A/N: Wow, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed!
Some of you mentioned not having read any 7x06 AU fics—there are a bunch of one-shots and you can find them on the Castle FanFics Tumblr page. Just Google "castle fanfics list" and it should be the first thing to pop up, and once you click on Fic Lists, you can navigate to Season 7 and explore!
Here are the few multi-fics that I would recommend:
— My You by jam921
— Change of State (Part 1) by chezchuckles (and Sandiane Carter)
— World Anew (Part 2) by chezchuckles (and Sandiane Carter)
— Change in Realities (Part 1) by bravevulnerability
— New Years's Day (Part 2) by bravevulnerability
— The Road Not Taken by alwayswriteswithcoffee (*unfinished)
Ghosts
They said it was a miracle.
One bullet almost nicked his heart, somehow managed not to hit any other vital organs, and they were able to dig it out with little issue.
The other bullet, however, punctured his left lung, and due to a complication, they had to perform an emergency lobectomy and remove a lobe from his lung. He also lost a lot of blood. But he was expected to recover if he made it through the night.
She almost collapsed in relief.
Martha actually did.
He was alive.
Just barely.
But he was alive.
"It's past visiting hours, ma'am," the nurse says. It's after one a.m. The writer's surgery had begun in the late afternoon and lasted about ten hours.
"Don't ma'am me! He needs us here," Martha protests loudly.
"He's going to be okay," the nurse placates.
The reality of the situation had finally crashed down on top of the actress and she was folding like a house of cards.
"We will call you. In the meantime, we have people checking on him every hour. And you should go home. Get some sleep. Okay?" the nurse soothes.
"He's in very capable hands," Alexis adds, glancing at Beckett as she echoes her words from earlier. "The best thing we can do right now is hope for the best possible outcome. That's what dad would want, right?"
Martha's bloodshot eyes dart around, harried and confused, and Beckett realizes she's seen this before. Seen it with her father too many times to count. All those hits from the flask must be hitting the older woman back, hard and fast.
Alexis's face cracks with worry when her grandmother babbles some nonsense in reply.
Beckett steps forward.
"Why don't I take you both home?"
She parks in a guest spot in the underground garage of their building, so she can help Alexis with Martha. The actress had fallen into a twilight stupor, oscillating in and out of consciousness; mumbling gibberish under her breath.
They carefully string her between their shoulders, support her at the waist with braced arms, and gently guide her into the elevator. The whole thing is far too reminiscent of the times she's had to drag her father home from the bar, his body, a dead weight against hers.
At least Alexis isn't alone.
The loft apartment is bathed in warm low-lights when they enter, and she gets a glimpse of the living area. Lots of elegant white furniture and refined beige accents coupled with gaudy pops of color. (Is that a crystal chandelier and a grand piano?) A little ostentatious for her taste, but that's neither here nor there.
"We can put her in my dad's room," Alexis suggests, veering right. "It'll be easier than the stairs."
Beckett nods and dutifully follows her lead, leaving her with little time to mentally prepare for setting foot in Richard Castle's bedroom. She has no idea what to expect, but she's surprised to find that it's actually quite…normal. Alexis flicks a bedside lamp on, and she's introduced to warm reds, sleek blacks, and muted silvers. Masculine but tasteful, she decides. Nothing over the top or in-your-face. And definitely not your typical bachelor pad.
The metallic checkered design above the headboard and large black-and-white prints of a lion and an elephant are the only touches of personality in a space that otherwise emits a quiet luxury.
"Do you think you could help me undress her, too?" Alexis asks quietly once they've set the actress on the bed.
"Of course."
After they help Martha into a silk pajama set and tuck her under the duvet, Alexis murmurs, "We have a guest room. You should stay."
"Oh, that's not necessary."
"It's late and you shouldn't drive tired," the young woman argues.
"I'll take a cab."
"Please, Captain," she pleads softly, a fragile look in her eye. "I know this might sound silly, but I just think…I think if we stick close together, he has a better chance of pulling through."
Well, fuck.
A hot lump of tears lodges in her throat.
"No, not silly at all," Beckett rasps. "I can stay."
The raven-haired girl surges into her, enveloping her in another hug. "Thank you," she whispers hoarsely.
Beckett runs a hand over Alexis' long locks, her heart warming and something like true hope sowing in her.
