"Ours is a great love story, so what's a great love story without obstacles to overcome?"
-Richard Castle
When he surfaced from the darkness, there was a man standing in front of him, dominating and powerful, reflexively instilling fear in him. But he didn't know why he was supposed to be afraid. He didn't even know where he was.
"Who are you?" he rasped, coughing around the words, his body throbbing with each attempted syllable.
God, he was in pain - severe, debilitating pain that barely allowed him to think straight. What the hell had happened to him?
The intimidating man towering over him cocked his head to one side, curious and intrigued.
"You don't know who I am?" the man inquired, his voice was light, friendly even, but no, something still wasn't right. That much was clear through the dense fog of confusion and aching discomfort.
"No?" he answered apprehensively.
The man stepped back, a strange grin spreading across his face as he paced pensively before him.
"This changes everything." He could hear the guy murmuring to himself. "It may be even better."
But then suddenly a female voice – sharp, clipped, and venomous – intervened. "We stick to the plan, Jerry. We've worked too hard for this-"
"Just imagine it for a moment," Jerry, apparently, insisted to the woman he still couldn't see in the shadows of the room they were in. Although, now that he attempted to chance a look around, it seemed less like a room and more like a rickety old shed. Was he being held captive? "He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember anything. Do you realize what that does to his life? To hers?"
The woman was silent, contemplative, but made a quiet noise of affirmation after a few moments and while his captors' attention was otherwise occupied, he flexed his wrists, grit his teeth against the burn of ropes tightly coiled around his bones and the hot rivulet of blood that trickled from his eyebrow. Glancing upwards caused him to wince – his neck was in agony – but it showed him a hayloft and he realized he was in some type of abandoned barn. What he didn't see was an accessible exit.
He wasn't sure where, how, or why, all he knew was that this was bad and he needed to escape. Fast.
"It does open the door to some interesting possibilities."
"We intended to kill him, to ruin both of their lives for good, we can still do that." He stiffened, catching the whispered half of Jerry's words and realizing why the man had instantly set off his fight or flight response. Kill him? He had no idea why they wanted him dead, what he could have done to these people, but they were going to murder him. "But I can't resist watching this play out first."
The woman sighed, as if at last deciding to concede to her partner's plan, and finally stepped into the light projecting from the single bulb hanging haphazardly from one of the wooden beams. She was pretty, almost, with pristine porcelain skin, ice blue eyes and auburn hair. And she was dressed nice too - unlike Jerry. Her style was professional in a sharp business suit and gleaming, nude stilettos, but there was something dark, toxic and deadly, about the woman, and it made him fear her just as much, if not more than her male companion.
Although he didn't know much, none of this made sense to him. His two captors made an unlikely pair and he couldn't fathom how he of all people had become their victim. Well, then again, he couldn't really fathom anything at the moment.
He scoured his brain for a memory, a familiar picture of anything that might shine some light onto who he was, but there was nothing. Maybe this entire situation was just some bad dream. Maybe he had spent too much time in the sun on the private island in the Maldives with his wife, causing his brain to produce this crazy nightmare.
His brow furrowed at his own thoughts. Wife. Honeymoon. He was supposed to be on a honeymoon?
Great, now he was confusing himself further.
"Time to sleep, Mr. Castle," the woman said quietly, producing a syringe from the pocket of her slacks and pricking his neck even as he attempted to dodge the thin needle.
The man and woman were talking again, but their words started to blend together and his vision began to blur as whatever poison the woman had injected him with spread through his bloodstream and forced him to relinquish his grip on reality. But he needed to stay awake, had to stay awake before they killed him, but his entire skull was throbbing, his body aching from being tied up and tortured – he didn't need to recall whatever beatings these people had bestowed upon him to feel them – and the thick darkness looming over his consciousness was just too strong.
He didn't even have the chance to ask her why she was talking about a castle.
When Kate and her team raided the farmhouse in upstate New Jersey, they found Kelly Nieman and Jerry Tyson hastily making an escape. They caught his kidnappers, they had them in custody, but Castle wasn't with them. After a vast sweep of the area, the team came to the conclusion that Castle wasn't anywhere on or even near the property.
Beckett fell to her knees on the hay covered ground in the barn, where they had found a wooden chair smeared with blood - presumably his blood - and missing a leg. She smothered a sob with her hands as Ryan knelt down beside her, whispering assurances and attempting to help her keep it together. But she had just been so tired, so hopeless after searching relentlessly for her fiancé. She had refused to believe he had been in that car, and when they located the stripped SUV just outside of town only hours after they had found Castle's inflamed Mercedes, she had done her best to push her emotions aside and focus on finding him.
