A/N: I am in no way an expert on panic and anxiety disorders. This story is based entirely on my own (thankfully very limited) experience with panic attacks.
The first time it happened, it was an invisible wall, gigantic and impenetrable. It stretched into eternity in every direction around him. The plastic serving spoons were there, on the bench, a mere two inches from his hand. He could see them, yearned to be able to reach for them, but they might as well have been a thousand miles away. It was like the invisible wall had gushed out a geyser of invisible glue that had hardened and cemented him in place. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face. He could see the hairs on his arms standing to attention, ready for them to do his bidding. But his brain was incapable even of sending his limbs that simple message: MOVE!
"How's the curry coming along, honey?" Kate Beckett's voice finally broke the spell. Richard Castle flinched and blinked, as if coming out of a trance.
"Rick, are you alright?" she asked. "I don't know," he answered. "Just give me a minute. Hey, did you know that in some parts of the world, this curry is known as Rogan Josh?" He winked secretively and they both broke the tension with simultaneous laughter. As he calmed down, Rick began to recount what happened, and as he did he thought how irrational and petty it sounded. He was in his large, bright, airy kitchen, for goodness' sake, not in a tiny, cramped, windowless room. He was looking at plastic food utensils, not guns. There was absolutely nothing to worry about, nothing that should, would, or even could, logically remind him of his time in captivity. He almost stopped talking. But he didn't because, well, she was his Kate.
The second time it happened, it was a swirling tornado, disorienting & suffocating him. He knew he was supposed to be doing something, going somewhere, seeing someone. He just had no idea what or where or with whom, and his brain refused to access that information4 him. In fact, it refused to access any information, whatsoever. He could feel his heart beating far too fast, and he knew the air that he was breathing in was going nowhere near the bottom, or even the middle, of his lungs before it left again of its own accord. But he was powerless to control it, any of it.
The ringing of his cellphone snapped him back to reality. He fumbled in his jeans pocket, where he could feel a vibration - otherwise he'd have absolutely no idea where the stupid thing was!
"Hello?" Damn, his voice was shaky. He hastily dropped into a kitchen chair before he landed on the floor.
"Please tell me you are on your way," came Beckett's voice.
"On my way where?" Rick inquired.
"What do you mean, where? You're supposed to be . . . wait, did it happen again?"
Biting his lip, he hesitated. This time was completely different than the last. There were no outward symptoms. It was more of a feeling, this time. A feeling of drowning, of being smothered. He could say "No" and it would be the truth. But he didn't, because, well, she was his Kate.
The third time it happened, the third time in three months, they finally admitted the situation had the potential to become far more serious than they wanted. They hoped that all that Castle needed was a change of scenery. Ninety days in a slower-paced, more free-spirited atmosphere might be just what was needed to unlock his psyche and allow the old Rick Castle to return.
So he picked up the phone and called a friend. A friend who just happened to be his fiancee's ex-husband.
"Hi, Rogan."