Kairos – Chapter 13

DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine.

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Saturday Evening – April 27, 2013, 12:04 p.m., At Richard Castle's Loft

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"Martha?" Kate replies, more than a bit confused as to the older woman's greeting. Her confusion only lasts for a second or two though before realization quickly set in.

"She doesn't know me from Adam," Kate thinks to herself.

She could not be more wrong.

Martha Rodgers knows of Kate, for certain. But not only as the media darling – slash - paparazzi queen on television and on the internet. Not merely as the fast-rising Assistant DA with powerful people providing an upward draft for her career.

No, to Martha Rodgers, more than anything else, Kate Beckett is the daughter of the woman who was involved in the accident that destroyed her son's life.

"I came here to see Rick," Kate tells the woman. "I spoke with Mike downstairs, and said he wasn't here, though."

"He's not," Martha replies, now confused herself. "He came in and blew through here like a hurricane. Very unlike him. And when in God's name did the two of you become first-name familiar? In fact, when did you and I get to be on a first name basis?"

"I . . . I don't . . ."

She's stumbling now. She knows it. She realizes that this is going to go sideways quickly as Martha continues.

"Why is the city's assistant district attorney here in our home in the first place?" Martha asks quickly, and now a bit of concern has entered her voice. Dammit, he hasn't been gone that long . . . how much trouble could he get into in so little time?

"And here in the wee hours of the morning at that?"

"It's not what you think," Kate answers quickly. "Rick . . . Castle and I are friends. Good friends. We have –"

"I find that hard to believe, Miss Beckett," Martha interrupts, now eyeing her all the more warily.

"Good friends? Please! I know Richard doesn't blame you – per se – for what happened to Meredith and Alexis. And it's not right to blame your mother either. But you know how grief is. Sometimes you have to be able to point the finger at someone, just to keep your sanity. Your mother was his best option. And you, by extension."

"What?!" Kate exclaims, taken completely aback and by surprise.

"It could have been anyone in that taxicab. I know that," Martha continues, undaunted by Kate's reactions. "So does Richard. But in his mind, it really doesn't matter. That fact is, it was your mother, it was . . ."

Martha thoughts drift away, rendering her unable to complete the sentence. For Kate's part, she now has a few pieces of the story, but not the full picture. And she knows that asking questions – questions that clearly, this timeline's Kate should know the answers to – is not a good idea. She's going to have to wait until she sees Castle again.

And she has to hope that he is still 'her Castle', despite whatever horrific turn of events has occurred here.

"Martha . . . Ms. Rodgers . . ." she continues to stumble along, searching for the right words. "It's important that I speak with your son. I cannot stress to you how important this is. I know you said that he isn't –"

"He's not in any sort of trouble is he?" Martha asks, her concern evident. "He wasn't gone that long. I will ask again. What's going on that requires the Assistant DA to make a . . . a personal call to our home at this hour?"

There's a fire in Martha's eyes, a fire to the entire woman that Kate is not used to seeing. Oh sure, Martha always had a way with words, and a dramatic flair. But usually it was an act – even though the older woman didn't realize it. It was just another role she easily slipped into in a lifetime of many roles.

But this is not an act. And the intensity staring back at Kate is no act, either.

"I promise you, Ms. Rodgers, I mean no harm to you or to Ri . . . to Castle," Kate tells her. "Castle . . . your son is in trouble. I won't lie," she tells her, and in so many ways she is spot on with the truth. Castle is in trouble. Somehow his daughter is gone from this timeline, although she doesn't know how. But she knows how much Alexis means to him.

She means everything to him.

Yeah, he's in trouble. And she doesn't know what she can do to help, but she has to be here. Timeline realities or not – they are still together, at least in her mind.

"I'm only here to help," she continues. "I'm only here to help," she repeats, not sure what else to say.

"But . . . how can . . . what can you . . . oh, forget it," Martha decides, with a flamboyant wave of her hands. "Whatever my son is doing with you . . . whatever it is that is . . ."

Her words and thoughts are cut off as the door behind Kate opens loudly, revealing a Richard Castle who is almost unrecognizable to her.

"Castle?" Kate exclaims, alarmed at his disheveled appearance, and immediately smelling the liquor that emanates from his open mouth.

He gazes at her – no – he gazes through her, towards his mother. Then his eyes fall back upon the woman he has always known as Detective Kate Beckett.

"Mike told me you were up here," he says softly. "Why are you here?" he asks, his words slurring. Yeah, she can tell he's been drinking, and drinking heavily. It explains his confusion as to why she would be here. Where else would she be?

