Title: Hostage
Rating: Me? Write something inappropriate? *gasp* How dare you suggest such a thing!
Summary: The very thought tears him apart.
Disclaimer: I hate Meredith with an unbridled passion.
Dedication: To 4evercaskett, who is one of the most enthusiastic people I know and manages to find something good in my writing no matter how convinced I am that it is utter crap.
Author's Note: I wanted some protective, never-let-me-go Caskett, and for some reason I decided that I desperately wanted this at four a.m. Go figure.
"You were right – it was the step-sister."
He gave his wrist a twist, stifling his groan in the crook of his elbow.
"Had to chase her down in the train station… Castle?"
Oh man. He was caught.
"Are you… are you touching yourself?"
"What? Beckett…"
"Castle. How many times have I gone down on you? I know how you sound when you're trying not to make any noise."
He started to offer up a half-baked explanation, but she cut him off.
"If you wanted phone sex, Castle, all you had to do was ask."
He was speechless. Beckett lowered her voice; her tone giving him chills despite the lack of her physical presence.
"Tell me, Rick… how long have you been at this? Since I first started talking? Is my voice really that much of a turn-on?" She gave a throaty chuckle. He heard her moving around, and wondered what she was up to. "Do you want to know what I'm doing, Castle?"
His throat clicked dryly and he had to swallow a few times before he could summon the words to answer her. "Yes." He croaked.
"I'm lying in our bed." She told him. "Guess how much I'm wearing?"
"Your socks?" He joked.
"Nothing." She assured him, going right for the kill.
Christ, if he'd been hard before…
"Do you have any idea how much I miss you?" She asked, her voice getting a little breathier. "Do you know how much I… ah… touch myself while you're gone, pretending it's you – wishing, hoping… wanting you so badly…"
"God, Kate." His voice was tight.
"C'mon, Castle. Tell me. Use that writer voice of yours."
"Every day, Beckett. I turn my head, thinking you're there, and you're not. Every time I finish signing a book I look up, hoping that you'll saunter up. Every night, I wish you were in this stupid nondescript hotel room with me, because this bed is too big and cold without you. And I'm desperate enough for you, starved for you, that just you talking about a case gets to me."
He could hear her moving, imagined that she was over him, moving with him, her hair falling around their faces, his hands gripping her…
"I can feel you… Rick, God… wish I could touch you… my fingers aren't enough, I just – I just want you here…"
"Come on, Kate." He was the one who'd started this, intentionally or not, and he wanted to make sure that he helped her to finish. "I imagine how you'd look… your face all flushed… you get this, this look in your eyes, I can't describe it…"
Kate was making tiny mewls, her voice a little tinny through the phone but translating well enough to his libido. God, he was close, so fucking close, his already active imagination shooting into massive overdrive.
"Rick… oh God yes Rick…" Kate's cry sent him over and he couldn't hold back his own vocalizations.
He realized, belatedly, that the hotel staff was going to have to clean his sheets the next morning. He also realized that he didn't care.
"Kate…" He missed her. He missed her with everything in him.
"I'm going to have to put these sheets through before your Mother wakes up."
"She never gets up before noon. You'll be fine."
She laughed, but it was strained.
"Hurry home." She whispered.
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"You better. I love you."
His throat constricted, as it did every time he heard her say those words. "Love you too."
That was five days ago, and he hadn't heard from her since.
:::::::::::::::::
Castle stepped through the elevator so fast the doors hadn't even fully opened. He strode through the precinct, searching, looking…
"Yo Castle!" Esposito hurried up to him, Ryan right behind.
"Where's Beckett?" He asked.
The look on the boys' faces was enough. "What's wrong?"
"She… she was…" Ryan cleared his throat.
"Mr. Castle?" Gates' voice cut through the room like a knife. "I was wondering when you'd show up." She strode up, Espo and Ryan parting like the Red Sea before Moses. Only Castle was pretty sure the Red Sea didn't have such paralyzed faces of fear.
"I won't beat about the bush, Mr. Castle." Gates had her arms folded, but her face was unnaturally tight. It wasn't the usual stone, but more like a piece of fabric stretched too thin. "Detective Beckett was working a case that turned out to have ties to a former terrorist."
