101 Ways to Put Caskett in a Casket
Alternatively: 101 Ways to Almost Kill Castle and Beckett So That They'll Finally Get It.
Premise: I'm watching an interview with Stana Katic on E!, and regarding Castle and Beckett's future she says the following: "I think we're going to try to take them through every element and almost kill them in any way possible. And then hopefully they'll get it."
So, this is an attempt at conjuring up different potential ways to almost kill Castle and Beckett so that they can finally get it. Each chapter will be a self-contained one-shot that may feature only a single life-threatening scenario at a time, or multiple rolled into one.
#1: Captive
Kate Beckett has had a lot of brushes with death in her life. Some were typical for a cop, expected even; she'd had her fair share of gun battles and the like. Some were downright bizarre though. Tiger in a warehouse basement while handcuffed to her partner? Yeah, that was just beyond weird and crazy.
Two years ago, she experienced a rather bizarre case. Some psycho was killing random women and calling her to report his deeds. He was challenging her to stop him. When she hadn't yet figured out how, he then tried to kill her (by blowing up her apartment, naturally). And why? Because he saw her as Castle's fictional version of herself, Nikki Heat, and he was writing a manuscript about his exploits—of the murders he was dedicating to her name.
This time around, the psycho killer after her was rather similar to Scott Dunn, in that he saw Kate Beckett as Nikki Heat, but unlike Dunn, he saw her as herself, too. He didn't refer to her as Nikki. She just was Nikki. The detectives were one in the same to him, and both were someone that, in his mind, had to be erased from the page and from the world.
His method?
Capturing her and Castle—thereby capturing Nikki and Rook—and then proceeding to let them live through a little scene found in Castle's second book, Naked Heat: the one in which Nikki is tortured by The Texan inside Rook's loft while Rook is passed out cold in another room.
Castle had to be included. After all, even if Kate Beckett ceases to exist, Nikki Heat's writer still remains. There's still the potential for Nikki to live on in future books. To put an end to Nikki Heat, Richard Castle has to be taken care of as well. There would be four birds killed with two stones in his plot.
However, because Rook doesn't have other family at home—Castle does—and because Kate and Castle aren't in a relationship (yet)—Nikki and Rook are—their captor has chosen to take some liberties with recreating this scene with them. It's impossible to go "by the book" when the real and fictional versions don't match up identically and all. He's not perfectionist in that sense. But he wants to get the job done with some style.
He started out his game by stalking them, gathering information discreetly. He didn't murder anyone. He had no interest in killing others. No, it was Nikki and Rook he was after. Castle and Beckett. There was no sense in killing anyone else and drawing attention to himself. His fascination is with the writers and their muses.
It didn't take long before he found out what time Beckett usually left for work, where Castle picked up their coffees in the morning, what time they took their lunches (if at all) and where they occasionally chose to spend leisure time winding down after a job well done—The Old Haunt.
Rather than capturing the two of them at Castle's loft where Martha and Alexis would inevitably get in the way and/or ruin his fantasy, he chose Castle's bar as the location for his crime. He posed as a patron, became a regular. Occasionally they'd chat, sometimes he'd converse with others, and other times he'd just be off by himself. It took a length of time, but he was patient. And finally, when he was sure he would be able to fly under the radar, he would make his move. All he needed to do was wait for that opportune moment at closing time, when Nikki and Rook—Castle and Beckett—would be alone at the end of the night.
They never saw it coming.
Now, hours after their capture, Beckett was reliving the horror she'd read of her alter-ego suffering but with a twist. There were no dentistry instruments involved for her torture. This time around, she was just being thrown against walls, beaten with tightly closed fists, kicked while she was down, and shocked with a stun gun voltage so intense she cried out in agony behind the duct tape gag fastened to her mouth as the muscles of her body contracted violently.
It's a good thing Castle had reminded her and helped her put on her coat before they had started to leave the bar so many hours ago, she mused to herself—a feeble attempt at detaching herself from the current reality—because the thick insulation and fabric was helping to soften the blows that struck her body repeatedly, again and again. Even so, it still hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to the emotional agony of watching her partner go through this hell first.