It was beginning to feel impossible.
Ryan had tried to calm her, but she was too far gone for that. She wordlessly rose from the dirty ground, stalked outside to where Tyson and Nieman were being read their rights.
"Where is he?" she snarled, grabbing Tyson by the collar of his shirt and slamming him hard into the side of the cruiser, her nails cutting through the fabric of his t-shirt and into her own palms. "I swear to god if-"
"What's wrong, Detective Beckett?" he grinned, his eyes dancing with the thrill of the game. He thought this was all a game. "Sorry to have ruined your big day, but I figured you would be understanding to the idea of a little well-deserved revenge."
Esposito tugged her back and she allowed it, allowed her colleague to think she was in control.
Words she had spoken to Vulcan Simmons flashed through her mind just before she lost it. Words she had spat at him while being tortured for information.
Do you want undignified?
Her breathing grew shallow - short, sharp pants rattling through her chest - as her vision became colored with streaks of red.
Then wait til you see what I do to you.
And then she lunged for Jerry Tyson with a shout, slitting her nails down the side of his face before he could even attempt to dodge her, aiming for his eyes so he couldn't look at her or anyone else with that maliciously taunting gleam ever again, the way he had probably looked at her husband as he tormented him. Her imagination tortured her enough with images of what Tyson could have done to him; she didn't need to see a fucking slideshow of possibilities in those vindictive eyes.
"Stand down, Beckett!" Esposito was shouting at her, wrenching her off of the other man with a rough dig of his hands into her shoulders. "Stand down," Javi whispered in her ear once he finally hauled her away, but she could barely hear him.
"I'll find him," she growled, her eyes darting between them both - Tyson stunned and on the ground with blood trickling down his cheek, and Nieman standing a few feet away, glancing between her partner and the detective in alarm - the people that could have potentially ruined their lives. If Castle was dead... She bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from doing something that could get her arrested. "And when I do, you better hope he's alive and well or you won't be."
Beckett shoved Esposito's arm away and stormed in the direction of her Crown Vic.
"This is police brutality!" She could hear Kelly Nieman exclaiming before Ryan ungentlemanly maneuvered her into the backseat of the first police vehicle, but Kate didn't hear his reply, she was already slipping inside and peeling out of the gravel driveway, heading back towards Manhattan where she would return to the loft and have to explain to his mother and daughter that he still wouldn't be coming home. Castle was still missing.
She made it 15 minutes on the highway before she had to pull over, the tears compromising her vision, the keening noises clawing out of her throat shaking her entire body. She had finally found his kidnappers, thought she had found him too, and he hadn't been there.
She couldn't do this again. She couldn't handle not knowing again.
He wasn't sure how he had been transported to a park, why his wrists were duct taped to the chains of a swing set, or why so many people were staring at him in the early morning light. Was something wrong with him? Was he still bleeding? Was he still dreaming?
He had to be. It had to be a dream; that was why he was so confused. His mind was just… blank. An untouched canvas with no paint or markings. No memories.
The tape at his wrists kept him upright even as he slumped forward, the sockets of his arms straining with the effort as he risked toppling off the swing. Whatever was still swirling in his veins dragged him back down.
It had to be a dream.
The next time he woke, it was bright. Far too bright. Beeping noises surrounded him, murmured voices, and the scent of sanitizer heavy in the air. It was still empty – his mind – but he knew this wasn't where he was supposed to be either. He wondered if he would he ever awaken in the right place.
"Mr. Castle? Mr. Castle, can you hear us?"
He heard someone talking about castles again, a person apparently.
Whoever Mr. Castle was, he hoped the man was okay.
Kate wasn't on call the following morning, taking the day off without even asking because she knew Gates would demand it, so she was surprised when Esposito's number flashed across the screen of her cell phone.
They had gotten a call from New York Presbyterian Hospital, he informed her, an unidentified male suffering from flesh wounds and a concussion had been admitted the night before - a man who they were near certain was the missing Richard Castle.
Kate was out of the loft and on the streets in seconds.
When she arrived at the hospital, she learned he was still in intensive care, but he was conscious, and after calling his mother and daughter, she was allowed to see him.
But then the doctor delivered news that made her want to crumble all over again. Castle had lost his memory. He couldn't recall the date, the year, his own name – he was a completely cleared slate of a man.