And then she's being loaned a pair of sweats and a T-shirt to sleep in and she's in the guest room shower, scalding hot water pounding down on her back, her head between her knees.
The chaos of the past 12 hours has left her numb and hollowed out.
Hell, the past 48 hours, really.
Richard Castle and his family have utterly destroyed her. Demolished her wall into a pile of rubble. And she doesn't know what she's going to do if he doesn't make it.
Oh, God, she really needs him to make it.
Please let him make it.
Alexis bursts into her room in the morning, a huge smile on her face.
"He pulled through."
He's moved into a private ICU room and allowed one visitor for 15 to 30 minutes at a time.
Alexis goes first. And Martha, second. He's still unconscious, so they don't stay long, but they insist she see him, too.
And it does help. To see proof that he's there. That he's alive.
But also terrifying. All those tubes and wires plugged into him. He looks so pale under the fluroscents. So defenseless and vulnerable.
Just as she's about to leave, his heart monitor starts to beep erratically. And then she watches his eyes fly open and his throat contract around the tube shoved down his trachea, gagging on it. Oh, fuck. He's choking.
She immediately presses the call button.
He senses her movement and darts his gaze toward her. She tries to assuage the panic dilating his pupils with, "It's okay. The tube is helping you breathe. You just got out of surgery."
His hand shoots out and grabs hers in a vise-like grip, confusion all over his face.
"You've been shot," she explains.
His brow cinches down, questioning.
"We were working a case together, remember?"
But that doesn't seem to help. He scans her in consternation. Like he doesn't recognize her. Like he has no idea what she's talking about. She knows he just got out of major surgery, that he's strung out on a high dose of pain meds and reconciling with the tube protruding from his mouth, but he's looking at her like she's a complete stranger. Like he's never seen her before.
Her heart sinks.
"Your family's here. Your mother and daughter are here," she says, slipping her hand from his grasp as a nurse rushes in.
The woman in scrubs administers some morphine and soon, his monitors stabilize and his eyes flutter shut. The nurse checks his numbers and writes them down on his chart.
"He's doing better, yeah?" Beckett asks tentatively.
The woman glances up. "He's got a long road ahead, but his vitals are trending upward."
Relief swirls through her. "He's really going to make it?"
The nurse nods with a sympathetic smile.
She throws the writer one last look, thinking of other worlds and what ifs.
Because if she knew one thing…it was that the man in the hospital bed wasn't the same one who had jumped in front of her. Not the man who saved her. Not the man in love with her.
No.
She knew it in her gut.
That man was gone.
She updates Martha and Alexis on her way out before getting interrupted by a work call.
Internal Affairs wants a debrief ASAP.
Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what she needs. A bureaucratic shake-down.
She leaves her personal number with his mother and daughter before she departs, saying if they need anything—anything at all—she's just a phone call away. They dust kisses over her cheekbones and hug her so fiercely she swears her ribs are about to crack, but she treasures their touches of warm affection, holding onto them just as tight, reveling in the new and strange bond they've forged. The strangest thing about it is that it doesn't actually feel strange at all.
She then heads straight to the precinct for her meeting, still in her wrinkled clothes from the day before. She's able to freshen up with some make-up from her purse, finger-comb her air-dried hair into a somewhat presentable bun, and thankfully, she has an extra blazer in her desk drawer, but she's nowhere near as put-together as usual.
She's down a layer of armor and already feeling stripped and raw from everything, so she's wholly unprepared when she walks into the conference room and sees her mentor and Chief of Detectives, Roy Montgomery, and his deputy chief, Victoria Gates, in attendance. They sit off to the side, but their presence is more nerve-wracking than comforting.
She does her best to recount the facts of the case and timeline of events in a clipped, clinical, professional tone.
When she finishes, there's a long beat of silence.
Finally, Gates comments, "Sounds to me if you hadn't been there, Mr. Castle might've not been so lucky."
"Sir?"
"You closed the case. Your suspect was in custody. But Mr. Castle decided there was a reason to dig deeper and he went rogue, after you already cautioned him about getting further involved. He's the one who put himself in the middle of a situation he wasn't trained for. If you hadn't shown up when you did, he likely would've been caught in the crossfire anyway and ultimately, left for dead. The way I see it—you saved his life."
"I agree," Montgomery says. He stands to his feet. "I think we can consider this matter adjudicated." He buttons his jacket up. "Gentleman?"