"Is she undercover?" Please, have her be undercover. Please…
"No." Gates looked like it was physically painful for her to deliver the news. "She was kidnapped. She's being held as a hostage – a bargaining tool, in fact."
His entire sense of self, his orientation, his awareness of gravity… all of it vanished, leaving him in a kind of emotional limbo. This was Beckett – his Beckett, they were talking about. His Kate was smart, strategic, gutsy… she knew what she was doing. She wasn't the type to take risks like that.
The treacherous part of his brain reminded him that Kate had a way of single-mindedly attacking things, blind to any potential dangers to herself. If she'd caught a scent…
He was getting her back. He had to get her back or so help him, his heart was going to shrivel up and die on him.
::::::::::::::::
Gates was leading the raid herself, which he'd figured would eliminate any chance of his participation, but she let him come along. He was on one team, with Ryan, while Espo was with Gates.
God smiled on him, and his team was the one that found her. She was tied – tied to a fucking chair, those animal assholes – and he saw Ryan give the other guys a look. They fell back, scanning the area for threats, while Castle crossed the room and went to her.
Beckett slowly raised her head, and for a bare second, he saw it. Fire, raging wildfire, hot and burning in her eyes. That sheer anger, so fierce and proud and Kate, ready for whatever they dealt her. She wouldn't bend, she wouldn't break, and she wouldn't yield. Then her eyes widened as she recognized him, and the fire died away, replaced with warmth and trust and relief.
"Castle…"
His heart twisted viciously, but at least it felt like it was in his chest again instead of somewhere, out there, lost and small and cold. He knelt down, quickly undoing the knots and helping her get out of the chair. She fell forward into him and he caught her, her head going down to rest on his chest as he rocked slightly. After a moment, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a rough kiss.
"I thought I lost you." He whispered.
"Never." She replied. Her voice was hoarse but he caught the humor. "Never."
He recalled the mob case that had left them dashing madly about NYC in the middle of the night, culminating in a shoot-out that left Beckett thinking him dead. They had exchanged the same words, but he'd been the one to comfort her. He tightened his grip on her. The thought of what could have happened… what he'd nearly lost… it tore at him, dug into him like savage meat hooks, ripping him apart.
"Gates is on her way." Ryan warned them.
They pulled apart reluctantly. When he saw her face he couldn't help it and kissed her again, trying to wipe away the dirt and grime and savage bruises he saw there. She gripped his wrists like a lifeline as he cupped her face, wishing that he didn't have to let go.
Walking away from her, his fingernails digging into his palms, was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Having to stand there, looking but not touching, as Gates herded her into a squad car and put her through a debriefing. At least the captain had the decency to let Beckett leave the paperwork for another day, insisting that her star detective get some rest.
"I'm only going to say this one, Detective – you are the best I've got. You've been through hell, and you look it. So go home – get that writer of yours to drive you – and get some sleep. The paperwork will still be there in two days' time."
He nodded, graciously offered Beckett his coat, and led her as platonically as he could to the elevator. The moment the doors pinged shut, she slumped forward into him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her nose into his shirt. She was inhaling deeply, quickly, and he knew she was trying not to cry. His rage struggled with his humility that she was choosing to let go in front of him. She was letting him be her safe haven.
He hailed a cab so that he wouldn't have to stop holding her. They sat together in the back, her legs draped over his lap, curling into his side with her head on his shoulder. They didn't say anything, just sat there in grateful silence. He started massaging her wrists after noticing the dark blue and purple bruising. Her response was to nuzzle further into him, a low sob working its way up out of her chest and breaking out of her, betraying her state of mind.
Kate Beckett was a quiet crier. She didn't scream or wail or whine. Her chest shook so violently it felt frail and thin against his own, and her teeth clenched painfully tight, making her jawbone stand out against her skin. Tears leaked out of her eyes, a silent rainfall, peppering his shirt with glistening drops. He held her as close as he could, his arms engulfing her body – a body that suddenly seemed so small, and so delicate, and so fragile.
She calmed down by the time they got to the loft. Whatever the cabbie heard, he said nothing, but Rick noticed that the guy took the long way back and circled around twice before finally halting in front of the apartment building. Kate sat up a little, breathing evenly, and carefully wiped the tears from her eyes. Rick helped her out (making sure to give the driver an extra large tip) and led her through the lobby. Emilio the doorman read their body language, seeing how Kate stared fixedly ahead of her and Rick had his arm around her shoulders, and wisely gave them nothing more than a nod as they passed.
