New York, 13 months later.
Fate – what would Richard Castle say? Ah the Universe – yes the Universe had been kind to her.
Despite her breaking her number one rule – never date another doctor.
Her new man was sweet, and considerate, and despite only a few months together, clearly committed and possibly smitten.
So was she.
When he wasn't working Guy was with her as much as possible. And not in a creepy, hanging on way.
She had high hopes for this relationship. Maybe she was learning from her past mistakes.
Guy had the late shift so after picking her up from work he dropped her home. Kissing her boyfriend goodbye she made her way to into the lobby of her building, and stopped to check her mail. Only one item. But when she saw the small envelope with the airmail sticker her heart leapt. Knowing who it was from, it was impossible to hide the grin that blossomed on her face.
Better than the more frequent postcard. A letter, and hopefully more pictures.
She almost took the stairs but her heels and the fact she lived on the seventh floor tempered any mad enthusiasm to get inside her apartment so she could focus on the news from her best friend.
Her disciple held long enough for her to get changed into sweats including one of Guy's tops and pour some wine.
She settled in to catch up on the latest adventures.
The stamp was from Singapore and the postmark read 'Changai' – that's the airport right? – and the date was almost nine weeks ago. Damn real mail was definitely slower that the e-version, especially from Asia. Opening the envelope revealed two pages of that neat handwriting and four, no, five (one was stuck to another) photos.
She was about to look at the photos when she saw the first lines on the letter.
'I'm coming home.'
Two hours later.
She was still none the wiser. She had re-read the letter three times. Dissected the two pages of writing. She wishes she was a detective. Perhaps able discern the clue from the words in ink. Nah that would be more Sherlock than Beckett.
She still didn't know what Kate Beckett was actually doing when she came back. Nor where and the date of her return. She could already be back.
From time to time, Lanie Parish pondered what the hell happened to the best couple she ever knew. The pair that despite the convoluted, yeah 'complicated' was definitely right, history, Kate Beckett and Rick Castle belonged together. And for a while they had seemed the perfect couple despite the extraordinary amount of danger and drama they seemed to attract.
Kate's promotion to Captain should have seen her be able to spend more time with her husband. Instead the opposite occurred and a mysterious separation with a complete BS justification of 'needing some time' left everyone who knew them in disbelief.
Kate had resigned (for good this time) and gone abroad more than a year ago. Some would have characterized it as fleeing but she knew best friend better. But Lanie always suspected there was more to it. Kate never explained what Rick and she had discussed that fateful day, only that she wasn't staying in New York. Nothing had been mentioned about his plans.
But nor did the man himself. Despite some brief appearances at the Twelfth in the immediate aftermath of Kate quitting, Rick has been a ghost. The PI Business is shuttered. Permanently. Terminated with extreme bitterness Ryan had observed. The English chick, Hayley, had wanted to take over but had been denied. Still she had managed to sweet talk the client list from Alexis according to Ryan. Lanie has her doubts about that too. Alexis is no push over.
The younger Castle, Alexis, had transferred to MIT changing degree subjects entirely. Paige, her best friend from high school is up in Boston at Harvard and Alexis clearly wanted to get away from New York. 'Less distractions' the young woman had admitted when she met up with Lanie for a chat just before she left for Boston. Less forthcoming was any information about her father, 'keeping busy' was the first answer she got, and her persistence got 'rebuilding'. And that was all.
Martha was still living at the Loft. But was there so infrequently based on the schedule for the touring show she had been on for most of the last six months.
But back to Rick. The last time she saw Rick, some nine months ago, he had told her he had plans. He just didn't share them. She had always known there was a serious side to him, and the stress of the four months had seemed to get to him, washing away the optimist. He was tired and there were streaks of grey in his hair. Despite this his blue eyes burned. But with determination.
The annual Nikki Heat book hadn't appeared. Instead Derrick Storm was reincarnated. Press was kept to a minimum. No signings but the book did well. Two Storm short stories followed.
The post cards and the emails had turned up over the course of the ten months since Kate left. The letters, normally including a handful of printed photos, were more infrequent. The latest was the seventh.
She had started in Europe. Italy (Venice, Rome, Milan), Spain (Madrid, Cordoba, Barcelona), not always big cities, sometimes small towns and villages. Then Thailand, Cambodia, China, Japan, Brazil, Peru, Chile, Namibia, Rwanda, Kenya, Tanzania and finally Australia, and New Zealand.
Lanie kept the gang – more accurately acquaintances who used to work together - in the loop. Ryan, now a dad of two, was always interested. Deputy Chief Gates actually asks after Kate when they encounter each other. Even Esposito has finally got his head out of his behind, although in keeping with his job in ESU seems to communicate in monosyllables.
There are photos with the emails and letters, are often quirky, usually of some scenery or a seemingly random object. But there is usually at least one shot of Kate. Sometimes clearly a selfie or supposedly a candid taken by someone else. With the passage of time there has been a progression in the face shots.
There is a perceptible change in her friend. If Lanie had to ascribe any emotion to how her friend now looked, it would be content. Actually that was wrong. Kate looks happy. The last photo had her beaming smile and the eyes – not hidden behind the reflective shield of polarized lenses – are clear and gleaming.
