this is the 7th story in this AU – so please go to my page and find A Different Road Taken, and start there. Otherwise, this story will mean absolutely nothing.
Without further ado . . . on to the wedding of Detective Kevin Ryan and Jenny . . .
.
11:07 a.m. on Sunday Morning, April 22, 2012, at Richard Castle's Home in Sausalito, California
The two women sit on the patio overlooking the East Bay to their left, with Angel Island off in the distance. To their right – unseen by them around the mountains, sits the vast Pacific Ocean, which pours into the East bay under the iconic red-orange bridge that is the Golden Gateway to western California. They are enjoying the typical spring breeze that breathes into their faces. The fruit plates in front of them at the table are half-empty now, as is the glass bottle of champagne and the plastic bottle of orange juice.
The conversation has been nice and easy, and it is no surprise, given that Kate Beckett is minutes away from spiriting to the airport with her fiancé for a trip back east.
Her fiancé.
She smiles once again, thinking about the term, the designation she thought never possible for her with this particular man. Heck, who is she kidding? For years, she never even considered – or desired – such a possibility with one Richard Castle.
Now?
Now, she cannot fathom – even for an instant – her life without him. And that is a possibility that she has had to confront many times in the past few weeks since the Event.
Detective Jennifer Blackard allows her friend her moment of solitude. She can only imagine the thoughts going on inside her friend's head. In truth, she is far from knowing where Kate's mind is at the moment. The SFPD detective begins to realize this as she catches the faraway look on Kate's face. It isn't a look of peace, or of happiness or contentment. It isn't even a look of anticipation.
It appears almost – unbelievably – like a look of dread.
"Penny for your thoughts, ex-Detective Beckett?" her friend remarks with a smile. It works. The familiar smile is back on Kate's face. But the memory of the worry is still with Detective Blackard. And so, as a good friend is oft to do . . . she presses the issue.
"I will upgrade it to a dime, if necessary," Blackard continues, still smiling.
"You know me well," Kate replies, still smiling easily. "And that is saying something since we only really reconnected just a few months ago."
"History has its benefits," Jennifer tells her. "Now, my dime please . . . "
Kate stares off to the waters beyond, and begins moving her lips – however, no words come out. She tries again, with similar results. Taking a deep breath, she reaches for the flute of mimosa – a stalling tactic, of course, as she gets her thoughts together.
The arrival of Richard Castle gives her a momentary reprieve.
"Here you are," he tells her, bending to give her a kiss on the cheek. "John says wheels-up at noon, so we need to get a move on things. I've put our bags at the front door."
He glances at the detective across from Kate and flashes a smile to her as well.
"Why the long good-byes ladies?" he begins. "We are only going to be gone for a few days. The wedding is Wednesday and we will be back Thursday noon-ish."
"I know Rick," Kate replies as she begins to pull herself up from the table. Jennifer's long arm and strong hand stop her.
"Oh no you don't," Jennifer tells her. "Not until you tell me what's up."
"Something wrong?" Castle asks, an eyebrow rising.
If he is being honest, he has to admit he noticed something a bit 'off' with his fiancée last night as they fell asleep. Kate seemed . . . preoccupied. When he questioned her, she simply smiled and begged forgiveness due to being tired. He certainly couldn't blame her for that. They have been running a mile a minute for months now. They both have acknowledged that this wedding in New York could not have come at a better time. Both of them need a little downtime.
"Kate has something on her mind that is bothering her," Jennifer tells him, "but is being her normal stoic self and saying nothing."
This causes Castle to pull up a chair to sit with the two women. As he sits, he pulls out his phone, sending a quick text to John at the small airport close by.
CASTLE: Hey John – we may need to delay takeoff for 10, 20 minutes. Running late. Sorry.
That done, he turns his full attention to the stalled conversation at the table. Putting his left hand atop Kate's right hand, he continues Jennifer's query.
"Penny for your thoughts, my Love?"
"We are way past pennies, slowpoke," Jennifer deadpans. "I almost had her talking as you arrived."
"Then let's not allow my untimely arrival to dissuade any admissions that were imminent," he remarks with a smirk.
His response is silence from Kate and a raised eyebrow from Jennifer.
"Writer," is all Kate says. It is enough. Unfortunately for her, Castle and Jennifer choose this moment to stay quiet, eyes on the ex-detective. After a few unnerving seconds, Kate opens up.
"I'm nervous," she begins.
"Do tell," Jennifer remarks.
"About what, Babe?" Castle asks.