The I.A. agents gather their briefcases, snapping them shut, and promptly file out.
"Why don't you take a couple days off?" Montgomery suggests.
"But—"
"That's an order, Captain," he says sternly. Then, smiling. "And I'll see you on Sunday for your birthday dinner. Evelyn's making her special Sherry Bundt cake. Said you deserved the best for the big 3-5."
She and the team send a large basket of muffins to Castle's private room once he's transferred out of the ICU the next week. Flowers weren't permitted since they could carry hazardous bacteria and possibly trigger an infection in an immunocompromised patient like him.
The doctors had to take him into a follow-up surgery to repair some scar tissue and he was on around-the-clock care but improving every day. Martha calls her with updates, treating her like a pseudo-family member, and she's not sure why she's encouraging it. What was the point?
Maybe it's the guilt.
Even though she'd been cleared of any misconduct, she still can't help but feel responsible for the whole affair.
Or maybe because it keeps her sane, knowing he's going to be okay.
"He's breathing on his own."
"Oh, that's fantastic," Beckett exhales. "So the tube's out?"
"He's talking," Martha says, practically cheering.
"You don't know how great that is to hear," the captain says.
"Please say you'll come visit."
"Martha—"
"I know, I know. You're a busy woman. But it would mean the world to us. You've been so supportive through everything and Richard…well, he has a lot of questions."
"Questions?" Beckett asks lightly, her heart suddenly beating loudly in her ears.
"He doesn't remember those few days. The doctors are saying it's normal. Something about trauma-induced amnesia. We told him what we could on our end, but I thought that you might be able to tell him your side of the story. Give context for how he got shot. Tell him about the case."
Beckett sucks in a breath.
Her side of the story is about a man who doesn't exist anymore. But if he doesn't remember anything…then maybe she can construct a narrative that's close enough to the truth; stick to the facts of the case. Yeah, that seems doable.
"Okay."
"Katherine!" Martha exclaims with a smile, throwing her arms around the captain when she enters Castle's room the next day. "Thrilled you could squeeze us in, darling."
The writer zeroes in on her and her skin prickles with the intensity of his gaze. She disengages from Martha's warm embrace and clears her throat. "Course."
"You know what, I'm gonna leave the two of you alone," the actress comments, whirling out of the room before anyone can stop her.
Kate stands awkwardly, not sure how to proceed. He's sitting upright with blankets gathered around his hips, looking very thin but a far cry better than the last time she'd seen him. She could almost imagine he was there for a routine procedure.
Almost.
He's the one to break the stilted silence.
"You're breathtaking."
Her eyes widen in shock.
"Get it? Because they took a piece of my lung?" he says with a lopsided grin. She just stares at him, completely caught off guard. She doesn't know what she thought was going to happen, but it certainly wasn't this. Off her surprised expression, he backtracks, "Too soon?"
She exhales a small laugh. "Yeah, maybe."
He chuckles. "You don't have to look so nervous. I don't bite." He gestures. "Why don't you take a seat?" She quickly perches on a chair near the foot of his bed, and there's a short beat before he says, "My family speaks very highly of you. I think they like you better than me."
An involuntary grin springs to her lips and she bites down a laugh as she shakes her head. "Don't be ridiculous."
His ocean blue eyes sparkle with mirth.
"Do you know you have a gorgeous smile?"
She bites her lip again, blushing slightly. "I believe you wanted to talk about the case?"
He nods. "My family said I was talking about alternate universes?"
She schools her expression, trying not to react. She hadn't planned on getting into that part of the story. She didn't want to sound like a lunatic.
"My mother's theory is I was on drugs," he adds quickly.
"Don't think that's too far-off really. You did say something about ingesting too much caffeine and No-Doz pills," she says, grabbing onto the idea.
"Yeah?"
"Your behavior was erratic when we met."
"At your precinct?" he asks.
"The Twelfth," she nods.
He lights up. "I helped consult on a copycat murder about six years ago. With a Detective—"
"McNulty," she finishes.
"Too bad you weren't there," he says, "Might've followed up on the book idea I had."
Her cheeks flame and she ducks her head. "That was your excuse for crashing our case," she says, "You were doing research about a character you were basing on me. From articles that you'd read."
"Really?"
She nods. "But I said no thanks and put you in lock up for obstruction of justice. Twice."