They stand – some five feet away from each other – in an almost comical movie-film standoff. They stare at each other for a few seconds. Her gaze upon him is soft, and sad. His gaze upon her is . . . something else. Kate takes a step forward, toward him. He doesn't reciprocate. But he doesn't step backward either. It's as if a battle is waging inside his head, and there has been far too much alcohol for this to be a fair fight.

For her part, Martha watches the physical impasse between her son and the Assistant District Attorney with growing interest. Something is very off here. Something is different. No . . . more than that, something is very, very wrong. It is all too apparent that these two seem to know each other. They seem to know each other far more than they should. And somehow, this has occurred right under her nose, without her knowledge, because Richard Castle doesn't go anywhere.

Something has happened, because the one thing she knows for certain is that her son is no fan of the Assistant District Attorney. Never has been. To Richard, Kate Beckett is the daughter that Johanna Beckett has, that she took away from him. No, it's not logical. No, it's not fair. But grief never is. As Castle's therapist has told both of them – often – grief isn't logical, it doesn't make sense, and each person travels that grieving road differently. Yes, there are stages – but each person traverses those stages differently, in a different order, for different periods of time.

And some people – well, some people never find their way back.

People like her son.

"Not all the turtles make it back to the water, Martha," she recalls his therapist telling her just last year. "It's been what – twelve, thirteen years now? We can only hope Richard makes it back."

Martha's thoughts are interrupted as she watches the assistant district attorney take another step toward her son – this one more determined – before her son surprises his mother by taking a step forward. Kate falls silently into his embrace.

"What in the world?!" Martha says softly to herself, as she watches the scene unfold in front of her, and she's got a front row seat to a live show unlike any she has participated in.

"Oh Castle," Kate tells him, tearfully, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry," she repeats, while Martha almost stumbles in shock.

"She's gone, Kate," he tells her, fresh tears flowing now, as he lays his chin atop her forehead, trying to hold in another round of sobs. He figured he was cried out by now. He is so wrong.

"I know babe," Kate tells him. "What happened?" she asks, trying to keep her voice low and away from his mother's now highly inquisitive ears. The intimacy of their embrace has caught her completely off guard.

"All right Richard," Martha begins. "What in the world is going on here? How do you know . . . since when have you and the city's assistant district attorney been . . . been so . . ."

"It's a long story, Mother," he tells her, looking at her concerned face now. "And not one that you would ever believe, either."

"What happened, Castle?" Kate asks again, still speaking softly, not willing to tear away from the embrace that was so clearly and brutally denied her less than half an hour ago on the phone. "What happened to Alexis?"

She feels him stiffen again, and it forces her to tighten her grip on him. She isn't going to let him pull away. She isn't going to let him start running. She knows what that's like. She's been an expert at running during her lifetime. She knows the sprinters stance when she sees it, feels it.

"Mother," he begins, forcibly pushing Kate away just enough to allow him to move. It still disappoints her.

"Mother, I . . . it won't make sense . . . I . . . I need some time alone with Kate for a –"

"With Kate?" she asks. "Exactly how close are you two? What is going on, Richard -"

"Mother, I will explain everything . . . in the morning, I promise," he tells her, interrupting. "But for right now, please just trust me. I need to speak with . . . our assistant district attorney in private for a bit. Kate, go on to our room . . . to my room. I will be there in a minute."

"Now, how does she know where . . . wait just a minute!" Martha exclaims, her hand quickly covering her mouth. "You said 'our room' . . . Richard, what is –"

"Mother!" he interrupts again, this time snapping a bit more forcefully than he intends. He quickly makes amends.

"Mother," he says, much more softly this time, "Go into my den. To my computer. I know you know how to use it. Google the company named Kronologix. I will tell you more in the morning," he tells her, and his eyes mist yet again. Martha recoils a bit, as she has never seen them so red, so haunted. Even during those first few days after he lost Meredith and Alexis. And somehow, it seems like he is reliving those early days all over again. It kills her, because she thought he was making better progress.

But now this . . .

Her own thoughts are interrupted as he starts walking away from her, down the hall, heading toward his room, following Kate. Kate, who seems to know her way around here far too well.

"Richard?" his mother calls out after him, her voice not nearly as strong as it was mere seconds ago.

"Kronologix, Mother," he replies without turning back to look at her. He reaches his doorway and walks inside, closing the door behind a now-stunned and confused Martha Rodgers.

Inside, Kate is sitting on the bed – in her mind it is still their bed, despite all that has happened – on his side which is closest to the door. She watches him walk in, and she sees the same haunted, completely lost look on his face that Martha did. It's a look she has never seen on Richard Castle, and it takes every thought in her head and bludgeons them senseless.