She runs a hand through long auburn locks of hair. Castle notes – not for the first time – how her hair seems lighter out here.
"When I left New York to come here, I was excited to come to you, Rick," she begins. "I was anxious to see you. To get things . . . started . . . restarted . . . I don't know the words. But I when I left, I left unfinished business behind me."
"Unfinished business how?" he asks. "Bracken? He's gone, Babe. You don't have to worry about –"
"Not Bracken, Rick," Kate interrupts.
"Then who?" he asks. In his mind, it is all over. The questions, the misery, the quest for revenge, all of it. Over. It concerns him that this might not be the case for Kate. After all this time, surely she isn't still living in the past. A past that has been taken care of for them.
"I don't know," Kate replies, gazing at both her fiancé and longtime friend. "That's the problem. I don't know his name. Or her name. I don't know if it was a man or a woman. I don't know if he . . . or she . . . is still out there. And if he or she is, do they still have a hard-on for me, Bracken be damned."
"Ohhhh," Castle exclaims, releasing a long breath of air.
It is something they haven't talked about. They haven't really needed to. Bracken is dead. Whoever shot Kate knows Bracken is dead. And she is here now. Case closed, do not pass Go.
But now that they are returning to New York?
"Oh Kate," Jennifer begins, but is cut off by her friend.
"I know, Jen, I know . . . I shouldn't worry about this because it's been almost a year, and Bracken is gone, and there is no reason for his shooter to still be coming after me, and if he or she was coming after me, wouldn't they have come already . . . I know all this –"
"Kate –" Jennifer says, but again is cut off.
"You're right, Babe," Castle interrupts. "I didn't even think about that. I can't even imagine how traumatic that must have been – must be – to have been shot, to have been sniped at from a distance, and the shooter was never caught."
"And now you and I are going back there – where that shooter might still be," Kate continues. "It's just weird, Rick. I am excited to see our friends, don't get me wrong. But I am worried about something like that. I'd be lying if I said otherwise."
"Kate –" Jennifer tries again, to no avail.
"And if something happens to me, something traumatic," Kate continues, "we both know what will happen to you. And I won't be there to guide you back. You would fall out and wake up, I'm in the hospital in a coma, or dead, or –"
"Would you two shut up for a minute!" Jennifer loudly interrupts, bringing confused looks to both of her friends.
"As I have been trying to tell you," Jennifer begins, "you don't have to worry about that Kate. You don't have to worry about your shooter."
"Well that's easy for you to say, Jennifer," Castle remarks. "But you weren't the one –"
"He's dead," Jennifer tells them.
That shuts both of her friends up, leaving them with almost comical quizzical faces. The twinning effect brings a smile to Detective Blackard's face, who cannot resist a small chuckle.
"Who's dead?" Kate finally manages.
Jennifer brushes her hair from her face with both hands, then places her elbows on the table.
"His name – it was a he – was Cole Maddox," Jennifer tells them. She turns quiet.
For a few seconds, no one speaks until Richard Castle breaks the silence.
"How did he die?" Castle asks.
"Violently," the detective replies.
"How do you know this?" Kate asks. "And how long have you known this?"
"Only a few weeks," Jennifer replies.
"Sam?" Castle asks.
"Sam," the detective answers.
The threesome are quiet for another few seconds, as a stronger breeze blows a napkin off the table. Castle catches it in mid-air, replacing it back onto the table underneath a plate.
"He told me a few weeks ago," Jennifer continues. "He and I were having one of our little talks, as we are trying to reconnect more. The conversation turned to the two of you, and the events that ultimately brought you – Kate – out here, and I mentioned how it must have been hard to be shot, and never know who your shooter was. He told me, and I quote, 'that is not anything Kate need be concerned about again.'"
Castle gazes at the woman he loves, who sits, mouth agape and wide-eyed at this revelation. Finally getting her words, Kate shakes her head.
"How? When? And why didn't he tell me? And why didn't you tell me?"
"Those are a lot of questions, sister, so let me take them one at a time," Jennifer tells her, smiling.
"First, the how. You don't want to know. Trust me. Second, the when. Well, that was August of last year. Sam had kept tabs on you. Unknown to me, he kept tabs on me as well. I guess those old friendships stuck with him – thankfully. I have somewhat of a reputation of having a guardian angel. After a few years, I figured out who that guardian angel was. Willie confirmed it for me years ago. But that's neither here nor there. The point is, Sam found out you were shot. He made it his mission to find out who shot you. Once he did, he took care of things. Again, you don't want to know how."