Her fiancé wouldn't even know who she was.
He was stable, apparently, yet he felt anything but.
Every breath hurt - his ribs like jagged pieces of shrapnel stabbing against his chest each time he attempted a proper inhale, the cool air filtering down his throat searing against his lungs. One of his eyes was swollen shut, he wasn't completely positive which one, and god his head was killing him. His entire body felt broken.
They had broken him.
He didn't know who he was, what had happened to him, why he had been kidnapped and what the mysterious man and woman duo had done to leave him so physically demolished. But his doctor had informed him that he had a fiancé and she was here, desperate to see him.
He had granted his permission with a shrug that he instantly regretted - because really what other choice did he have? - and minutes later, a tall, beautiful woman came striding in and he was suddenly glad he had agreed to see her. Her hair was in a loose knot at her neck, her hazel eyes were wide and red rimmed with dark smudges of purple coloring the delicate skin underneath. She looked worn and ragged and so incredibly exhausted, but his first thought was that she was still so very beautiful. His fiancé was a model?
She faltered in the doorway though, her already worried face quickly becoming consumed by horror, which told him he must look really bad, but she still made her way to his side and gingerly touched his cheek with gentle fingers and a warm palm.
He wanted to remember her. When he awoke to the emptiness it had been terrifying, but he had been so occupied with the baser instinct of actually surviving, he had been able to push the daunting fear of having a wiped clean mind out of his thoughts. Now the panic and frustration were rattling around in his empty skull, causing the pulsating ache already residing there to amplify. He may never remember her or any part of his life.
"Hi," he breathed, inching his hand to the edge of his hospital bed and experimentally tracing his knuckles down the top of her jean clad thigh.
She instantly caught his hand and settled herself carefully next to his hip, wary not to jostle him, and brought his knuckles – oh, he had barely noticed those were bandaged now too – to her lips. It felt familiar, she felt familiar, and that had to be something, right?
"Oh, Castle," she whispered and he lifted his eyes to her at that – why was she calling him by his supposed surname? What kind of name was Castle anyway? – and followed her gaze as she took in the visible injuries scattered across his face and his exposed upper body. The concern pouring uninhibited from her eyes made him feel a little better, less alone. At least if he remained lost in his own confusion, he would have this woman, his fiancé, to help guide him.
He brushed his thumb over the slim bone of her index finger in a form of appreciation, an easier way of expressing himself at the moment because talking was an agony he hoped to reserve for as long as he could. But she seemed to understand his silent language and cautiously began outlining his face with tentative fingertips that made the intense throbbing in his skull recede.
"Maldives," he murmured suddenly, remembering the random thought that had flickered through his mind in the barn. "Supposed to be... a honeymoon?"
He felt guilty for the hope it brought to her eyes, knowing he had little else to give and that an out of place snippet about an island was not nearly enough.
"Yeah," she breathed. "That's where we were going to go after the wedding."
"Oh. Did something happen? To our wedding?"
Her jaw tightened, like she was attempting to keep her face from crumbling, but she nodded slowly. "Do you remember the people who held you hostage?"
He straightened at that, felt his body's reprimand at the action burning hotly through his limbs, but felt the familiar spike of fear too.
"They're still out there, they're going to-"
"No, no," she whispered, leaning over him and intently brushing her thumb along the swollen skin lining his cheekbone to reclaim his attention. "We got them, they're in custody and they aren't going anywhere. You're safe, Rick. I promise."
"But they ruined our wedding?" he pieced together quietly, a fresh flare of anger igniting in his chest. That's what Jerry had been talking about when he had mentioned ruining her life. They had ruined her wedding by taking him away, they had beaten him to ensure he suffered, and then they had planned to take him away from her permanently by ending his life.
Her head dropped and he noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks, forming a puddle on his hospital gown. The warm liquid stained his chest and he wanted to reach for her, hold her and tell her it was alright even if it really wasn't, but he could barely move. He didn't know her, but he felt protective of her, affectionate towards her. He didn't doubt his old self had loved her; he could already picture himself loving her again.
"Kate."
He didn't know where the name had come from, or if it was even her name, but her watering eyes lifted, brightened, and she nodded, the panic that had carved itself into the lines of her lovely face slowly beginning to recede.
"Hope I remember you, Kate," he sighed softly. "Want to remember you."
"You will," she insisted gently, giving his hand a tender but encouraging squeeze. "You're going to be okay," she promised him and even in the impenetrable haze of uncertainty, he believed her.