Chapter 3
Beckett stalked around the perimeter of his property and Castle watched her silhouette from the living room as she scanned the beach frontage before disappearing into the tree line that led to the pool house.
The drive along the 495 usually took just over two hours, but tonight's journey had broken all records, and Castle looked at his wristwatch to confirm the time. Ten. Two hours ago he'd been about to introduce his latest novel, and now he was here.
He shuddered, closing his eyes and finding the images of the book launch party imprinted on his eyelids; he couldn't be certain but he thought at least a handful of people had been shot. The sound of gunfire and screams echoed in his memory and he snapped his eyes open, forcing himself to even his breathing.
"Is everything really okay?" Alexis asked, wandering back into the living room and curling up on the sofa with a glass of water in her hand.
"I… think so?" he said. He'd always promised himself he wouldn't lie to Alexis, but what could he say? Telling her the entire truth about his book launch party being shot up wouldn't be conducive to sleep, and frankly, Beckett was behaving strangely. "Why don't you go to bed? We'll have breakfast in the morning, touch base with Ryan and Esposito, figure this whole thing out. I bet we can be back in the city in time for lunch."
She nodded, rising from the couch and leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Night, Dad."
"Night, sweetie," he returned, watching as she padded from the room, then listening to the familiar sound of her footfall as she made her way up to the second floor.
He sighed as he heard her bedroom door open and close, reaching around to massage the tension from his shoulders now that she was gone. What the hell was going on?
"We're safe," Beckett announced from behind him. "I've locked up. It's all secure, you can go to bed."
"We can go to bed," he corrected. "I'll show you your room. Except, I'm not going anywhere until you explain everything."
She stared at him, apparently assessing the situation. "Okay, sit," she said at last, and he sank onto the sofa Alexis had just vacated. She took the chair opposite him, her figure lithe in the oversize green armchair, and he frowned.
How was she moving that well two months after open-heart surgery? The questions were catching up with him, and his brain buzzed as it went into overdrive. No one could run down twenty flights of stairs like that after being shot in the chest. No one could drive so skillfully - he flashed back to the way she'd twisted to reach for the weapons bag - or move like that. Not after the injuries she'd sustained. Plus, her hair. It was longer, lighter, and he'd shrugged it off as superficial, but now he wasn't so sure.
"You're not Beckett," he decided, watching her closely.
But rather than deny it, or react with shock, she smiled, the expression softening her face. "No, I'm not," she agreed. "But I am, as well. I have all her memories, and-"
"Where is she?" he demanded, leaping up and leaning over the impostor. "What have you done to her? Who are you?"
"She's safe," the woman said. "That I promise. She's…" She huffed out what sounded like a sad laugh before continuing. "I swear, Castle. She's safe, she's at her dad's cabin, and I know she's miserable."
"You know she's miserable?"
"She misses you," the woman confirmed. "I remember that. I can… feel it."
"How can you remember something that is happening right now, to someone else?" he demanded.
"When I tell you, remember that you're open minded. You're the one who likes all the crazy theories, okay?"
"So what?" he said, pacing now, back and forth, unable to return to his seat on the couch. "You're a time traveler? You're Beckett, but from the future? Because don't you think if someone was going to time travel, it would be me? She doesn't even believe that stuff."
A shadow passed across not-Beckett's face. "I'm from the future, it's true. And I have her memories. In the future, there are lots of copies, and I'm one of them. Some of us have memories." She shrugged. "Some don't."
"So there is a me, but he doesn't have my memories?" This was crazy. But somehow… things were making sense for the first time since the shots had been fired.
"The other you… isn't on our side," she said. "So trust me. It's a good thing he doesn't have your memories. Or, at least he didn't, when I left. Things change all the time. We shouldn't count on that."
"Things change," he echoed. "And I'm… evil?"
"Not you," she said. "The other you."
"And you're the other Beckett… is that what I'm supposed to call you?"
"It might get confusing if you think of us both as Beckett," she said. "You can call me… Houghton."
"Houghton?"
"It's her middle name."
"Do you have a name in your time, though? One that's not hers?"
"I don't need my own name," she explained. "That's not what this is about."
Not what this was about. Right. What? If that was the case - which was fine - that brought them back to the question of exactly what this was all about. "What about Ryan and Esposito?" he asked. "And the dragon?"
