Kairos – Chapter 22

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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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Monday Morning – April 29, 2013, 2:47 a.m., At Kate Beckett and William Bracken's Home in NYC

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There is a light rain falling outside, and she marvels at the view of the falling rain from thirty-nine odd floors high, into the sky. This is yet another new thing for her to experience, and one she knows that most people have never even imagined. She pulls herself out of bed, extracting herself from the tiny arms and legs that have entwined themselves with hers, smiling at the little form beneath her.

She walks to the windows, listening to the rain that pelts the glass, marveling again at the sight of rain falling beneath her. She watches the streaks of rain fly downward until they are out of sight, well below her line of vision and rushing to the ground below. She turns – content – and heads back toward the bed where little Madison hasn't even stirred.

She hears him open the door – rather, she hears the security chime as the door opens downstairs as she settles back into bed, pulling the covers up over herself and the young child. Immediately young Madison's arms find her, seeking her warmth and comfort.

Kate knows the trains were running late – and he had called when he arrived at the Philadelphia station on 30th Street, letting her know that the trains were stopped in Philly, where he had transferred. He had informed her that he'd be home when the trains started running again.

She is upstairs in . . . in their master bedroom. Pictures of a very happy couple, and their child, surround her in the bedroom. They are on the nightstands, on the walls, on the dresser. Everywhere she looks, she is all but attacked by images of a happy home, a happy family.

It had initially been a surprise to her to discover that this high rise apartment was actually two floors, with a spiral staircase leading up to the single bedroom up top. Downstairs, there are two other bedrooms. One is a guest room, while the other is occupied by Cassandra, who she now understands is a live-in nanny and housekeeper.

And a damn good woman on top of that.

The small figure rustles next to her, attempting to snuggle even closer if it were possible, and Kate smiles broadly. She has had little Madison in bed with her since they both retired for the night. Having the young girl in bed with her is a comforting arrangement for two reasons:

First – well, hey, she just wants to sleep with her daughter this first night. This is all new for her – being a mom, having a little child – a daughter. To be able to seek her out, hold her hand, hug her, and give her repeated good night kisses. It's almost too much, this emotional assault, even though every bit of it brings pure happiness. She doesn't want to let the little girl out of her sight – even in sleep. She found herself thinking about the little one even during her time with Castle tonight. Yeah, Madison is already a fixture in her head . . . and her heart. It scares her how quickly that occurred.

Second – well, come on, let's be honest. She doesn't want to be in bed alone with William Bracken any more than she wants to be with a serial killer. No matter their relationship in this timeline, no matter that he appears to be a good and honest man, she is not ready to deal with that. She doesn't want to have anything to do with the man in an intimate environment.

That type of intimacy is reserved for Richard Castle only.

So why in the hell does she feel . . . almost comforted when she hears him approaching? She shakes her head, as if trying to expel unwanted thoughts and feelings.

The Senator is quiet, being very considerate of his wife as he walks through the house, knowing that she and his daughter are asleep. However, he is not expecting what he sees when he walks into the bedroom, and smiles broadly. Seeing Madison in their bed is not a common occurrence. Kate usually wants him for herself in their bedroom. In fact, Cassandra – who is staying downstairs in her bedroom in their two-story loft where they take up the top two floors – is usually Madison's sleep mate when Madison doesn't want to be alone. So seeing Madison in their bed brings a smile of joyful surprise to the Senator. He immediately wonders if something is wrong.

"Hey, are you okay babe?" he whispers, not wanting to wake their daughter.

"I'm good," she replies. "How did it go? I mean, obviously everyone came to an agreement, but –"

"Typical stuff," he says dismissively. "Agendas within agendas, and not enough of us focused on the bigger picture."

He takes his shirt off, and hangs it on the large bedpost at the foot of the bed. He offers a smirk to Kate – an inside joke she is not privy to, and takes off his T-shirt, and grabs the white button-down shirt off the bedpost. He quickly, but silently walks to the laundry chute on the wall, and tosses both shirts in. He stands at the chute, quickly discarding his shoes, then his pants and socks. He tosses all but the shoes and his belt down the chute. He bends and picks up his shoes.

"Nice to see Madison there," he tells her as he walks back toward the closet, and places his shoes on a shelf there. He then makes his way to their master bathroom, where he immediately turns the shower on. It's been a long day for the Senator.

She watches him with a detached curiosity, and his words unintentionally hurt, because they immediately let Kate know that this is a not a common thing. Madison in bed with her parents isn't something that happens often enough. She winces at herself, yet again wondering what kind of person she has become in this timeline. It once again is forcing her to take a new, elongated look at herself in her original timeline – the Kate Beckett she knew, the Kate Beckett that Richard Castle knew.

She's not too happy with this backward glance.

But all of that is in the past. Tonight, with young Madison under her arm, she has already been fighting the war in her mind over her future. It's a war of extreme casualties.

One on hand, she has her mother back. Johanna is alive and well. That, and she has a daughter. And a sister. If the cost the universe has exacted from her for these gifts is taking Castle out of her bed and putting Bracken there . . . well, it's a lousy exchange . . . right?

Then again, Castle is here. In this timeline. He's not in her bed, but he is here. He, like she, is married to someone else. But he's here. So there is still a chance . . . he's married to someone else, but come on, let's face it. He's been married twice before. She's long ago moved past Richard Castle's previous marriages.

Then again, he's not in a 'previous marriage' right now. He's currently married. And so is she.

She frowns, as she listens to her husband – and no, she's not going to get used to that – enter the shower and close the door behind him. She hears him . . . singing or humming something, and immediately glances down at Madison. The young girl doesn't even stir.

She's still trying to figure out how to have it all. Her mother, her daughter, her sister, Castle. The order in which she rattles those off mentally is lost on her. Regardless, she is slowly coming to the conclusion that maybe . . . just maybe, having it all might not be a possibility.

