Kairos – Chapter 20

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

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Sunday Evening – April 28, 2013, 6:07 p.m., At a small nightclub in Greenwich Village

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The music is intoxicating. It is slow and jazzy, with a just a subtle hint of the blues. More New Orleans than New York. But it certainly fits the mood of the couple sitting at the small table deep in the northeast corner of the small establishment here in the Village.

District Attorney Kate Beckett arrived some five minutes ago, after dropping young Madison off at their decidedly upscale apartment home with Cassandra. As much fun as Kate had with Madison, and as much fun as her daughter appeared to have with her mother, Kate couldn't help but notice the similar joy Madison shared when she returned home to her nanny. It's not that Kate is jealous. Well, okay, maybe a little. It's not that she begrudges the woman the child's affections. Okay, perhaps just a little here also. Clearly those affections toward Cassandra are well-earned.

It's just that she wonders how much time Kate Beckett has managed to spend away from her young daughter that would force such a bond to develop in the first place. Or hell, maybe that's just the natural progression of things between nannies and children. It's not like Kate has a lot of experience at the mothering side of things.

Meanwhile, highly successful novelist and screenwriter Richard Castle arrived a minute earlier, after leaving a note for his wife, Kyra, back at the loft telling her he would be out for a bit. He decides it's a romantic touch that he thinks is in line with how he – in any reality – would act. He knows that Kate loves the little notes that he leaves her . . . scratch that . . . has left for her in their timeline. But in truth, leaving a note for Kyra was his only real option in this case, as he has no idea what Kyra's phone number is. His cell phone didn't magically pick up numbers from this timeline once he 'arrived' back in the present, into this new timeline. And since Kyra hasn't called or texted since she left . . . well, a note really was his only option.

Sitting across the small table from Kate, now he speculates that, had he thought more about it, he would have checked his emails on his desktop computer, searching for any and all messages from Kyra. Certainly he would have found some – at least one – email from his wife. And somewhere in her signature line, there probably would have been her phone number.

"Oh well, nothing I can do about it now," he thinks to himself as he gazes at the woman across from him. It strikes him that she – like he, himself – is a thousand miles away right now, deep in her own thoughts.

He looks long and hard at Kate – and an odd, wet ball drops inside his stomach and rolls around there, playing dodge ball with his insides. There is something different about her. He can't put his finger on it, but she is . . . damn, it's almost as though she is happy to be here. Not 'here' with him. Here in this timeline. It's almost as if she is content with this reality that she has found herself in.

Her voice brings him mentally shuffling back to the present.

"So, let's compare notes," she suggests, her eyes finally focusing on him. Up to now, she's been drifting in and out, gazing at the musicians on the stage and the few patrons that are still starting to pour into the small club. It's still early, and the band has yet to officially start their initial set. So watching the musicians warm up with a few practice songs – that sound wonderful, by the way – turns out to be another good idea from her partner across the table.

"Good idea," he agrees. "I'll start. I'm married. Again."

"Me, too," she tells him without hesitation.

"Bracken?"

"Yeah," she replies.

There it is again. That look. One of contentment. She's married to Bracken, but doesn't seem to be the least bit broken up about it. What the hell . . .

"You?" she asks.

"Kyra."

Okay, at least that gets her attention.

Kate loves her daughter – this little girl she has known all of five-plus hours, and already she can't imagine leaving, or losing, little Madison.

But he's married to Kyra Blaine? It had to be her of all people? Castle's lost love? Meredith she can deal with. But Kyra? The only woman that Kate – in moments of pure honesty – ever spent meaningful time worried about during the last year as she and Castle finally began to commit to one another. And that despite the fact that she's known the woman is married and unavailable.

Only here, she isn't married anymore. Well, scratch that – obviously she is. She's married to Castle.

"Happily married?" she asks, concern creeping into her voice, as this timeline suddenly has experienced a hiccup of its own.

"Oh, yeah, I would definitely say so," he tells her, images of the naked woman stepping out of the shower stall to greet him – and immediately he realizes he has answered that question far too quickly, and with far too much enthusiasm.

