Ephemeris, Ch. 13-A post-For Better or Worse (6 x 23) Caskett multi-chap WIP
Title: Ephemeris, Ch. 13
WC: 3,000 this chapter, ~32,000 so far (my word count got off somewhere along the way)
Rating: T
Summary: "It's for the best. The part of her she wants to be-the part she's been growing into since she met him- believes. But it's small and fragile. It's been built up like this. In loss and pain and more kinds of fear than she can count. It's at war with years of habit. With the fact that she's still more at home with loneliness than she is with this."
It's for the best that Alexis was right there. That she didn't believe it for a second when Kate tried to brush it off as nothing. It's for the best that it's out in the open. That it's all of them together trying to figure out what it means. If it's anything at all, and what to do with it if it is Cross in the photo.
It is, though. She knows it is.
All this time. Martha keeps repeating it, her eyes are wide. He's had him right there all this time?
We don't know that, Martha . . .
It's not convincing, even to herself. Whether it's her gut or evidence she just hasn't put together the right way yet-the universe or just the only logical conclusion-she knows.
Ryan says the photo is less than seventy-two hours old, based on surveillance and traffic footage.
Event posters on this pole. They're dry, so they went up after the rain earlier in the week. And this car here doesn't have a parking ticket yet. He'd scrawled a time range in the margin of the grainy blow up of the photo. Probably more like forty-eight hours.
Kate's not asking questions about the footage. She's not asking questions about the property records Esposito has on hand, either. A snarled trail showing the house changing hands a number of times since Castle sold it. Standing vacant now, if they can believe the construction permits.
She doesn't know what they can believe. That goes well beyond the not-quite-above-board methods they're using. It's not an investigation. She's not worried about the fruit of the poisoned tree, but they're taking risks even trying to get a read on the situation. And still, they're blind. Still, she has no real idea what she's asking them to walk into with her.
She's off in the kitchen, making coffee to pull them through what's looking to be the remainder of a night that's well past long already. She waves off their offers of help, because really, she's catching her breath. She's telling herself over and over again.
It's for the best.
The part of her that she wants to be believes it. The part of her that's listening. Calming herself with well-worn motions that remind her of him. Careful, level spoons tipping into the press. Water just off the boil and patience. Quiet, still moments while the scent builds around her.
No. He'd always catch her by the hand. He'd always keep her there, scolding when she'd argue that she had things to do. That she had to get ready.
Four minutes of nothing. No chores, no tasks, to to-do-list items. Definitely no more clothes.
Castle . . .
Kate. The coffee knows. It grows bitter if you neglect it. Four minutes of nothing. You can spare four minutes.
But he'd kiss her, of course. He'd hold her fast, and the time would go too quickly.
Nothing, Castle?
Kissing . . . making out counts as nothing. Very zen. Coffee gets that.
She stills herself now. Four minutes of nothing as she watches particles settle and the column grow dark. She honors the ritual and half expects to feel him crowding up behind her. Lifting the hair from the nape of her neck and pressing a kiss there. Whispering that he's proud of her. That he's grateful and glad she's being careful. With them. With herself.
It's for the best.
The part of her she wants to be-the part she's been growing into since she met him- believes. But it's small and fragile. It's been built up like this. In loss and pain and more kinds of fear than she can count.
It's at war with years of habit. With the fact that she's still more at home with loneliness than she is with this. Chosen family who'll leave their beds in the middle of the night. Who'll work for her and with one another to help her make sense of something that could be nothing.
It's at war with the conviction that risk to any of them feels like a betrayal. Of herself and the job she has to do. Of him and the people he's coming home to. The people she needs to keep safe.
It's at war with the fact that running at this, headlong and alone, feels like the right thing, because she knows this isn't nothing. She thinks about the pieces. The way this stands out in how very ordinary it is. It's not some fan wanting their fifteen minutes. Stepping up to be part of the story. It's a blurred image of a man and the vague resemblance she tried to trace in her own rearview mirror. A house she'd never have recognized, left to herself.
She knows as surely as the first time she said out loud that he wasn't gone. This isn't nothing.
Two minutes now. Less than that by her watch, and she's eyeing the door. The exits. The biggest part of her has left them behind already already. It whispers that she can spare them. That she'll beg forgiveness if it comes to that. If it's an option. The biggest part of her imagines traveling that road-alone, right now-one last time to finish this.
But she looks out over the living room. She sees Martha reining herself in. Working methodically through what she knows about the house-the first house. Esposito nods and offers encouragement. He gently walks her back through things when they're not quite clear, and Ryan has pages fanned out in front of him. Markers and pens. A new section for the board. A reminder that this is part of a bigger picture.
She looks to the exits and thinks about Cross. She thinks about him slipping out with a bullet wound, leaving Martha slack jawed and guilt ridden. She thinks of Castle's face gone white and the dullness of his voice as he described the matter-of-fact brutality of Blaine's execution. The unwelcome spots of color on his cheeks and something he'd tried to push through into anger as he recounted their conversation.