"Shut up," she tells the universe that whispers to her, almost mockingly. "It's only been one day. I can figure this out."

But then she finds herself – again – thinking about Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan. And their widows. Clearly the right side of the ledger is outweighing the left. It's not even close. Losing Castle, gaining Bracken, losing Kevin and Javier, and another thousand . . . or was it twelve hundred or so souls killed on the right side of the ledger, while her mother, sister and Madison sit on the left. Those scales are tipped so clearly.

Even she isn't this selfish.

Is she?

At least the one piece of good news is that the very tired Senator – after a weekend of arguing with his colleagues on Capitol Hill, and after a long night of train delays that lasted into the wee hours of this morning – well, he's of a singular mind now, and that is getting some shut-eye, and nothing else. He exits the stall after the quickest non-military shower on record, has dried off in similar record time and has thrown a pair of pajama pants on. He comes to the bed, bare-chested and quickly sits on his side of the bed, running his hands across a very tired face.

He doesn't make a move towards moving the little girl out of bed, or moving he and Kate to a different room for . . . activities. She silently thanks the heavens that she doesn't have to fight that particular battle this evening . . . morning . . . whatever.

She glances at the clock, and then at the man who is falling backwards into their bed.

"It's good to have you home," she tells him, and she immediately stifles a gasp of surprise. Why did she say that?

She frightens herself now, wondering if she – if her brain – if her unconscious thought – is slowly acclimating itself to this timeline. She wonders – not for the first time tonight – if the longer she lives in this reality, the more her brain forces this to become her reality. She wonders, her hands now tightened into shaking fists, if the universe is going to slowly burn Richard Castle, and her other life out of her consciousness. And just as concerning, she wonders if the universe is doing the same thing with Richard Castle back at his loft . . . with Kyra.

"It's good to be home, babe. Hey, are you okay over there," he asks her, as he lies in the bed, slowly closing his eyes, on the other side of Madison. He can feel his wife shaking.

"Just a lot on my mind," she tells him – and it's only a white lie. Hell, it's no lie at all. There is a lot on her mind. She just can't tell him what it is.

"Well, it's good to be back home," he repeats. "I wasn't counting on being back for another few days, so this is nice." His voice is . . . lower than she remembers. It sort of rumbles like thunder. It's a kind voice, not the scheming voice she has grown used to.

"Me, either," she tells him. "And Madison will be happy to wake up with her daddy."

Once again, as the words leave her lips, she catches herself yet again. These are words she shouldn't be speaking. She hates this man.

Doesn't she?

He is her sworn enemy, the man she would do almost anything to see hurt, to see damaged, to see put away.

Isn't he?

Once again, her brain rails against her senses, contradicting what she has long held to be true. Her mother is alive, so he didn't have her killed. Her father is alive and well, and she has a sister. He seems – by all evidence – to be a decent man, a straight-forward politician looking to do some good. She has learned – from the internet – that he is the presumed front runner for his party's presidential nomination that is only three years away.

And he seems to be a family man, on top of everything else.

But she hates this man, doesn't she?

Yet somehow – somewhere in time – this man put a ring on her finger. And she accepted.

She wonders – not for the first time – why Richard Castle has yet to put a ring on her finger. And honestly wonders what her reaction would have been had he tried. He's worked with her for going on five years, and wooed her seriously for two of those years. Last spring – almost a full year ago – she finally stopped running, throwing herself into his arms, into his bed, begging for forgiveness. And yet, the last year hasn't brought on any kind of commitment from Castle. No talk of marriage, or anything serious. In fact, until last week when he refused to leave her while she stood on a ticking time bomb, she wondered whether or not he was just in this for the fun of it. She had wondered whether – now that the chase was over – whether or not the thrill for him was gone as well.

She closes her eyes, tightening them, her mind a jumbled mess now. She holds onto Madison all the more tightly, using the young girl as support.

"God, please help me," she whispers to herself, hoping her husband doesn't hear her silent prayer. Even this action stuns her. It is so unlike her. She doesn't pray often. Hell, she doesn't pray ever. She's seen too much in her lifetime, and it has hardened her. But now? After the past two days. After what she has been through? Yeah, prayer is definitely an option now. And it seems to be an option that this Kate Beckett is comfortable with.

But she is Kate.

Isn't she?

She feels his arm – her husband's arm – reach over their daughter, and alight on her shoulder. And somehow, dammit, she finds comfort in his touch, which instantly opens her eyes in alarm. Not that he has reached over to her – but that she accepts it so readily.

Within minutes, a grateful Kate Beckett finds the slumber she so desperately seeks, now questioning many things . . . not the least of which is simply this:

Who is Kate Beckett?

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A/N: The sub-conscious mind is an interesting thing. It operates much faster than our conscious thought process, and everything we have ever experienced since birth – what we eat, what we see, what we smell, what we taste, what we feel – all of that is stored in our subconscious. So what happens when what is stored in our subconscious is suddenly confronted with a reality that screams in opposition to what is stored there? To be honest, I don't know the answer to that. I'm not an expert in subconscious thought. But it is interesting to consider the position that both Rick and Kate have been thrown into.

I didn't want this to be a time-travel story where the two travelers, our protagonists, where thrown into a new timeline and they magically assimilated into it – having all of the memories of the new timeline. I wanted them to keep their own memories and personalities, and have that subconscious battle ensue.

It will be interesting to see how all of you – my readers, if you will – will or will not accept this. I suspect some will be okay with Rick's subconscious attempt to assimilate with Kyra, while others will absolutely not accept Kate doing the same – and vice versa. And perhaps some will reject BOTH for their subconscious attempts.

Either way – thanks for staying with the story.