Sans Everything
fill-in for 'Cops and Robbers'
Italics denote lines taken from Jaques in Act II Scene VII of 'As You Like It' by William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage...
"Get up."
No.
No, Kate promised him.
But he stands when Trapper John brings the gun his direction; he stands, pushing off on his knees to get up from the floor, pretending creaking bones, limited mobility. A feint for what ruse, what last act, he has no idea.
Everything is an act, designed to convey an image, an idea, that isn't true; just like Kate played at paramedic, he is playing for time. But his hands are tied.
Literally.
His hands are tied before him with a force that leaves no wiggle room, and a disregard that leaves him speechless.
The hostages are tied, one by one, no arguments, no conversations, no chances for pleading.
No swan song.
And all the men and women merely players...
They seem destined for bit roles in a play that none of them auditioned for, culled from the universe for this small tragedy.
When Trapper John zip ties Castle's mother's hands, all he can think is - Kate promised, she promised. She promised.
His heart beats too fast.
They are led single-file through the lobby, back to the vault, led like ducklings over the marble floor to the room filled with safety deposit boxes. Led one by one inside.
The team of bank robbers in their scrubs are going the other direction, carrying loads of C4 in their arms, while the hostages are layered inside. One by one the C4 goes out.
The hostages sit.
They wait.
Trapper John comes back and closes the cage door.
The C4 piles up just beyond Castle's line of sight. He tilts his head back against the safety deposit boxes, closes his eyes so he can't see his mother.
He sees her instead. Kate.
She promised.
They have their exits...
The percussion hits her chest with a force that throws her forward.
When her eyes open, her heart is missing beats.
The police officers, the hostage rescue team, the computers, the phones - all silent. The whine starts somewhere, the cry, burrows in through the deafness, the whine and cry of nothing.
She turns in deaf silence, numb and dazed, opens the trailer door to chaos.
Smoke.
Everything in ashes.
How is she still standing while her heart - her heart misses its beats?
One man in his time...
Castle presses his head back into the safety deposit boxes, presses so hard his skull feels the grooves of the metal, the lock.
He does it to prove he's still alive. After all that.
He's alive.
She promised.
Cotton between his ears, eyes burning, that swimmy feeling he got the first time he sky-dived, looking out the plane and knowing it was his turn to jump.
The explosion has him scrambled.
Kate.
Out there.
Knowing. Not knowing.
His wrists ache; he realizes he's been unconsciously trying to pull apart the zip ties by force - and force of will - alone. His heart is pounding, triple time, extra beats, plaster dust in his mouth.
He's alive. There is still time yet.
His mother shifts beside him; she's talking, he can see her mouth moving. She's always talking, talks to fill the empty spaces, talks to cover up, talks for courage. Brave talk. He fumbles at her knee, patting with hands zip tied, shakes his head once to show her he can't hear her.
His head is ringing, pounding, brain sloshing in his skull. He winces and closes his eyes and the nothing, the muffled cotton wool, suddenly becomes a high-pitched, terrible clanging.
Ringing in his ears. Squealing as sound returns, ear drums popping back into place.
"Castle!"
Never has one woman yelling his name in such a demanding tone ever been so welcome a relief.
"Here," he croaks, pitching his voice above the clamor of explosive recoil. "We're in here. We're alive." He's pretty sure no one can hear him over the din of this silence.
"Castle!"
"Beckett."
Swirl of dust, and Kate makes a dramatic entrance, gun braced, eyes racing.
Their gazes collide, his relief is a giddy thing plummeting in freefall from an airplane thousands of feet above the earth. "They're here," she tosses over her shoulder, but she's looking only at him.
She's the first one inside, dropping to her knees before him; she's the most beautiful sight, her eyes are luminous, filled, a thousand words unspoken, monologues outpoured.
She fumbles, comes up with a knife. "Here we go. Ready?" Captures his hands with hers, bound, both of them constricted. A jerk of the knife but he's still caught by her, her thumbs easing the zip ties away from the abraded skin.
Her hand gripping his lapel, hanging on.
"How are you?"
He's breathing, he's breathing, her fingers stroke down his jacket, a caress intimate and aware.
"He's not the only one here, you know."
Their eyes break apart.
And so he plays his part...
Castle lets out a hard breath and tilts his head back, soft groan.
"I'm so sorry, Martha; excuse me."
When Kate leans in to cut his mother's binds, she presses against his drawn up knee; he can feel the flex of ligament and muscle and the curve of her body at his shin.
Whatever he has to do, she's coming home with him tonight.
There's only so much he can take.
Sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
A/N: Prompt: "Anything Cops & Robbers related!"
Filled as a gift to Jen (at Castle3125) for her generous contribution to YoungStoryTellers dot com slash ThankYouTerri. See all the prompts and fills at ThankYouTerri dot tumblr dot com.