He acted like he'd saved the day. He expected me to be in awe.
The timer trills. She comes back to herself. Entirely to herself. She leans all her weight on the handle of the press and enjoys the familiar resistance. She gathers mugs and spoons on a tray. She glances at the door, but she doesn't think of leaving. She's glad of the locks now. Of the warmth and security of this place and these people around her.
Alexis raises her head. She looks puzzled. Like she's just realized that it's been a while. She smiles at the tray. At the scent of coffee.
"Kate," she says. "We need you. Can you look at this?"
"Yeah." She takes up the tray. "Yes. Coming."
It's not quite sunrise by the time Ryan and Esposito say their goodbyes, but the coming day is too easy to see from here. Esposito promises to catch Lanie up once she's off shift.
"Let her sleep first," Kate warns gently. "It's not . . ." She trails off. Urgent. It's what she wants to say, but of course they have no idea. No idea at all. "Not much she can do," she finishes lamely. That's true, at least. The three of them aren't going into this as cops, but they are cops, for whatever that might be worth.
"She'll want to be here." Esposito inclines his head toward Martha and Alexis. They're clearing the last of mugs and things, talking quietly and winding down.
"Good." Kate's shoulders sag with relief she's too tired to second guess. Strength in numbers, if not safety, and there's a lightness to Lanie that's hard to rival. "That'll be . . . I'll feel better."
They both nod. The three of them share the weight of the moment there in the doorway. She's not alone in this feeling-knowing that this time it's not nothing. They have something as close to a plan as they're going to get when, really, they have no idea what to expect. They have to be ready for everything from simple reconnaissance to some kind of end game.
She wishes there were something she could say. Something rousing or reassuring. Some kind of thanks that might be anywhere near enough, even if they'd wave it off. She hears her name behind her, though. Alexis and Martha both yawning good nights to all of them from the bottom of the stairs.
"We should go," Ryan murmurs. "All of us should try to catch a couple hours."
He touches Kate's shoulder briefly. Esposito jerks his chin in agreement. It's downright demonstrative for the three of them. She shuts the door behind them, a tight smile surfing on top of fizzing unease.
She drifts through the kitchen and living room, clearing surfaces and switching off lights. Ryan is right. She should head upstairs. There's no way around the full day of work ahead of them-more if they catch a body-and she really ought to rest at least.
She finds herself in the office instead, though. She's cross-legged on the floor with a photo album spread open on her knees. She'd meant to put it back on the shelf. There's nothing to learn here she doesn't already know, but she can't tear herself away.
It's mostly Alexis in the pictures. A spindle-legged blur with her hair flying. Close-ups of her grinning hard and wistful shots of her in the distance. On a hill squinting into the sun with a sand pail clutched in one fist.
She tells herself she's studying the house. The porch and garage and all the entrances. The tiny yard giving way to tall grass. The narrow, flattened path just beyond the gate that must lead out to the beach. She tells herself she's getting the lay of the land, but she's looking for him.
Her heart flips every time she turns a page and he's there. Sometimes just a profile in shadow, his lips pressed to his daughter's hair as the sharp point of her chin digs into his shoulder. A few blurry, off-center shots of him pulling faces. Pictures Alexis must have insisted on taking herself.
There's only one of him writing. His bare feet are propped on the porch railing and his hair stands on end like he's been worrying at it. One hand is poised over the keyboard, the other raised in the just-a-minute gesture that's driven her mad more than once.
She wonders about it. A single, lonely image. She knows things came to him quickly in those days. She glances up at the spines on another shelf. She counts off the titles and tries to guess how they map on to this.
"I took that one." Martha's hand lands gently on her shoulder as she perches at the edge of the chair behind Kate. It should startle her, but it doesn't. She wasn't quite expecting her, but Martha always knows when she's doing this to herself. Mourning alone. "He was killing himself that summer. He wouldn't write a word until Alexis was in bed. He'd spend every minute of every day with her and work through the night."
"She must have been a handful by then." Kate runs her fingers down the opposite page. A suddenly tall Alexis turns away from the lens. She holds a palm out and frowns. "Short nights. She wasn't a baby any more."
"She wasn't," Martha agrees. "That was hard for him."
Kate smiles up at her. "It's still hard for him."
"True." Martha gives a brief chuckle. "But that was the first time he ever asked me for help. That wasn't easy, either. He thought I'd wander off like Meredith, I suppose."
"Martha." Kate lays her own hand over the one still resting on her shoulder. He doesn't talk much about his relationship with his mother between childhood and when she came to live with them. It's his nature to be content with where they are now. To not dwell on harder times. "He's so glad she has you."
"I know that, dear." She strokes a hand over the crown of Kate's head. "The same goes for you, you know."
"Lucky," she says quietly. It captures everything. The bedrock beneath the unease. With everything they've been through-whatever's to come-she feels lucky.