Castle.
She had no clue where he was now, or what condition he was in, and the more she thought about it, the more it pained her. So much more than any physical assault ever could.
"Had enough yet, Detective?"
Her abuser would ask this occasionally, taking breaks between beatings. Each time she would glare back at him, shake her head, and each time he would continue the onslaught with increasing brutality.
Beckett didn't take it all sitting down, not at first, anyway. Her hands may have been bound behind her back and he had a difference of at least 150 pounds on her, but you better believe she was fighting back to the best of her ability. She was well-versed in hand-to-hand combat. She gauged his abilities in the beginning, dodging and intentionally letting him come at her before retaliating strategically in defense.
She managed to split his lip open at one point, and an improperly formed punch that she evaded broke two fingers on his left hand when he hit the side the of the bar they were battling next to; something she took as a promising sign. He wasn't taking her seriously, and was all muscle and brute strength but no real skill.
There was no doubt in her mind: if her hands were liberated, she could take this man down. But the reality of the situation was that they weren't, and with her handicap, the difference in strength was just too much. He overwhelmed her with power, and later with his stun gun.
She vowed to herself early on in the process that this monster would never break her. He'd never see her tears or make her beg for mercy. He was torturing her as part of his game. He wants her to beg for mercy before he kills her. Until she does, the torture will continue.
But what about Castle?
The last she had seen him, his unconscious, battered body was being dragged across the darkness of the bar that currently served as their prison to an area where the light didn't reach. From the very beginning, Castle had tried to protect her, and he paid for it.
Was he still alive? She didn't even have the opportunity to ponder his fate or his new whereabouts before it was her turn to be brutalized.
With thoughts of saving him—saving both of them—in mind, she was determined to fight and survive. Anger and pain fueled the resolve to outlast and outwit this bastard so she could watch him rot behind bars for the rest of his miserable life.
She just needed to hold on a little longer and think of a way to turn this around.
Her captor had become visibly worn down as time went on, panting and sweating and no longer cool and collected like when this all began. At last, he suspended the assault and tore her gag off, expecting her to finally answer his question with a favorable answer.
Instead, the only phrase from her mouth was a venom-laced, "Go to hell."
With one last slap across her face, she was sprawled out across the cold, hard ground, breathing labored and no longer putting up a fight. A stream of blood ran down her chin from her lip, pooling on the floor beneath her. Replacing the tape over her mouth, he left her there writhing in pain, laughing as he walked away to the dark depths of the bar.
She couldn't bring herself to move just yet.
It was too painful to attempt to manipulate her tethered body into an upright position. Instead, she rested her head on it's side, one ear to the ground, listening to a rhythm of her heartbeat mixing with the noises outside the bar. Under normal circumstances, she'd find it soothing, relaxing. But right now, it was like the calm before the next storm.
When would he be back, and what would he do next? How was she going to get out of this predicament?
Then her thoughts drifted back to the partner she hadn't seen in what seemed like an eternity. How he had told her, It'll be all right, Kate, and how she had screamed his surname from beneath her gag as he was taken away from her. A single tear started to flow down her cheek at the memory.
Kate startles to the sound of a new melody, one different from what she had heard previously.
It's a shuffling noise, followed by sluggish rapping, resonating through the flood boards below her. The vibration is almost similar to footsteps, she thinks, but not quite.
She tilts her head up slightly and with a hazy vision in the dim lighting above the bar, can see motion through the corner of her eye. A dark figure is starting to emerge from the depths of darkness consuming the other end of the room.
She sucks in her breath as she realizes what—who—the figure is.
Castle.
He's alive. He's alive, and he's calling her name. It's a hushed, raspy whisper, and he's dragging his battered body across the room.
She can see the remnants of his duct tape bindings still clinging to the skin on his wrists as he crawls to her.
Somehow, he's broken free, but she can tell by the way he moves, and as he grows nearer to her, by the way that he looks, that he's badly injured and in considerable pain.
But he's alive.
When he finally reaches her, he drops to his knees beside her and she can see the shock in his eyes, how stunned he is by the condition she's in.