He walks slowly, stumbling once before reaching their bedside. He sits next to her on the bed, and drops his head into his hands. The smell of alcohol is heavy on him. She knows this smell. For an instant, she is taken back to a different decade, and it is her father sitting next to her, the stench of alcohol and vomit reeking on his body. She shudders with the memory, closing her eyes, willing the image to disappear.

For a few seconds, she does not move. She is frozen into place. She sees – and feels – Castle's body slowly start to shake with a new round of silent sobs. It breaks her, and breaks the paralyzed freeze she is caught in. She moves her hands to his hands, allowing them to graze there briefly before continuing on to his shoulders, then his hair.

"Castle . . . what happened to Alexis?"

He can't answer. He opens his mouth, but the words are stuck in his throat, unable to find safe passage. She coaxes him further.

"Castle," she repeats, and suddenly the logjam in his throat is broken. The words come flooding, without filter, without hesitation.

"We saved your mother," he begins, words coming rapid-fire. "She never died. She was a fan of my books. Came to a book signing. Wanted to get my autograph."

He pauses for a moment as another sob escapes his lips, and his chest heaves a couple of times quickly. She wisely remains quiet, allowing him to tell the story, afraid to interrupt.

"She arrived in a cab, at the same time Meredith and Alexis did," he continues. "Meredith and I were still married . . . it appears quite happily married. And she was pregnant. Our second child," he continues, as the words keep pouring out.

"Meredith and Alexis . . . Meredith was opening the door to the bookstore, ready to walk in, when the cab driver lost control. He . . . he . . ."

He can't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to.

"No!" Kate whispers, tears now filling her eyes as she loosens her grip on Castle. "No . . ."

She pulls his face to hers, so she can see his eyes.

"Rick . . . no . . ."

He simply nods his head, unable to stop the fresh tears from falling before he can speak again. Kate pulls away, involuntarily for a second or two, before catching herself and moving back in, this time even closer, and holding him tighter. Her head is pounding now – it's as if she can feel and hear the blood pulsing, flowing through her head, ringing her ears.

"Your mother was coming to get a book signed," he blurts out again, repeating the story – hoping that by simply saying it out loud, he will wake up from this horrible nightmare that has caught him, and is holding fast to him.

"The cab she was in lost control, and it plowed into Meredith and Alexis at the doorway. Killed them both. Killed my baby. Cabbie and your mother walked away without a scratch." He spits the final word out, as if it is the most distasteful thought imaginable.

"The media said she had an angel watching her," he muses angrily. "As if she was any better than my wife and child!" he spits with a venom Kate has never seen from him, and she can tell now that things have turned in a most terrible fashion between she and Richard Castle.

"Castle, I . . . Rick, I am so sorry," Kate tells him, knowing that there are no words in any language to soften this blow he has received tonight. They have saved her mother. But it has come at a terrible cost. A cost they could never have foreseen. A cost she is beginning to realize that they will never move beyond. Suddenly the idea that she is in an affair with Senator William Bracken seems so . . . completely unimportant, so inconsequential. She has her mother back, and any problems of hers that come with that are miniscule compared to what it has cost the man she loves.

She feels her own tears on her cheeks now, realizing that nothing will ever be the same again. Sure, he is with her tonight, he is allowing her in his bedroom tonight. But she senses that this . . . this talk they are having, the remainder of the evening in front of them . . . this could easily be the final chapter for them.

But she won't give up without a fight, that's for certain.

"Rick," she begins, tearfully, as she runs her hand through his hair again. "I don't have the words . . . I don't have an answer for you tonight. I'm just as stunned by this as you are. But we . . . we can work through anything, Castle. We always have. Through nothing like this, I admit. But, we can . . ."

Her words fail her, and the look he gives her wounds her deeply. It's not a look of anger, nor a look of disappointment or hatred, or anything like that. No, it is far worse. It is a look of resignation. He simply falls sideways to his right, his head plopping on the pillow on his king-sized bed. He closes his eyes, and just cries. There are no more words.

She stands quickly, peeling her clothes off without a second thought, kicking off her shoes. She climbs into bed without hesitation, and scoots to his side, wrapping her arms around him. She feels his body shake, racked with sobs, and she can only whisper in his ear. But she hears his words. They are low in volume, barely audible. But she knows him. She knows his dialect, his cadence, his annunciations. His slurred words are an easily-understood oration to her. And his words frighten her.

"I'll get you back, pumpkin," she hears him whisper to the universe, into the night.

"I'll get you back."