Kairos – Chapter 29
EPILOGUE
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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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Thursday Morning – May 1, 2013, 11:23 a.m., At an undisclosed medical facility in Connecticut
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She feels him. She feels a twitch in his fingers. Fingers that she has been holding on to now for hours as they both slept. His twitching immediately awakens her, and she slowly stands, careful not to release her hold on his hand. She stretches as much as she can, wiggling her hips, her legs and bending her back. Anything to get the blood flowing again and get rid of the stiffness.
Slowly, she sits back again, in the large chair that the staff had moved next to his bed once he came out of surgery all those hours ago. She watches him intently as his mouth begins to move, and his eyes flutter. His grip on her hand tightens, then releases as his head falls to the side, facing away from her. His head swings back toward her, and he begins to blink, trying desperately to awaken. Tightening his fingers around hers, his left eye manages to open for a second or two before shutting again.
With her free hand, she reaches over to hit the red button that hangs on a cord alongside his bed, calling the staff for help. She wants the floor staff to know he is coming around. His surgery, which began yesterday at 11:45 in the morning, lasted almost fifteen hours. Far longer than expected, but, then again – what they found in the X-rays prepared the surgeons for the battle ahead.
X-rays showed that his left hip was – in fact – displaced off-center by a full two inches, and his femur bone had been fractured. Fractured being a nice term, as the stability of the primary bone in his left leg was severely compromised. Hip replacement was required, and extensive surgery to the leg which includes a long rod down the center of the femur, and antibiotics to fight the infection. While inside his leg, surgeons made the decision to forego any work on his left knee, which may require surgery in the future.
They had rolled him back into the intensive care at the covert facility just after three o'clock this morning.
"He's got enough medication running through him to keep a horse out for half a day," the surgeon had joked to Kate when he came to speak with her around six this morning. "I know you've been sterilized, so you can stay . . . but get some sleep. He's going to be out for hours, and when he wakes up, he's going to want to see a familiar face."
He moans softly – not so much from pain as it is confusion. He's riddled with pain medications, and the doctors have promised that he will be comfortable for the next day or two before they start weaning him, before the meds start wearing off. Normally they would want him up and at it – but with injuries this extensive they aren't taking chances.
A tall male nurse walks in and stands alongside the sitting Kate.
"Waking up, I see," he offers in a deep voice, as he begins a routine of checking fluid lines, checking output displays on the monitors, and an inspection of the patient. A patient who is slowly regaining consciousness.
It takes another minute or so before any recognition in Castle's eyes even register the woman that sits next to him, holding his hand.
"Hey," he offers with a weak whisper.
"Hey yourself," she returns, now overcome with emotion, as tears erupt from her eyes and her voice breaks.
"I look that bad?" he asks, trying to smile.
"I'm sure you've looked better," the tall nurse remarks, with a chuckle. "But we will have you up in no time. How are you feeling Mr. Castle?"
"Been better," Castle offers.
He moves his tongue around the top of his mouth, and makes a face. To Kate, it's like he is a small child, being reduced to faces and grunts. Only the painful grunts have subsided, thankfully.
"Did we get him?" Castle asks.
"Get who?" Kate replies, now frightened of what he may be thinking.
"Whatever truck ran me over," he muses as he falls back into unconsciousness. It brings a smile of relief to her face.
"There's my Castle," she remarks, standing and leaning over him to place a soft kiss on his lips.
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Thursday Afternoon – May 1, 2013, 1:07 p.m., Still at the undisclosed medical facility in Connecticut
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Greg raises the bed ever so slightly so that Castle is a little more elevated than before. The tall nurse has taken a liking to the quick-witted writer, even in his discombobulated state.
"So, skiing accident, I hear," the nurse rumbles, as he walks around the bed, inspecting things.
"So they told me," Castle chuckles, and the two men laugh. Their laughter rouses Kate, who had fallen back asleep along with Castle roughly an hour and a half ago.
"Sleeping beauty awakens," Greg comments.
"I've been awake for the last ten, fifteen minutes, man," Castle banters back, and the two men chuckle again.
"Do I need to get you two a room or something," Kate muses half-heartedly.