"The dragon… that will work itself out in its own time," she said. "That's not my concern. You'll figure it out when the time comes."
"But why don't you tell me? I mean, if you have her memories, you know right?"
"I do," she said. "But I'm not here for that."
"Fine." He shook his head. "Then what are you here for, Houghton?"
"Sit," she said again, and he sidestepped the couch, giving her a pointed look as he moved instead toward the drinks trolley, pouring himself a generous glass of scotch before holding the bottle out to her.
"Drink?"
"I don't drink," she replied, and he shrugged. Of course, he knew Beckett's dad had had a drinking problem, and whenever Beckett talked about going out with Lanie it was to share a few glasses of wine, or she would have the occasional beer with the guys, so maybe she'd prefer something else.
"I can get you wine," he said. "Or water?"
She shook her head, all the familiarity of the Beckett he knew and loved - god, he did not have time to go there - in the impatience on her features. "I don't drink," she repeated, indicating his couch with a nod of her head.
He sat down taking a sip of the scotch, the burn of it welcome as it made its way down his throat.
"You look the way Beckett feels when she takes a sip of the coffee you bring her each morning," Houghton commented.
He closed his eyes, bringing a hand to his face as he tried to process this. "How she feels?"
He opened his eyes to see Houghton shrug. "That's not important right now."
"Avoiding feelings. Maybe you are Beckett."
Houghton rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well. Wise cracks. I know I have the right Richard Castle."
"So what's going on? You going to explain it, or what?"
She nodded, leaning forward and meeting his eyes. Once again, he had the distinct feeling that she was more than looking at him. She was examining him, scrutinizing him as he sat before her. "In the future," she waved her hand, dismissing the details. "The exact time frame isn't important for you right now. But in the future, you're important. Or, well, not you, exactly, but-"
"Beckett?" he guessed.
"Not her, exactly, either, but yes. Both of you are important. We need to keep you safe. There are lots of us, and some things are more involved than others. This is… it's just a blip. Just a quick thing, and it will all be over, and life will go on for you the way it was meant to. There are other people who are out there making sure the big things are taken care of."
"You realize you're not making this any clearer, right?"
"Castle. Relax." Houghton smiled. "I'm just trying to keep this simple. There are things you need to know, and things you don't. I came here because I have a mission. I need two things to happen before I can go back. One, I need to keep you safe. And because your happiness is important, I need to keep Alexis safe as well."
"My happiness is important?"
"Not to me," she hedged. "But… yes. Ultimately."
"And what was the other thing?" Castle was on the edge on his own chair now, leaning forward toward Houghton.
Her eyes sparkled, and he swallowed. She was Beckett, with the green-hazel eyes, the mouth that loved to laugh, the beauty spot below her eye… but she was not Beckett. Her piercing gaze was calculating, and there was something just a little too knowing about the way she looked at him, as though she knew him better than he knew himself.
"We need to blow up an office," she said, her voice matter of fact. "I need you for my mission, you're going to help me. It shouldn't be a big deal, and honestly, in the scheme of things, it's one building. Like I said, there are others who are here, and more things for them to do. But I need to see to the New York branch shut down."
"By blowing it up?"
"We need to be sure," she said.
"But, why? What are we going to achieve by blowing up a single office building?"
"They have blueprints there," she said. "For AI."
"AI?"
"Artificial int-"
"I know what AI is," he said. "But none of this makes any sense. How do I know I can trust you? You've burst into my life-"
"I saved your life at the party," she countered.
"And you claim you're Beckett, but not. Seriously, Houghton, how am I meant to believe a word you say?"
"Because I'm a machine," she told him, meeting his gaze with her own. "And the resistance programmed me to help you."
A/N: *shuffles in quietly*
So, here we are… another fic. And the author's note I didn't want to write until now, to avoid spoilers, but at this point it's clear! Child's Play was, perhaps, an homage to Kindergarten Cop. But my feeling was that if there was an homage to an Arnie movie, well… shouldn't that movie be Terminator?! From that musing this was born. My heart lies with The Sarah Connor Chronicles, more so than the movie franchise, but I have deep respect for both, and every borrowed line, plot point or character, be they from Castle, TSSC or Terminator, was borrowed with love. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. (Also. I love cylons too, but didn't really mix them into this mythology.) x