He's no better off himself, but how that man could do this to her? He's enraged. Then the guilt seeps in.
He wrote Heat Wave. He turned her into Nikki Heat. And tonight, he couldn't stop him, this man who has abused her. He couldn't save her, and now she's—
"Kate. Oh, Kate. Hang on, I-I'm gonna get these off of you," he says, and his hands and voice are shaking terribly.
Castle reaches down, gently props her up on her side and she groans hoarsely in discomfort into his lap. He shudders at the sound.
"I'm sorry, Kate," he whispers softly, a hint of regret in his voice as his trembling hand brushes the hair from her face before moving to start freeing her hands. "I'm so sorry."
She gets the feeling that he's apologizing for more than just now. He's blaming himself for what has happened to her. For not being able to protect her and keep her from harm. She shakes her head into his lap, mumbles something under the tape that he can't quite make out.
It's not his fault. None of this is. It wasn't with Scott Dunn, it isn't now. It's just another psychotic man who needs to be stopped.
As he's busy tearing away at the tape around her wrists, Kate starts to curl her body into him, nuzzling against his thigh with her cheek.
She's so thankful. So thankful and happy that he's alive. How they got in this mess—none of that matters right now. They're together again. He's alive, and she's so relieved.
She whimpers suddenly through a few sniffed sobs, tears trailing down her face. He speaks softly to her, reassuring her that everything will be fine now, that he's got her, and she nods because she knows it's true.
When the last of the tape is off her wrists, he helps her up to a sitting position and rubs his hands from her shoulders to her elbows, helping the blood flow back through her limbs.
"I'm going to take the tape off your mouth now, okay?" he says, but before he gets the chance to get a grip on it, Kate's hand is already on the move, beats him to it, ripping it off in a swift movement. She winces at the pain but it's nothing compared to the beat down earlier.
"Castle." She's trying not to get emotional, as they're still in very real danger, but her voice comes out a sob. Then, against her better judgment, she's throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face into him.
She can't help it.
"I thought for sure you were dead. When he took you away...you were so...Oh god."
"Hey, I'm fine," he whispers, and he can swear he hears her scoffing as he strokes a hand through her hair, across her cheek, the small of her back. "Okay, so I'm a little banged up. But I'm not dead. I'm right here."
She pulls back, looks him over, takes him in. "You're alive," she says, running a finger over the gash on his forehead at his hairline, down to the one just above his eye. They're not bleeding anymore, but the blood is caked in streams down the sides of his face. She can't even begin to think of what she looks like, especially with the way Castle's looking at her.
"I'm going to kill that bastard," he snarls, and she thinks that if looks could kill, the one on his face right now would do just the trick. "He's not getting away with this."
"Castle, no." She palms his cheeks, makes him look her square in the eyes. "You need to calm down. You've got to stay level-headed for me, okay? Because I need you in this. We need to come up with a plan, because he has my gun."
"That's fine. I have mine." There's enough ice in his voice to send a shiver down her spine.
"What do you mean you have yours? You have a gun?"
"In the basement. I keep one locked up in the safe. Never know what can happen after hours and I'm not always here when you and the boys are. Donny had a shotgun, I have a Sig Sauer."
He was serious. He's really fixing to murder this guy.
"Castle, you have to let me handle it. I'm the cop. I know you're upset—"
"Damn it, Kate!" he hisses, hands grasping her shoulders firmly. "Don't tell me to be calm, to let you handle it, when this guy just beat the hell out of you and has made it crystal clear that he's intending to kill you!"
She sees it then, the fragility in his composure, and then the gates flooding open when he finally breaks.
"I can't lose you, Kate." His head falls forward, forehead bumping to hers. He kisses the soft skin below her eye, tilts a little then brushes one along her nose. "I won't."
"Castle," she murmurs, his surname coming out in a breathless whisper. "Don't. Not yet. Not when we're still here. Not like this."
She's still cradling his face in her palms as he draws back, nodding. "You're right." She's right. They don't know where this guy is, or when he'll be coming back for them.