"Uh . . . Beckett, I think I already have a room," Castle quips back. His speech is still slightly slurred, but his mind is in overdrive now. It's as if his brain is rejecting being under anesthesia for over half a day and is working overtime to catch up. And right now, he only has one question for his partner.
"Is . . . is she . . ."
He can't even ask the question. Fortunately, he doesn't have to. She knows where he is going with this. She merely nods her head, silently.
"I'm so sorry, Kate," he tells her, but she quickly puts a finger to his lips.
"Don't be," she tells him. "We tried to play God. And look at the price you are paying now."
He doesn't say anything. She's right, after all. This is what happens when mortals mistakenly believe they are God. He simply nods and turns his head away from her for a moment. The silence, after a few seconds, blows louder than thunder.
"And with that, I will leave you two to yourselves," Greg mutters, as he walks out of the room, offering a wave to Castle.
"How badly does it hurt?" she asks him.
"Not too much, unbelievably," he tells her, turning his head to face her once more.
"I'm so sorry, Rick. This is all my fault. I should have stopped us from –"
"If memory serves," he interrupts, "I do believe that is exactly what you tried to do the first time. It was me who wasn't listening."
"I know, but –"
"No buts, Kate," he tells her. "Well, except for yours of course. And in that case . . ."
He lets a short eye-wiggle bring a smile to her face. It doesn't stay there long.
"Regardless, this is what we do," she tells him. "Somehow, my quests become your quests. And you're the one who ends up paying the price. This has to stop."
"What does?" he asks. It would be just like her to bail on him now. Surely she wouldn't go there. Would she?
"All of this," she tells him. "You and I poking and digging into dark things. Things buried that need to stay buried. Shit, being a cop is dangerous enough without what I have us doing."
"Kate, I –"
"Let me finish," she tells him. "When we first met, that first year we worked together. When you first learned of my mother's case and starting asking me about it. What did I tell you then, Castle? I told you it took me a year of therapy to get to the point where I realized if I didn't let that case go, it would destroy me. But over the years, you or I would bring it up – or something new would pop up – but the result was always the same. Someone destroyed. Something destroyed."
"But we found out who ordered –"
"But look at the result," she interrupts, pointing to his hip area. "Look at you, Rick! I can never live this down. I can never forgive myself for this. One of us is going to get killed over this . . . and more and more it looks like it's going to be you. Roy's already dead. Everyone who touches this case dies. And the fact that we're still here doesn't mean we're okay. It doesn't mean we're out of the woods. It only means it hasn't hit us yet. Yet! But it will."
She stands up, stretching, and walks away from him, as Jackson Hunt enters the room. Both of their eyes move toward the man, who simply nods his head toward Kate as he walks toward the bed.
"How are you doing?" he asks Castle, his voice soft and polite. It's a new look on him.
"Looks like I'm going to be getting a lot of rest," Castle replies.
"Take advantage of it," he warns. "The getting-better part won't be fun. And the PT's here aren't known for their kindness."
"I'll file that one away," Castle tells him. "So . . . is it over? Is everything . . . as it is supposed to be?"
"It's almost over," Hunt replies. "And yes, everything is as it should be . . . as it is supposed to be. Or at least it will be shortly," he adds, glancing at his watch.
"Alexis is alive, Meredith is alive, Kevin and Javi are fine," Kate tells him. "Neither of us are married, and Gates knows we are an item."
Castle nods his head quietly.
"So . . . back to normal, eh?" he offers.
"Normal? What's that?" Kate laughs, and it is a laugh devoid of humor.
"Never again," she tells him, and she doesn't see the smile of satisfaction that momentarily passes along the face of Jackson Hunt.
"Dr. Windholm was in custody," Hunt tells the duo, who offer looks of surprise. "Oh, she's not under arrest or anything. We let her go. She and I just had to have one final conversation. I needed to explain to her, in no uncertain terms, the price she will pay if she tries any more stunts like this."
Neither Castle nor Kate need further explanations regrading what 'the price she will pay' could mean.
"So, one question," Kate asks. "Why us? I mean, why wouldn't Sandra just use the machine herself to go back and save her mother? Why even pull Castle and I into this?"