"Jennifer," Kate begins, but Jennifer cuts her off.
"As to why he didn't tell you, ask him yourself someday, Kate. But I suspect it is Sam just being Sam. He is secretive, even with friends. When you came out here, and he discovered that the man behind your mother's death was dead, well he figured there was no need to bring Maddox up with you. It was over, and you never – not once – in the time we have been with you out here have even hinted that you were still worried about that. And when he told me about it, he made me swear I would never tell you unless you asked."
"Let sleeping dogs lie," Castle remarks.
"Something like that," Jennifer agrees. "With Sam, you just don't know."
The silence is heavy in the air on the terrace for a moment before Kate speaks.
"Well, I admit that a load has just been taken off my mind," she admits. "But hell, this is a lot to process. The man who shot me, who I have silently wondered about for almost a year is dead. And has been dead for . . . since –"
"Since August," Jennifer repeats.
"Since August," Kate nods. "My God . . . "
"It's weird Kate," Jennifer tells her, but glances at Castle as she speaks. "Those people who Sam is close with are protected without knowing they are protected. And those who are hurt . . . I cannot even begin to describe what he is capable of."
"A lot to process," Castle agrees.
"He has a code, though," Jennifer tells them. "He will do all he can not to orphan a child. He won't kill a politician. He hates prostitution. He –"
"You said he won't kill a politician?" Castle asks. That remark catches Kate's attention as well.
"Part of his code. He says some things are bigger than any of us. Duly elected politicians fall into that category. He . . ."
Her hesitation has both Castle and Beckett sitting on the edges of their seats, waiting for her to continue.
"He will choose other ways. He will hurt them in a different manner," she concludes.
"You think he hurt Bracken?" Kate asks.
"Yes," Jennifer replies.
"How?" Castle asks.
"Ask him yourself," Jennifer replies.
"And Barry Adams?" Kate asks.
"Ask him yourself," Jennifer repeats. "But . . . and trust me on this. Sam won't lie to either of you. So don't ask him something you really don't want to know. And trust me on this also . . . there are some things that you think you want to know, but really haven't thought it through."
Richard Castle nods his head appreciatively in agreement.
"There are some things you cannot un-hear."
"Or un-see," Kate adds.
"Exactly," Jennifer agrees.
The younger Castle picks this moment to walk outside to the terrace where the three friends have gathered for this discussion.
"Time to go, guys," the young redhead offers, tapping the watch on her wrist.
"Oh, she is a difficult taskmaster," Jennifer Blackard laughs, as the others join in with her.
"You have no idea," Castle tells her, as he stands up, holding his hand out to Kate. "You have no idea."
Kate stands, helped up by her fiancé, and gives a long, heartfelt hug to her old friend on the SFPD police force.
"Keep yourself safe," she whispers to Blackard.
"I will, and I will have fun playing in this massive castle while you two are off gallivanting back in the Big Apple."
"No wild parties," Castle smiles at the two women.
"I won't do anything here that you wouldn't do, Rick," Jennifer chuckles.
"Oh . . . well . . .," Castle stumbles through his words, trying to form a sentence.
"Then we will come home to burnt rubble," Alexis mutters under her breath, just loud enough for the adults to hear. The laughter permeates throughout the house as the Castle, Kate and Alexis find their way out the front door.
.
1:15 p.m. on Sunday Afternoon, April 22, 2012, Cruising at 45,000 feet
The initial climb has been bumpy, with more turbulence than normal. The small jet – which can cruise at an altitude of up to 51,000 feet, has finally found some clear, smooth air at 45,000 feet, and the three passengers are now settled in comfortably as the small air speedster zooms across the California landscape far below at just over 600 mph. They were roughly twenty minutes late in taking off, but obviously are in no big hurry. What is normally a five and half to six-hour commercial flight will be reduced to roughly a four and a half hour flight on the smaller private jet.
Richard Castle's eyes are closed, as his fingers are entwined with those of Kate Beckett who sits across the narrow aisle from him for the flight back east. His thoughts, however, are still back on the terrace of his Sausalito home, and the conversation with Detective Jennifer Blackard. Life experience, and experience as a mystery writer has taught Castle that often it is what is not said – but inferred – that is more important than what is actually said. And now, he is – eyes-closed and mind shut off from his companion – reliving the conversation with the detective.
"So, his name was Cole Maddox," Castle thinks to himself, reliving the conversation and plugging in hypotheticals in the blank spots. "We know that because Jennifer knows, and she knows because Sam told her. Which means that Sam had been keeping tabs on Kate, unknown to Kate. Which makes sense, given that Kate's father called Sam all those years ago, and Sam flew out to New York and talked Kate out of the rabbit hole."