In the elevator, they stood so that she was leaning back against his chest, their heads together. He had his arms wrapped around her but about halfway up she took his hands into hers, holding them up in front of her face and staring at them, running her fingers over and around them before gripping them tight and pressing them to her lips, her knuckles white and hands trembling as she kissed each of his fingertips.
His mother was out, and he prayed that she'd stay out for at least a few more hours. The loft was quiet and dark, and he led her straight to the bedroom. He wanted her, wanted her so badly, between the book signing tour and the viciously gnawing fear and this deep, base urge to claim her as his so that nobody even thought of touching her again, and above it all his desire to take everything that happened and make it all disappear, just a puff of smoke blown away by the wind, but he knew that she needed rest. God knew how much sleep she'd gotten over the last week and a half, and anyone with eyes could see that she was beyond drained.
He got a surprise when they entered their bedroom and she pushed him onto the bed, no preamble, crawling to straddle him. He couldn't see her face in the dark, the room lit only by the moonlight shining through the windows.
"Kate – you need…"
"Rest. I know." Her voice was raw, like the time she'd shown up in his apartment, dripping wet and full to the brim with apologies and regret. "But I've just spent the past… however many fucking days imagining you'd come in and save me, and when I wasn't doing that, I was planning exactly how I'd kill each of those men. I planned it out, Castle, down to the last detail. And I wanted to do it. God how I wanted to do it. So between them and you I've got a lot of adrenaline and I still haven't touched you in three weeks since you left on that stupid tour so I really, really just…" She broke off, struggling to get herself back under control. "I just want you." She finally stated. "I just… I need you."
She leaned down, kissing him openmouthed, never giving him the chance to protest – as if he would. He ran his hands over her hips and waist, cupping her breasts, feeling her… he'd been so afraid he'd never get to do this again. Hold her, touch her, kiss her… he could feel her skin jump and move, feel her chest expand and contract against his own, sense her pulse fluttering. It was beautiful. It told him that she was alive, and here, with him. She was safe.
"So beautiful." He whispered. "I want you to know… so beautiful… I can't… can't lose you…" He choked and his words failed him.
Kate smiled down at him. It wasn't her usual grin; this was tinged with something darker and deeper. But it was still a smile, and it filled his lungs with breath again.
"I knew you'd come." She said, her voice reverent.
His heart swelled at the trust she'd placed in him. This woman, this woman… he was her hostage. His heart was in her, with her, and it would never beat should she cease to exist in his life.
She seemed determine to do the work this time, stilling him whenever he tried to take control. He'd have thought she was too exhausted but she rode him, just like he'd envisioned during those lonely nights in too-large beds in anonymous hotel rooms. The thin streams of moonlight made her skin gleam almost alabaster, giving her this strange, otherworldly glow and he wondered for a brief moment if he was desperately dreaming. But then she sank further down onto him, bending forwards and letting him rise up to meet her halfway, sinking his teeth into her lower lip and capturing her moan before she could full release it from her mouth, and he knew that this was real. Not even his fertile imagination could conjure up such perfection and give it such a flawed, raw form at once fragile and strong.
Afterwards they could barely muster up the strength to crawl under the covers, Kate opting for his chest instead of a pillow as a resting place for her head. He didn't mind.
"Do you need anything?" He asked, belatedly.
"Just hold me." She mumbled, already sinking into a deep, well-deserved sleep.
If only she knew just how she held him in the palm of her hand, her willing captive for however long she'd have him. He spent the better part of the night awake, stroking her hair or her skin, afraid to close his eyes for fear she'd be gone. His body betrayed him and his eyes eventually refused to open, but it took a good few hours.
When he woke up in the morning she was still there, staring at him with those onyx eyes, holding him in their thrall as she always had, and always would, until his bones crumbled to dust. The thought gave him joy, which only proved his insanity, but he didn't care. He was her hostage, and he didn't mind a bit. For better or for worse, as they said, and the first part certainly made up for the second.
I know that I kind of skimped on the plot part, but who cares? Hurt/comfort Caskett with a side of smut, people. Plot just gets in the way of the feels.