"She tried," Hunt remarks, as he recalls the conversation he has just had with the renowned physicist in the past few hours.
"You were right," he continues. "Her mother, Diane Cavanaugh, worked with your mother, Detective."
Castle smiles softly as he hears the term – the title – he has always known Kate Beckett by, being used by his father. It's familiar. It's comforting. It tells him they are home.
"And you were right, her mother was killed after your mother was murdered. Sandra would have gone back herself, tried something herself – but she was diagnosed last year with cancer. Went through the chemo treatments, and seems to be in remission. But she didn't want to chance the whole reconstruction process, not with her cellular damage."
Both Castle and Kate nod their heads in understanding as Hunt continues.
"Still, though, she had worked with me to reset the timeline with the Russian victory in Moscow, which turned the war. Without that, Germany won. You know the rest. Germany took over America, Japan took over the Hawaiian Islands and the Philippines. Mass genocide, multiple holocausts. All of that changed. Sandra figured the life of her mother – the life of one person – was her reward for building the technology that saved America and Western Europe. As a rationale human being, I can't say I blamed her. Can't say I disagreed with her. As a soldier, though, that was unacceptable."
He moves to the large window away from Castle's bed, and faces the outside.
"Rodney, her husband, agreed with her," he continues. "She sent Rodney back to April 1999 to change history. To save her mother. But Rodney, like Sandra, was a scientist, not a soldier. So when he goes back to April 1999 and is standing in an alley with a killer with a knife – and he is all that is standing between that killer and Diane Cavanaugh . . . well, how do you think that one turned out?" he asks, sadly.
Once again, Kate and Castle nod their heads as one. Yeah, that one is predictable. A scientist lands in the middle of an alley face to face with a knife-wielding Dick Coonan. That one hand to end badly.
"The bracelet brought him back," Hunt continues the story. "But not in time. He returned with a couple of stab wounds, courtesy of Sandra's mother's killer. He died on the floor of the transport room upon his return."
He turns away from the window, and now faces Castle.
"So, now because of the timeline change I made – because we changed the outcome the war, the result is Sandra loses both her mother and her husband. Now, I'm an asshole, but even I have to admit, that's a pretty steep price for anyone to pay. So . . . in Sandra's mind, sending you and the detective back was her only chance – her only chance now not only to bring back her mother, but to bring back her husband as well."
The trio is quiet for a moment before Kate asks the question that both she and Castle are wondering.
"So . . . what happens now?"
"It all will be taken care of shortly," he tells them, and walks toward the door. "I'll be back later tonight, Richard. I'm glad they were able to help you."
He opens the door and takes one step out before turning back to the couple.
"Watch the news tonight."
With that, Jackson Hunt leaves the room, leaving the couple alone with their thoughts, their fears, their regrets. He leaves the door open.
"When we get out of here," Castle begins, "we need to shut Kronologix down."
"Something tells me," Kate tells him as she glances back toward the door, "that won't be necessary."
He gazes at her, then the door, and then nods his head.
"I've been thinking. I have a lot of time to do that, you know," Castle tells her. "It does make you wonder . . ."
Castle looks at her, gazing into her eyes, searching. He closes his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath before continuing.
"I think of all of the massive changes that one single trip produced," he begins. "One trip changed the world. Changed the outcome of an entire world war. Saved millions and millions of lives. A separate trip killed a husband, widowing a wonderful woman. And another trip saved one mother, but killed a wife and daughter. Killed two great friends, and a thousand innocent people. Still another trip gave you a daughter, gave both of us new spouses, new careers . . ."
"What are you getting at, Castle," she asks nervously. She has no idea where he could possibly be going with this.
"Maybe it's because I'm a writer," he tells her. "Maybe it's just my fertile imagination. Hell, maybe it's just the drugs. But think about it, Kate. What if . . ."
He pauses for a minute, staring at her. Her eyes question him to continue.