They help each other to their feet, painfully, unsteadily, and Kate mentions the need for calling in back up. Neither one of them has their phone anymore. Those were the second to go, after Kate's Glock was stripped from her waist.
Castle checks around the bar to find the phone line cut. The only other way would be to risk leaving the bar and being spotted, or risk entering the basement. Leaving, of course, seems like the best option, but without knowing if he's outside the door, if he's just lurking on the steps where he was when he grabbed them initially, they're screwed.
Alternatively, there's a phone and a gun in the basement. They can call in for help from there, arm themselves, but...
"What if he's in the basement?" Kate wonders aloud. "Do you think he knows it's there?"
"No. I don't think so."
"Does anyone ever go down there other than you? During business hours? If there's even the possibility..."
"No, I'm sure of it." He sounds certain enough. "Brian and Eddie know it's there, and a couple of the new part-timers, but Brian is the only one allowed in and he rarely has a reason to go down there."
They hobble their way over to the basement door, both of them armed with a leg from a bar stool that was busted over Castle's back earlier in the evening. When they picked up the makeshift wooden clubs, Kate could feel her stomach clench at the memory of Castle's wail of pain when it made impact with his body. He has to have a huge bruise or gash hidden beneath his clothing. Honestly, she's shocked that he's still standing after that. Hell, even the fact that she's on her feet right now is a feat in and of itself.
Castle's insistent on taking point going down the stairs and she's not fighting him on it. She's right at his back, close enough to feel the heat permeating off of him and for him to feel her breath tickling at his neck. He might think he's taking the lead, but they're in this together. They're both shaking, terrified at the reality that there's so many ways this can go wrong. She really doesn't want to chance the fact that Castle makes good on his word and kills a man, in self-defense or not, but what choice do they have? It may come down to kill or be killed, and she might not have any way to stop the scenario from unfolding if she wants her partner to be the one coming out alive.
Castle slowly takes the first steps down the stairs. Kate's practically hugging at his back, keeping a careful watch both over his and her shoulder in case he misses something ahead, or their assailant reappears to sneak up on them from behind.
Halfway down, so far so good. Castle picks up the pace and finally they confirm that the basement is indeed empty.
So where the hell is this guy? Did he leave the bar entirely? There's no way he just chickened out and left. Not after all this. He's planning something.
Castle heads straight over to his safe, swirling the dial around on the combination lock. Sure enough, there it is inside—the Sig Sauer.
When he pulls the semi-automatic out of the safe, gripping it tightly as he reaches back in the safe to grab the loaded clip, Kate clasps her hand over his.
She's shaking, but he's shaking harder, and there's no way she's letting him be the one with the gun. She's the cop here. She won't have him exacting revenge or trying to play the hero for her.
"Kate."
"Please," she begs him when he attempts to shift his hand away. "I want this guy taken down just as badly as you do."
The way he's looking at her, as though she might disappear at any second, makes her heart wrench. She leans into his chest, reaching her free hand up to his cheek, pulling him down to her until their faces touch cheek to cheek.
"Whether it's you and me, or Nikki and Rook, I'm the one the gun. That's how it's always been. Doesn't mean we're not in this together, Castle."
"Kate, this isn't me trying to impress you with some grand act of chivalry. I just—"
"I know, Rick." She holds him close, nuzzling into his cheek as her fingertips gently stroke down the skin along his jawline. As he lets out a ragged breath, his grip on the gun relaxes and she slowly takes it from him.
"It's so frustrating. I can only ever do so much for you and it's never enough."
"That's not true," she whispers, bumping her nose to his cheek. "It's everything to me."
Their moment is cut short by the sound of their captor returning. He's cursing up a storm at the revelation that his captives are not where he left either of them, and he's hunting around upstairs looking for them.
"Castle, the phone!" she says in a hushed voice, simultaneously grabbing the ammo clip from him and pushing him in the direction of the desk at the same time. She loads the handgun, trains it on the staircase and steps backward until she's next to Castle again.