"Hey, she's not you, Kate," he tells her, trying to regain his footing. "No one is. It was just . . . it was just a surprise to see her there, that's all. I went there hoping to be single, but expecting to see Meredith. Seeing Kyra there naked and -"

"Naked?" Kate asks, both alarm and anger suddenly mixing into a lethal cocktail.

"She was like that when I arrived, Beckett," he offers, now getting a bit miffed himself. It's not like he stripped the woman naked. In fact, he did everything he could to escape her, including an impromptu impersonation of Joseph running from Potiphar's wife. And it seems his chivalry has been about as effective for him as it was the young Jewish man from long ago.

Suddenly, as quickly as the anger was upon her, Kate acquiesces, simply nodding her head at her companion. She knows she can't hold it against him. Not given the thoughts she herself is already having.

"Well, I have a surprise as well," she tells him, moving on, focusing her thoughts back on the little bundle of joy that is probably playing a game of hide-and-go-seek with Cassandra by now. Once again Kate smiles weakly, as she realizes how much she envies the nanny right now. And how much she wants to see the little girl . . . her little girl . . . again. And soon.

"What is it?" He asks, his concerns now mounting as well.

"I'm a mom."

He stares at her for a few seconds, his mouth opening slightly, the opening growing by the second as he processes what he has just heard, and tries to push his own words out. Words that have trouble forming, much less finding their way.

"Wow," he finally manages to say.

"Yeah," she agrees. "She's beautiful."

"A daughter," he says, his voice weakening.

Now he knows what that look was on her face. It was the look of a mother's love. A new mother's love, at that. A mother who has just brought home that newborn. He knows that expression, first-hand. Meredith had it once. It appears that in this reality, it's a feeling that never managed to leave the aspiring actress . . . unlike his own Meredith from his timeline.

He finds himself now mixing timelines, growing increasingly unable to easily distinguish between them. Sure, he has his own memories, and they haven't changed. But his memories are not in concert with the reality that now stares at him square in the face, and his brain is trying desperately to make sense of all of this. His mind is trying – somewhat successfully, somewhat unsuccessfully – to merge the two worlds together.

Looking at Kate, and just thinking about how she must be feeling as a new mother, he suspects that the prospects of a return trip to the Kronologix facility to try and fix all of this – to get him out of Kyra's bed, to get her out of Bracken's bed, to bring Alexis back home, to bring Javier and Kevin back to life – those prospects just took a serious, steep nosedive. And knowing how he feels about his own daughter . . . he certainly isn't one to blame her.

"What's her name?" he asks. He knows this is important to her. And so it is important to him, despite all it might mean for them.

"Madison," she tells him.

"Beautiful name," he muses aloud.

"Be even more beautiful with your last name," she replies sadly, and he nods as well, smiling as much as he can muster.

They stare at each other solemnly for a few seconds before she looks away.

"Kate?" he asks, reaching across the table for her hands. This small club in Greenwich Village is clearly not their type of place. A much younger crowd hangs out here and it has their vibe, their atmosphere. It's dark, and the actual club itself is below the street surface. The lack of windows and dim lighting give the place almost a cave-like feel. It's why he picked this place, knowing the likelihood of them being discovered here is quite low. It's a place he had frequented in the days of his youth . . . out of college, for some of his early writing inspiration. The place is much as he remembered, only before it was a comedy club. A place for aspiring comics to hone their craft.

"Kate," he repeats, knowing that they are getting ready to have a very important and unplanned discussion . . . one that could easily determine their future. One that is long, long overdue, he now realizes too late.

"We've never really talked about children," he tells her. "Not seriously, I mean. I don't know if we have avoided it consciously or not. But it looks like now is the time to –"

"I already have a child, Castle," she tells him, interrupting his montage of words. "How do I give her up? Huh? Tell me that! How do I leave a young girl who is me, in every way," Kate tells him, almost pleading now, and she doesn't know why.

"She looks like me. Her eyes, her lips, her nose, her chin. Everything about her screams me!"

"Then she must be the most beautiful little girl in the world," he tells her, and it completely disarms her. He has a daughter of his own, who she knows is the world to him. And yet he tells her this.

She is quiet for a moment, allowing his hands access to hers, as their fingers intertwine.

"Rick," she begins, but he cuts her off.

"I have a son," he tells her. She notices though that there is no joy in his voice, there is no dancing light in his eyes as there is when he speaks of his own daughter.