"Kate, what if – and go with me on this – what if the only reason your mother died is because someone went back in time – after my father reset history – and did something. What if – in the past month, someone went back in time and altered reality, so that your mom felt compelled to take on Pulgatti's case. We would never know it happened. We'd just be living that reality. Think about it, babe," he asks, as he sees the horror in her eyes.
"Think about this," he continues. "Your mom fought for the little guy, the common person. The disenfranchised. That's not Joe Pulgatti! He was a hardened, known criminal. Not her usual case. A mobster with a rap sheet as long as your leg."
He pauses to catch his breath . . . and his thoughts. He really wants to sleep, but he's been sleeping long enough.
"Why in the hell would your mother ever agree to take his case?! It's all wrong. It's not the type of case she took. And I know this, Kate, because I have looked! I've researched your mother, I've studied her file long enough. His was the first case like this she ever took. And you want to know what else I learned? A couple of years ago – when I first looked into this . . . when I was trying to solve her murder behind your back?"
He sees the look she gives him, and ignores it. He needs to say this. He has kept this hidden long enough. No more secrets.
"I got my hands on old letters inside her firm. Old emails. No one in your mom's little firm was in favor of her doing this, Kate. I even found one letter – obviously written in frustration – begging her not to take this case. I found frustrated employees, telling her that this wasn't like her!"
He watches her wide-eyed expression, and for a brief moment he wonders why she – a successful detective, didn't discover this herself.
"I just chalked it up to her goodness showing through," he continues, but then raises a shaking hand, pointing it at her face.
"But what if that wasn't it," he asks. "What if someone returned to the past, and caused her to take the case?"
"You don't know that Castle," Kate argues, her voice shaking now.
"That's right," he admits. "I don't know. But neither do you! Do you think that Jenny has any fucking idea that her husband was never supposed to die in the timeline we created? That he wasn't even supposed to be there when that bomb exploded? And Lanie? Do you think she knew that Javier wasn't supposed to be at the bomb site?! None of us know, Kate! That's the point. We're not supposed to know. But I do know this much. The reality that you and I know – that we've lived for the past decades – who knows if that's really the way it was supposed to be?!"
She is quiet, and he is tired – he is exhausted from his soliloquy. His head falls back into the pillow. His body relaxes. She grabs his hand, and brings it to her lips, kissing his fingers.
Outside his room, a silent Jackson Hunt nods his head, his lips pursed, once again amazed at the intuition of the injured man – his son – lying in the room behind him. He pushes himself away from the door, and walks down the hallway toward the elevators.
Back in the room a very tired Castle retracts his hand from Kate, and places it under the covers, where he follows along his leg.
"I don't know what it all means, Kate," he tells her, his voice weary. "But what I do know is that this is our reality. It may have been manufactured. It may not. But this is the one reality – the one timeline – where I know you and I ended up together. There's a reality where I don't exist. Another where I am a widower. Another where I am married to . . . another woman. This is the one reality where I am with you. That's enough for me."
She squeezes his hand, as she sees his eyes cloud. He will be unconscious in seconds, she knows.
"I hope it's enough for you, too," he whispers, as sleep overtakes him.
"It is, babe," she replies, tears falling freely. "Believe me, it is."
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Thursday Evening – May 1, 2013, 11:01 p.m., Still at an undisclosed medical facility in Connecticut
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Richard Castle is wide awake now. Kate is still sitting beside him, dozing off. Jackson Hunt sits on the other side of his bed as the late news comes on. Hunt reaches for the main remote controller, and turns the volume up.
"You're going to want to wake her for this, Richard," he tells him,
Castle turns his head, and whispers to his muse, his partner.
"Kate," he calls out softly, but there is no reply.
"Beckett!" he almost yells – he still doesn't' have the strength for that – but it awakens her. She wakes with a start, looking around quickly.
"What is it, Rick?" she asks, wiping her eyes.
"You'll want to see this, Detective," Hunt calls across the bed. She glances at him, then glances up toward the television hanging from the wall.
"We open our broadcast tonight, with a bit of a local mystery right out of a movie script," the blonde-haired newscaster reports. "City ambulatory services were called this evening, responding to an unknown 911 call concerning an explosion in southwest Brooklyn this evening. An old warehouse building was leveled by the explosion, although as you can see from the video taken at the scene – there is no evidence of a traditional explosion. In fact, witnesses interviewed at the scene who were passing by the facility at the time swear that portions of the building simply . . . and I am using their words . . . imploded. Ramona Vasquez is on site in Brooklyn."