Upstairs, there's thrashing. He's lost his cool, panicking. Instinct and experience tells her that the situation has just gotten significantly worse and more dangerous. He didn't want to kill her without her begging for mercy before. Now, he may become as unpredictable as a wild animal, change things up since he was careless before and let things get out of his control.
Castle's gotten through to dispatch, but keeps having to repeat his words because the dispatcher is having trouble hearing him with the way he's talking so quietly to avoid drawing the man's attention to their location in the basement. He's growing impatient and irritated with the man on the other end of the line, so Kate settles a hand on his shoulder to relax him, her other still pointed at the stairs.
"What the hell is this?" The voice is closer now. "So you got out of your bindings, huh?"
That's fine, Kate thinks. So long as he hasn't found the entrance yet. So long as there's a chance that multiple squad cars are in route, this will all turn out all right. The gun in her hand won't need to be fired, she and Castle won't have to dodge any bullets, and after a night spent in the ER, they can go home.
"Kate," Castle whispers, his voice in her ear. He's standing behind her, hands gripping her waist, chest flush against her back. "They're coming. They're on their way right now."
She's so happy at the news that she wants to kiss him, but there's still a mad man upstairs looking for them, and this means that there's not a chance she's taking her eyes off of that entryway. If she sees him, she's pulling the trigger. No warnings, no negotiations. She's putting him down before he gets anywhere near her or Castle.
Castle seems to read her mind, sense her feelings, so he makes the move instead. Circling his arms around her waist, he holds her close. He places a kiss to her shoulder blade, then to her temple.
"Together," he murmurs, settling his head just next to hers, body completely flush against her.
"Together," she replies.
He never makes it into the basement. Kate hears sirens within minutes and hears the man (who turns out to be a one David Senart) cursing before uniforms burst in the front door.
He surrenders immediately.
Turns out he left the bar for a short time to obtain some items to make his Nikki Heat captivity game play out a little more authentically once he had them bound and gagged. Black pillowcases are found on the bar, as is a drill. David underestimated Castle though, didn't think that the man would be able to move for a while after the beating he took, nevermind escape his confines and rescue Kate.
Castle wasn't trying to play the hero. He was the hero. Without him, she would still be on the floor, arms bound behind her back, waiting for David Senart to do God only knows what to her.
They refuse to leave the basement until Senart is in custody and outside the building in the back of a squad car. Castle still wants to strangle him with his bare hands for what he did to Kate, what he was planning to continue doing to her, and she doesn't think she'll be able to hold it together if she has to see the man again. She stays in Castle's arms, safe and secure, and when EMS enters to evaluate their injuries, even then they refuse to be separated.
On the ambulance ride to the hospital, she can't stop smiling at him. If his face wasn't so swollen and red, she swears you could see him blushing underneath the huge smile plastered on his face.
"You look like hell," she tells him with a grin as the paramedic goes about examining Castle's ribs and the lesion on his back from where the bar stool hit him. They've determined that he definitely got the worst of it, though Kate is still in pretty bad shape herself. Castle's torso is bruised all over in splotches of black and blue though, and she thinks that it really is a wonder how he managed to get to her in there at all.
"I'm going to have a lot of battle scars from this," he says with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Sexy battle scars."
"They'll just make you even more ruggedly handsome," she purrs back, curling her fingers at his cheek, fingertips grazing his ear. Yeah, she's stroking his ego, singing his praises. But he deserves it after tonight, and besides, she means every word of it.
"Makes you want me, doesn't it?" He turns his head to the paramedic behind him, who has a little blush of his own creeping onto his cheeks. "I saved her life, you know."
"My hero." Kate pulls his attention back to her, leans in to capture his lips.
She doesn't even care that they have an audience. She didn't back in the Old Haunt with uniforms swarming around them as Castle did a thorough exploration of her mouth, and she probably won't once they're in the hospital, either.
"Hmm, what number am I up to now?" he asks when they part from each other.
"Really, Castle? You're still keeping score?" He grins in the face of the frown she gives him.
"Of course."
"I'd smack you right now if you weren't so beat up."
"Don't hurt me. You love me."
Kate scoots closer to him, rests her head along his shoulder. "I do."