"Meredith and I divorced ten years ago," he tells her, relating to her what he discovered online about one Richard Castle, novelist and screenwriter.

"She took the children. Both of them. Alexis and Peter. Alexis and I have . . . an arms-length relationship."

Kate looks unblinkingly at him, shaking her head. She sees the pain in his eyes as he speaks about his estranged daughter. He gave up his children? This doesn't sound like the man she knows, the man sitting across from her at all. He would allow his kids to go away? And be all right with it?

"Meredith was working her acting career, and – what a surprise – took the tryout chair a little too seriously with a couple of directors," Castle continues. "Turns out, though, that while she was doing what she needed to do to land certain roles, I was out having some extra-curricular activities of my own. That's when Kyra entered the picture, after a rough break-up with her husband."

"That doesn't sound like you, Castle," Kate disagrees, shaking her head. "You've been married twice, and loyal both times, despite –"

"Not in this timeline," he interrupts, sadly. "In this timeline, I'm no better than Meredith. And it appears I was more than willing to allow Meredith to move our children . . . my children . . . Alexis . . . to the west coast so I could continue my career . . . and be with Kyra."

They are quiet for a moment before she speaks.

"Oh, Castle. I am so sorry," she tells him.

"So am I," he agrees, rubbing a hand through his hair in exasperation. He is fighting back tears now, as he considers the staggering costs that he is now paying for attempting to trifle with nature. The words of Dr. Sandra Windholm whisper mockingly in his ears now.

"If scientific history has taught us anything, it is this: Nature, or creation, has its own order. The more you mess with creation, the more you have to mess with creation. The more you mess with the natural order, the more you must continue to mess with the natural order."

The words were so profound, so beautifully poetic that his visual memory captured them – word for word. The words are permanently emblazoned in his memory. And still he ignored them. He pushes these regrets away – for now – to focus on the present. He senses there will be plenty of time for regrets.

Years, he suspects.

"You know, it appears to me that you now have two reasons to want to keep things as they are," he tells her. He glances at the stage momentarily, then returns his gaze to her.

"Your mom and your daughter. And I, too, have two reasons to want to keep things the same. Only they are very far away from me. They barely know me now," he says, with tears forming in his eyes once again. She squeezes his hands tightly.

"Oh, and I've won two Emmys and an Oscar," he laughs bitterly. "But at least it appears that I have a good marriage going."

"Believe it or not, so do I," she tells him, and watches his jaw drop a second time in the past few minutes. Yeah, this is a lot to digest. For both of them.

"Everything I have read, everything I have seen in the apartment tells me that Bracken is a decent man in this timeline. He's raised monies the traditional way for all of his campaigns. He loves his wife. He loves his daughter. There's no evidence of any wrongdoing, and believe me, I looked. I know where to look. Vulcan Simmons is behind bars. Has been for ten years."

"Dick Coonan is dead, killed behind bars," Castle tells her, and her heart leaps at the realization that – despite the sad news he has discovered for himself, he still has taken the time to research her world, her life.

"Roy Montgomery is Chief of Police," she tells him, and he nods his head knowingly.

"But Kevin and Javi are still gone," he tells her, and this time it is her turn to nod her head. She had found this out already also.

"Oh, and I'm District Attorney," she tells him. He nods, already having found this out also. They stare at each other for a few seconds before unreasonable laughter overtakes them. It's just a release. Stress, frustration, call it what you will. But the laughter is cathartic for both of them.

They order dinner. They grow quiet, listening to the soft jazz being played - on and off – over at the small, makeshift stage. Kate finds herself swaying with the music, lost in her thoughts as she nibbles on the pasta dish in front of her. She glances over at her companion. And her heart breaks.

The tears are dropping from his cheek like drops of rain. He is staring down at his meal – a similar pasta dish – only his fork dangles aimlessly from his fingertips. He is completely still, motionless, save the occasional sniffling that escapes.

"Castle," she barely whispers, her voice now breaking as well as her own tears – bravely held at bay up to this point – now come cascading downward.

He glances up at her with a humorless smile, juxtaposing itself against the onslaught of tears.

"We missed it, Kate," he tells her, his voice quivering.