Martha echoes her. They're both tired now. Kate feels it in the slow trail of fingers through her hair. The moment between them has done its work like so many moments before. Since this all started. She's just about to swing the album closed. Just about to insist they both head up for the night, but Martha leans in. She traces a finger over the photo. The windows and the porch railing. She dots at his hand with her nail like it drives her mad, too.
"You think this is it, don't you?" she asks suddenly.
Kate hesitates. Doubt crowds in on her. Weight she still thinks should be hers alone. But it feels full circle, too. She closes her eyes and remembers the soothing dark. Martha's cool fingers on her skin.
"I think so." She lays her palm over the page. "Whether it's Cross screwing up or letting himself be seen . . ."
"Letting himself?" she repeats sharply. "Katherine, if he's trying to draw you out . . ."
"Then I give him what he wants." She closes the album with a firm snap. "This is what we hoped would happen, remember? That all this would flush him out."
"And if he's flushing you out." Martha's fingers curl hard over her shoulder. "You could be walking into a trap."
Kate thinks about it. She doesn't quite know how to say this. That she'd trade herself for him in a heartbeat. That she doesn't think it'll come to that, but she would. A truth comes to her, though. An odd, stray thought that's strangely comforting.
"Hurting me gets him nothing." It's an unexpected sting. It pricks pride. "Satisfaction, I guess." She smiles at that. She annoys Cross. No more than that, but she'll take it. "But any 'accident' I might have is more trouble than it's worth."
"The last thing he wants is another barrage of press." Martha nods reluctantly. "You in the dress and the masses crying conspiracy."
"Your master plan, Martha." She tries to push lightness into it. More certainty than she really feels. "Couldn't be safer."
"Safer." Martha tweaks her ear for it, but she doesn't smile.
Kate starts to push up from the floor. It's long past time they both tried for some rest.
Martha stills her, though. She takes her chin in hand tips her face up. "Thank you, dear."
"For what?" Kate swallows hard. She's a mass of nerves, suddenly. Guilt, because it's like Martha is looking right through her.
"For not going alone."
The sun hasn't quite set behind them as they pull into the quaint village business district. Esposito cuts the engine. Ryan folds the last of his maps and tucks away surveillance screen caps. Kate checks her phone one last time. She brushes her fingers over the last message from Alexis. A response to hers letting them know they were at the edge of town. Well past the roadside shrine.
Luck . . .
The sidewalk cafes and biergartens are overflowing already. It's the height of the season. It's good and bad for their purposes. They stick to the plan. They live in the light, because that's what Cross absolutely doesn't want.
The more the merrier, she thinks as she forces herself into a relaxed gait. She slows the pace and tugs the boys along with her. It's true, but it's better if no one recognizes them right now. Recognizes her.
They don't exactly blend in, though. Esposito grumbles about being brown in the Hamptons and tugs at the collar of the only and only "smart casual" shirt he seems to own. Ryan would do better if he could dial down the cop vibe, but his gaze sweeps from side to side like he's busily matching the footage he's been poring over for almost a day with the real thing.
They make for an odd trio, but their timing is good. The streets and sidewalks are bustling. The day-time crowd rolls in from the beach, jostling them from behind. Women in loose, bright wraps and men scuffing along in ridiculously high end flip-flops, carrying sandy, sleepy children.
But there's another crowd running counter to that. Couples and families. Teenagers laughing and shoving each other. They're all heading back toward the water, tugging on sweaters and zipping themselves into cover-ups against the wind that's raising a swirl of sand around their ankles. Esposito turns his head, an eyebrow raised. Ryan holds a hand out to stop them as he peers at a poster. It's new. Tacked over another that helped him pin down the timeline.
"Fireworks on the beach," he reads. "Looks like a good crowd."
"Almost sunset," Esposito adds.
He's eager. They're all eager, but Kate hesitates. They'd planned to grab a drink somewhere. To give themselves time to get a feel for the place. The house is back toward the beach, though, and this might be their best chance to head that way and peel off unnoticed.
She forces herself to still. To weigh what's smart against pins and needles pushing at her skin. The need to act that makes her breath come faster. She smells the salt of the ocean and thinks of him. Of Alexis in his arms and Martha snapping a photo. She sees them in every family coming and going, and for good or for ill, she's done waiting.
She turns to Ryan and Esposito. She opens her mouth to tell them to fall into the crowd-to head for the house-but there's a shout from up ahead. They freeze, staring at each other as it ripples through the crowd. Confused at first, but building into a single word as they're pulled along with the sudden rush.
Fire.
The surge carries them toward the beach, then takes a hard left-away from the house. Kate can see the smoke in the distance. She turns. She reaches out to tug Esposito's sleeve, but it's a stranger next to her. A big man whose broad shoulders block her view of everything in front of her. She turns the other way and Ryan is gone, too.
She hears her name. Beckett. Once, then twice. Sharp, but barely audible above the crowd.
The third time is different. Kate. Her first name, low in her ear as an arm slips around around her shoulders from behind, tugging her backward into darkness.
A/N: Thanks for hanging in with me. Nearing wrap up.