"So we hit it off," he says, his face dimpling with a big grin.
She expels an involuntary huff of a laugh, hating his easy charm.
"Why'd you let me stick around?" he asks.
She shifts in her chair. "Because you had some useful information about the case." He raises an eyebrow, not quite convinced. "And you said you'd tell me why you killed off Derrick Storm," she admits.
He smirks. "So you are a fan."
"Of the genre," she shoots back. Maybe he was the same man who saved her life. He was just as infuriating. And trauma-induced amnesia was a real thing.
But she can't shake the way he'd looked at her with unadorned affection. The way he'd known things he shouldn't have known. And this man in the hospital bed…he wasn't the same man who could tell she missed the streets.
"What'd I say?" he asks.
"You never got around to telling me."
"Shot too soon, huh?"
Another involuntary huff-laugh escapes her.
"I got bored," he says after a moment, "Derrick lost his spark. Everything was predictable. There were no more surprises. And after my ride-along with McNulty, I thought there was potential in developing a detective character, but I couldn't figure out the hook."
His piercing eyes find hers and her breath hitches slightly.
"I wasn't able to break out of my writer's block for a while until I thought I'd try writing something with a little more substance. But the reviews weren't exactly favorable."
"Finite Laughter," she ventures.
"More like infinite crap," he says bitterly, "Please tell me you didn't read it."
"Didn't get past the first sentence," she confesses.
"Small mercies," he breathes in relief.
Her jacket buzzes and she reaches for her vibrating cell.
"Sorry—"
He waves it off. She turns away to accept the call.
"Beckett."
They need her in a budget meeting at 1PP. Ugh. Not another one.
"I'll be there in thirty," she sighs and turns to face the writer, an apology on her lips, but he fills in the blanks.
"Duty calls?" he guesses and she nods.
"Glad to see you're doing so well," she says, rising and heading towards the exit. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful."
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Captain. Thank you for the story. Maybe I'll see you around?" he asks.
She pauses by the door.
"Maybe," she says with a short smile, ignoring the quickening of her pulse at the suggestion.
Martha and Alexis stay in touch with her, updating her on the writer's recovery over the next couple of months. Alexis decides to extend her stay in New York while Martha cuts back on her Mame performances to support him through the grueling physical therapy.
They keep inviting her to dinner and various holiday celebrations but she politely declines each time, citing work, afraid of getting too close and too attached.
Better to push them away before they figure out she doesn't fit into the picture.
She becomes a godmother in early December, and Angela Katherine Parish becomes her main focus.
Along with trying to convince Javi to get his head out of his ass and tell the mother of his child how he really feels.
She knows Angela wasn't planned. That he and Lanie have always been more of a friends-with-benefits thing, but she thinks they can have a chance at something real if they just give it a shot.
It's in the New Year, right on the anniversary of her mother's death when the writer happens to show up in her office doorway.
She'd visited her mother's grave that morning, left her a bouquet of daisies (her favorite) and decided to go into work, needing to bury herself in nonsense paperwork and distract herself from the fact that it's been sixteen years since her mother bled out in an alley on a cold winter night and she might never find out why.
"Captain Beckett?" Castle asks, knocking softly on the jamb.
She sits up in her seat. "Mr. Castle." Surprise darts over her face as she takes him in, noting his clean-shaven jaw, freshly cut hair, and trim sport coat. He looks good. Like really, really good. Her stomach flutters. "How are you?"
"Better," he says, grinning. "Nothing like a near death experience to make you re-examine your life choices."
"Oh?" she says.
"I, uh, actually wanted to come and thank you."
She stares at him blankly. "Thank me?"
"However I got mixed up in that case, I'll never really understand, but I'm glad that I did. It gave me the wake-up call I needed. No more gambling at the race tracks. No more women half my age. Even convinced my daughter to move back home and my mother to redecorate our apartment."
"I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit," she argues.
He shrugs. "I was inspired."
"Inspired?"
"Getting shot and meeting you…it reminded me that I've always been good with mystery, and, well…" he shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing at her nervously. "I think you're my hook."
Damn it. This wasn't supposed to happen. He's supposed to stay away. She doesn't want—
"I'm flattered, Mr. Castle. Really. But I already said this when you first pitched it to me…I don't think I'm your girl. My job is boring. Just paperwork and politics. And I can't have a civilian in the field," she says, her eyes sweeping over his chest, where she imagines multiple surgical scars under his crisp, navy blouse. "You're well aware of the consequences."