"We missed what, Rick?" she asks. "Castle, what are you –"

"We missed our moment. Our season. The universe had granted us our own personal, extended Kairos moment. It plucked you off a ledge hanging by your fingertips and put you in my loft, giving us an opportunity to be together. A chance to be one. And we missed it."

"Castle, that's not –"

"We missed it chasing your mother's killers," he begins. "We missed it chasing murderers and adulterers and burglars. We missed it by never seriously talking about having a family of our own. We had our chance – the Greeks call it Kairos – those special moments, those special seasons. But you have to recognize them when the show themselves. And we didn't do that. That chance to have that serious conversation about children. That chance to put that diamond on your finger. That chance to put your mother's case away. That chance to fully integrate you into Alexis' life. All the chances we had . . . we just figured we had more time. More time. And all that time, those special moments passed us by."

She stares at him, tears falling freely down her face now. She's not sure if she agrees. But she thinks she does. She certainly understands. And it has taken this . . . all of this . . . to wake them up to the truth.

It takes another minute or so before he speaks.

"So . . ."

"So . . ." she repeats, and they laugh nervously.

"I think . . . I think we should probably . . . and I can't believe I am saying this," he begins. "But I think we need to go and sleep on this. The last thing we need to do is act rashly again."

"I think I agree, babe" she tells him. "Jumping into something hastily isn't the answer."

"But going home – at least for me – going home and jumping into bed with Kyra Blaine . . . Kyra Castle," he says with emphasis. "Well, that's not a great idea either, believe me. At least you know that Bracken isn't home."

"Oh . . . that," she counters slowly, and he can tell yet another shoe is ready to drop. "That's the text I got a half hour ago. He's on the train, headed home. Seems Congress was able to hammer out an agreement on the budget. The government will be funded, so everyone is on their way home now."

"Well, that's just lovely," he muses sarcastically.

They are quiet again for a moment before he throws his napkin on the table, effectively throwing in the towel.

"Don't give up, Castle," she tells him, pleads with him.

"So . . . we go home and sleep with our spouses –"

"Sleep being the operative word, Rick," Kate tells him, squeezing his hand in encouragement.

"Yeah, sleep," he repeats. "And then what? How long are we going to be able to avoid their more amorous advances? How long do we keep this ruse up before they know something is very wrong in Kansas?"

"I . . . I don't know," she replies, honestly. He stares at her for a few seconds before pushing back from the table.

"Neither do I," he agrees, offering her his hand to help her stand. They walk together, out of the small dark club, walking up the stairs to the street surface.

"Better take separate cabs," he tells her.

"Why?" she asks. "We can share a cab again and drop either of us off while the –"

"Separate cabs allows us to do whatever we need to do – mentally, emotionally – to fall into the role we are expected to play," he tells her. "Playing mommy is going to be child's play for you. You're already there. Dealing with your husband . . . and my wife . . . well . . ."

She nods her head, staring at him as he hails a cab. All too quickly one pulls over toward them, and Castle opens the door for her.

"Anyway, I think I have a long night of internet research in front of me," he tells her. "Apparently, I have an interview with Katie King tomorrow night, and I need to bone up on exactly who I am and what I've written and what I'm all about," he tells her.

"Who is Katie King?" she asks.

"Think Katie Couric," he replies, having done some research on his meeting tomorrow, and finding that, no – his meeting isn't with Katie Couric, but with a Katie King, who is the premier interviewer of celebrities. Yet another change.

She stares at the open cab door, then at him. Then back to the door. It's almost comical how out of tune they are now.

"You first," he tells her, smiling with a confidence he definitely doesn't feel. She obliges, trying to smile back at him while sliding into the back seat. He leans down and kisses her lips gently. She wants more. He does also. But whether he or she want to admit it – everything is different now. Kids tend do that. So do spouses.

"By the way," he tells her as he taps the roof of cab indicating she's ready to go. "I always knew you would be a great mom, Beckett."

He watches her drive away, once again staring at her face that is turned, facing him through the rear window. He muses that it's a scene he is started to see a little too often as he turns and whistles, flagging down another cab to take him home.

To Kyra.

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A/N: A happy and wonderful Father's Day wish to all of the dad's out there.