But she never mentions Castle, and as far Lanie can tell she has had no contact from the author. Just like the rest of the world. Aside from a couple of interviews for the Storm book launches – all with tightly controlled questions – there is nothing in the press.
Present Day
Ten months in, about the time of the last letter from Singapore, Kate had gone silent. Not the first time she has done that for two, almost three months
Lanie was sanguine at first. But she got worried when there are no responses to her follow ups.
She can hardly report her missing. She's not family and she doesn't even know which country Kate was really last in. And now there is this letter. Kate's coming home but no one has heard from her.
In her desperation she calls Ryan. It's not awkward like Javi, but he's pretty much by the book these days. He lost his gun and nearly his badge after his accidental shooting of his partner. Castle pulled some strings and got Ryan into the Computer Crimes team that formed part of the inter agency task force Beckett was originally assigned to. Although it is not field work, Ryan really took to it and got a promotion and the pay rise he needed to cover for his second child. Jenny was able to give up her part time job.
Of course it meant the end of his partnership with Javi. They didn't finish as friends. Ryan takes her call, waves off her entreaties but still promises to look.
Ryan calls back a day later. Kate's passport was last logged seven weeks ago. Entry into the US. Boston. A flight from London.
She's home. Or in the US at least. Where are you girlfriend? How are you?
Maybe Ryan's search shakes something loose, but whatever it is, the call comes out of the blue.
She doesn't recognize the caller's number.
"Hello Lanie Parish."
There is no immediate response, and her heart is in her mouth.
"Hi Lanie." The familiar feminine but strong tone, the slight lilt of humour mixed with care. It's her!
"Kate!" And then continuing on before her friend can recover from her shouted name, "Girl if I wasn't so damned happy to hear from you I'd smack you!"
The laugh that greets her feeble threat is resplendent with happiness. The woman on the other end sounds so positive, almost giddy. The photos have been true.
They talk for five minutes and despite her questions, Lanie doesn't know much more than Kate is in the United States, but not in New York, and that she is well. She'll call again. Soon.
The second call follows five days later. Is she free to take a few days? Come visit for the weekend?
The invitation is a surprise.
More so the small private plane – a twin engine (not jet) Beechcraft that whisks her away from New York on a crisp autumn morning. She's heading north east.
They're over the sea for a good part of the journey. But it doesn't take too long. New England she thinks.
The plane lands on a small green runway.
"Welcome to Falmouth Airpark" the sign says.
Oh. Looking out she can see planes parked by houses.
The pilot brings the plan to a stop by what appears to be terminal of sorts, he opens up the doors and helps her out, then passes Lanie, her small weekender bag.
The keys for a steel grey SUV are waiting for her at the single counter in the tidy white building that hosts the 'Operations Center' and handles everything at the small airfield.
The coordinates are in the GPS.
The drive takes maybe fifteen minutes before she's turning off the road onto a private driveway. Initially the lane way is surrounded by trees on both sides but within a hundred yards, the view clears and she spies her destination.
The neat two story house sits on the cusp of the Atlantic. Gleaming white paintwork reflecting the autumn sun.
With the window open she can hear the sound of the sea over the engine as she drives up.
All in all it is closer to fourteen months since Lanie saw her best friend in the flesh. The excitement and to be fair not a little trepidation fills her.
Parking up. She notes the open two-car garage with no vehicles present. She spots the charging station in one corner. Some form of hybrid car?
The place is not huge, but the car, the chartered plane – even if not a jet - indicate clearly that there is money and her hopes rise just a little. But then Kate never did say just how much money Rick gave her.
But really all she wants is to see her best friend. Questions can wait. For now.
There is a piece of paper with a big printed arrow pointing down the side of the house.
Rounding the corner brings the ocean into view and there on large deck is her friend. At least she assumes the person rocking on a hammock supported between two stands is Kate.
She can't help herself, she's dropping her weekend bag and almost running to cover the short distance.
She gives in and calls out with yards to. Her cry of "Kate?" tussling with the gentle crash of waves on the shore below.
The shape in the hammock twists at the interruption, and a tanned face hidden behind sunglasses turns towards her.
It is Her!
The brunette locks are burnished with long months of sunshine.
The eyes are hidden behind sunglasses but the mouth curves up in welcome and recognition, as even as Kate pushes the sunglasses up onto the top of her head.
"Hello Lanie."
"Oh Girl I've missed you!"
"Me too. God help me out Lanie." Kate Beckett never needed this sort of help before but the reclining woman extends her arms and before Lanie knows it she has stepped and extended her own to take Kate's wrists so she can help pull her up as her best friend pivots her legs out to stand.
Lanie is fixated on her friend's beaming face and eyes as her much taller friend – even in bare feet – pulls her into a big hug. A hug that is disrupted by an obstruction.
Still with arms joined Lanie steps back and looks down.
"And what's this?" Her voice has jump at least two octaves. She's not shrieking, is she?
"You have a medical degree you should know what this is Lanie?"
Oh she does. And her heart begins to hope.
"Oh my God Kate. I'm so happy for you."
"Me too. Happy I mean." And she really looks it.
"And the baby Daddy?"
Author's Note
One chapter and an epilogue to go.