"It doesn't have to be in the field. I just want to see how you operate."
She assesses his pleading, puppy-dog eyes, her heart thumping loudly.
"Your family know about this?"
"They said they're fine with it," he says nonchalantly.
"Why don't I believe you?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.
"C'mon, Captain. It's the least you can do for the guy who took some lead for you, right?"
Because I love you, Kate.
She was too broken for love. Her relationships never lasted.
There was a robbery detective from the third floor a couple years back. They were on-and-off again until he wanted more. Something she wasn't sure she could give. Then, the heart surgeon who proposed but he couldn't fix her heart, either. She liked him. A lot. But it wasn't enough to say yes.
Sometimes, her FBI agent-ex would come through town and hit her up for a booty call, but it'd been a while since she'd heard from him. Once in a while, she lets Lanie set her up on a blind date, which she, more often than not, cuts short with a fake emergency call. More recently, she'd been out with a prosecutor she met during a trial, but they weren't exclusive.
No one ever held her interest for long.
Work was more important. Maybe she was hiding in it. But it's what she knew and she was good at it.
Besides, she'd already dated a mystery writer once before and it hadn't ended well.
And Richard Castle scared her.
Before him, she didn't think about things like miracles or parallel worlds or signs from the universe. And now…here he was, her favorite author (and her mother's), showing up on the day of her mother's death, trying to insinuate himself into her precinct.
But it would be illogical to derive any meaning from it. She doesn't believe in fate or fairytales or any of that crap, anyway. True love was a myth.
And yet, nothing was logical when it came to him. Everything about him defied it.
Because I love you, Kate.
"I'll think about it," she says finally, throwing caution to the wind.
His eyes alight with hope. "Really?"
"I'll have to run it up the flagpole first. Clear it with the suits."
He slips a white business card out of his pocket and offers it to her.
"Call me when you get the greenlight?"
She takes it, noticing a cell phone number scrawled across it.
"Or call me anyway," he adds, grinning impishly. Her cheeks bloom with heat and he winks. "Have a good day, Captain."
He disappears before she can craft a reply.
What the hell did she just agree to?
xxx
A/N: And were off to the races!
Please excuse any medical inaccuracies. I did some research, but worked mostly off a Grey's Anatomy logic and vibes.
OVERVIEW
This story will be entirely from Beckett's POV. In many ways, this Beckett universe is a mirror or reflection of the Castle universe, but it's a warped mirror. Very Through the Looking Glass-esque. Some things will be familiar and some things will be slightly off-kilter. Little glitches in the matrix, if you will. Or think of it like those Spot the difference games, where both pictures are the same, but one has skewed details once you look closer.
For example, a gorgeous smile instead of gorgeous eyes. And instead of lilies as Johanna/Kate's favorite flower in Castle, it's daisies in Beckett.
*Their favorite flower is never explicitly stated in canon, but I'm pretty sure it's accepted fanon. There are lilies in the first bouquet Castle brings Kate in 3x13, he wears a lily-flower boutonniere for their wedding, and of course, Lily is the name of their daughter.
Some glitches will manifest through character traits. For instance, we meet a very walled off Beckett in the Castle universe. Here, she's more open than closed. Still guarded, naturally. But she's older, wiser, and a little softer.
Overall, I've imagined this story in three main parts. The first act is a romance. The second will be kind of a classic mystery-noir and the third, a soapy, political thriller (think Scandal). A lot of my inspiration comes from the glitz and glamor and high-stakes episodes of Season 2 with bits and pieces pulled from everywhere. I was also somewhat inspired by JillianCasey's Dangerous Game and Hunted. I highly recommend checking out those fanfics for reference.
Chapter titles will either be a copy of Castle episode titles, or a riff on them (as if warped), i.e. the next chapter is titled, The Double Down and another one is, A Daisy for Everafter.
Re: Lanie and Espo—in 7x06, there's an obvious chill between them and Castle guesses they broke up because Espo couldn't commit. And it's said that Lanie's moved on and he hasn't. I believe we're supposed to assume she's having a baby with someone else who was actually able to commit to her, but I decided to tweak it a little and give Esplanie a sort of Ross-and-Rachel treatment.
Thoughts?