The scene shifts to a witness to the event, who is being interviewed on site.
"This is Ramona Vasquez, on location live at an old abandoned warehouse here in Brooklyn, and yes, I promise our viewers, this used to be a four story warehouse building. Now – well, we aren't sure what it is, but Mr. Robert Hamilton here was passing by at the time. Mr. Hamilton, what can you tell us?"
"Well, I can tell you it was the damn craziest thing I've ever seen, Ramona," Hamilton replies, now staring into the camera. "All I can tell you is that this was something out of a movie, I tell ya. The damn building just collapsed in on itself. There were people inside getting sucked into some kind of vortex. I know you think I'm kidding, but look around. This was a freaking war zone, I'm telling ya."
The camera pans out, showing the building. All that is left of the facility is a torn-apart shell of a building. It looks like a bomb of sorts has been dropped on the place, resembling the burnt out shells of buildings from old World War II footage from Europe. There are body parts, human limbs littering the grounds. It's a bloody scene worthy of a Tarantino movie. There is no sign of Sandra Windholm, or her staff.
"We really have no idea what has happened here, but we will be staying on top of this to bring updates throughout the day tomorrow. This is Ramona Vasquez, reporting live from what I can only describe to be a type of ground zero here in Brooklyn."
Richard Castle and Kate Beckett simply stare at the television screen, as the next report is broadcast. They don't say a word. Jackson Hunt uses the remote to turn the television off. He stands, brushing himself off. His eyes are sad, and very far away.
"She's dead, isn't she?" Castle asks softly. He's talking, of course, about Dr. Sandra Windholm.
"Yes," is the simple reply that comes from Jackson Hunt.
"Why?" Kate asks.
"Because she turned the transport room on again," he tells them. "When we returned, I activated the kill-switch. If anyone turned it back on again without entering my special identification code, the machine was rigged to widen the transmission field to include eighty yards. Anything within eighty yards in any direction became part of the transmission data. The seven floor below the surface, and the majority of the first floor all were sucked into the transmission."
"Sandra?" Kate asks.
"Yes," Hunt replies. "She just . . . couldn't leave it alone."
They can see the hurt in his eyes, the sadness. He really wanted it to end a different way. In the end, however, Sandra, as he said, just 'couldn't leave it alone."
"She was a hero, son," he tells Castle. "By any and every definition of the word, she was a hero. The life you, Beckett, I . . . all of us . . . the lives we have are a testimony to her brilliance. None of this," he says, waving his hands to include everything they see, "occurs without her."
"She missed her moment," Castle tells him, eyeing his father evenly.
"No, son," he corrects him. "She found her moment. She found her purpose. She just didn't recognize that that was her moment. She kept searching."
"Is that a bad thing?" Kate asks, now wondering if there isn't a veiled reference to her somewhere in there.
"Sometimes it is, Detective," Hunt replies. "Sometimes it is."
He stands, and gazes at his son as if it is the last time he will be seeing him. His smile is genuine as he opens the door and departs.
Castle stares at the door for three, four, five seconds before returning his attention to Kate.
"Wow," she manages. It's more than either can say. She takes his hand again, and her eyes mist as he slowly brings her hand to his lips. Returning her kiss.
"We didn't miss our moment, did we, Rick?" she asks. His eyes are closed, and his is breathing heavily. She thinks he is asleep, but seconds later, he responds.
"Almost," he replies. "But at least we know what is missing."
"What's that?" she asks, confused.
"Alexis needs a little sister. Or brother. I don't care which."
Kate smiles, as he drifts off again, and she releases her grip on his hand. She leans back in her chair, closing her eyes. There is no thought of the past. Only the future. A future that very possibly could include – among other things – a new addition.
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Perhaps you're smiling now
Smiling through this darkness
But all I had to give
Was guilt for dreaming.
- David Bowie, from the album Aladdin Sane, 1973