He opens his eyes momentarily, risking a glance to the woman across the aisle next to him. Her eyes are closed, much like his were. He knows she isn't asleep. At least not yet.
"She's probably deep in thought, like me," he thinks, as he closes his eyes once more. "I wonder if we are thinking the same thing."
He rolls his shoulders, not letting go of Kate's hand, as he falls back into his musings.
"It makes sense that if Sam went out there to talk Kate out of the rabbit hole, then he kept tabs on her after that. And she already mentioned that she believes that he figured out Bracken's identity a long time ago . . . and if that's true, then it follows that he knew she was shot. And knowing what I know about Sam, there is no way he learns this and does nothing. That's a clear impossibility."
Kate, for her part, sits eyes closed as well, and she, too is lost in her own thoughts. But her thoughts are constantly – repeatedly – of a very different topic. She is worried about the flight. No, she isn't a worrying flyer, and has no concerns about the small jet going down or anything like that. But her thoughts are of turbulence. The kind of turbulence that John warned them they would – and did – encounter upon takeoff and during the subsequent climb to their current altitude.
That warning from their pilot had mentally prepared Richard Castle. But that was different. That was turbulence that was expected.
No, she is concerned about unexpected turbulence – the kind that catches John off guard. The kind that will jolt the plane suddenly. She has no doubts John can keep the jet safe. Her concerns are what such a sudden – and potentially frightening – jolt will do to her companion. For crying out loud, a coffee cup falling and shattering on the floor caused his last relapse.
No, the last thing they need is for them to be almost eight miles above the earth's surface and Castle to pass out with another relapse, waking up on a speeding jet headed east with no memory.
No memory of where they are.
No memory of where they are going.
No memory of the ring on her finger.
For the umpteenth time this afternoon – just in the last thirty minutes or so since takeoff – she is praying – fervently praying – that they can get to New York without anything like that happening. As she dozes off a bit, she wonders which is more likely: The chance that they get there without incident, the chance that an incident occurs while they are in New York, or the chance that they might actually get there, have a wonderful time, and make it back home to California without any incident.
"Please God," she thinks to herself, "don't let that happen to us – to him – not now. Give him a little rest, a little reprieve."
She has no illusions that another relapse is not in their future at some point. Not unless a full antidote is waiting for them when they land on their return to California.
"Please, God," she asks again, offering up a prayer as sleep begins to overtake her.
Her companion, however, can feel her slipping into slumber as she relaxes her grip on his fingers. He smoothly disengages his fingers from her, watching her subconsciously pull her arm back, placing both hands into her lap. Glancing across, he senses that she – in fact – is now falling asleep. He smiles, then turns to glance to the seat in front of him, facing the rear of the reconfigured Cessna where Alexis sits.
She, too, is fast asleep. He marvels at how quickly both of them can fall asleep on a plane, as his mind returns to previous thoughts.
"Sam kept tabs on Kate," his thoughts continue, "and took action against the man who shot her. He killed Maddox. He did this unbeknownst to her, and never mentioned it to her, even after she moved out west."
He glances out the window at the surface far below them, when another thought hits him.
"My father took action against Bracken. Evidently, he knew what Bracken had done to Kate. And did nothing about it until – so he said – he found out that Bracken was going to come after me."
He pinches his nose, between the eyes, as sleep threatens to overtake him as well. So much has happened. So much, so quickly. Then another series of thoughts hit him.
"How did my father find out about that, anyway? Who told him? Was Sam involved in that, also?"
His eyes widen as a new possibility emerges . . . one that he slowly considers to be quite plausible.
"Did anyone really threaten me? Did Sam make that up, and then get word to my father? I can't underestimate how far Sam's reach is. I have contacts with the mayor of cities on two coasts. Who's to say that Sam's reach is or is not limited to the west coast?"
His thoughts fall back on Jennifer's words. She believes that Sam used a different way to hurt Bracken. A different way to hurt the man without killing him.
"Or without killing him directly!" he realizes.
His very tired mind and body aside, Richard Castle is wide awake now. And what seemed would be a short, four-and-a-half-hour flight seems anything but short now, as his always imaginative author's mind refuses to shut down.
.
A/N: I have had this story – set back in New York City – in my mind for quite some time. I just needed a plausible explanation for Rick and Kate to get back to the east coast. I hope you enjoy this new story.