A/N: Writing to a prompt ;)
Disclaimer: All borrowed dialogue belongs to their respective owners (ie not me I own nothing and no one)
He's older than she expected, closer to Martha's age than Castle's, white hair and designer suit topped off with an expensive winter coat. He looks normal.
It dawns on her then she was expecting some elite secret ops force, some government adjacent hard men that Castle would have used for inspiration in one of his books. Her heart sinks and her hope starts to plummet but her faith in Castle remains. If he chose Gaston to be his go to person in France there was a reason. Now it's up to her to find out what it is.
Kate waits until he finds a table, circles the room, and then slides in opposite him. She watches Gaston startle at first, his eyes drifting over her body with appraisal. It's not lecherous or seedy, just confused and when she leans onto her elbows he flinches, panic darting into his eyes.
She doesn't know what it is he sees when their vision collides, but she likes the reaction. "Richard Castle sent me." She states, outright lying but not caring if it gets her what she wants.
The man's worry falls away instantly replaced by a smile at the mention of Castle's name and her heart thuds heavily with understanding. This man has no idea why she's here.
When Kate tells him the truth behind her visit to France the worry returns. In fact, Gaston looks downright terrified.
"You work as an adviser to the Minister of Defense?" Kate's shock is clear in her voice, and she tries to put the pieces together in her head. Did Castle think Alexis' kidnapping had political motives? Does he have contacts buried within the French government that he hoped would facilitate her release?
Nothing makes sense and Gaston sits silent, clinging to his coffee cup, staring.
"Why would Castle contact you?" She demands, elbows knocking aside the cutlery on the table as her patience wanes. They're starting to attract the attention of the other customers and Kate forces herself to remain in her seat.
"I 'av no idea." Gaston gestures, nodding to the waitress that everything is fine before he continues, "I 'av very little pull with the Police Nationale, Ricky only ever came to me for advice on 'is novels."
"Which ones?" Her eyes dart from side to side as she thinks back over his work, it wouldn't be Nikki Heat, she knows those books inside out and nothing here fits them at all.
It would be before that, before they met.
"Derek Storm?" She clutches at straws, guessing, theorizing out loud as she goes, "You work in the government but why would he go the bureaucratic route?" It makes no sense when everything else has been suspicious, why would he suddenly choose to play this by the book? "Did you mention a team or someone that could find people, missing people? Someone they used when they didn't want to go to the police, or start an investigation?"
Gaston's mouth opens and closes and Kate loses what little grip she has on her self control.
Her fist comes down hard on the table, cups jumping, knives and forks clanging, and she rises up in her seat, threat and violence and bloody murder burning a direct path from her eyes to his. She hisses, "Did you tell him about someone who could make people disappear?"
"I - eh - it was all in confidenze' " Gaston stammers, his face blanching white, " 'alf of it never even made it into 'is books."
"But these people - this person - they exist?"
"It is one thing for 'im to write about these characters from the safety of 'is desk, but these are not the kind of people 'e wants to know." Gaston stares her down defiantly, waiting until she sinks back into her chair. "You even less so."
Kate's smile comes slowly and Gaston startles at the sight of it, "Trust me, I've met worse."
"I'm not sure that is even possible. Miss. Beckett." The man shakes his head, sighing heavily.
"Detective."
"What?" Gaston's head shoots up, eyes narrowing.
"Detective Beckett," Kate says again, more quietly, "I work homicide in New York, believe me I know what I'm getting into." She lies again, covers it well and watches as her words sink in. "But I am not a cop today, Gaston." She growls, her voice low, sinister, "I'm here to find my partner's daughter."
" 'Omicide," Gaston pales, white as death, "I thought you said 'is daughter was still alive?"
"She is," Kate refuses to believe otherwise, but she needs this man's help, she needs him on her side, " And I intend to keep her that way."
They exchange numbers.
" 'Et will be expensive," Gaston sighs, "and you'll 'ave to stay close to your phone." He gets up to leave and stops when Kate's fingers coil around his arm.
"How do I know I can trust you?" She sounds desperate. She is.
"You don't, detective," Gaston, untangles her fingers from his coat sleeve and steps back from the table, "But Richard was my friend, I 'av grandchildren." He smiles sadly, "Keep your phone on."
The second he's out of sight Beckett feels an overwhelming rush of panic and she has to get out of the crowded cafe. She knocks over her chair as she pulls her coat from the back of it, stumbling out onto the street, gasping.
It's loud. Horns blare on cars that pass by, people knock into her and send her spinning, her senses on high alert. Kate takes one step and then another and another, until she's all but running, seeking sanctuary in some quieter, less confining side street.
When she stops her lungs are aching and she has to fight to breathe.
The cold air feels good against her skin, and she tugs loose the buttons of her white shirt, dragging her fingers down her neck as the sweetness of space and silence fills her up, lessening her claustrophobia.
Kate allows herself a moment, just one, to stand there, alone in a foreign city, with the weight of the world on her shoulders and her heart frantic in her chest, one moment to feel the panic.
Her hand slides over her heart, fingers cold against her bare skin as she slides them under the collar of her shirt.
One moment to feel the fear and the dread.
Then she tucks it up in a box deep inside and fights to calm her breathing. She works through familiar steps, counting each inhale and picturing the incoming tide, blowing out hard and watching the sea in her mind roll away.
It helps, a little, but in the end she focuses on him, Castle, and with his image at the forefront of her mind Kate regains her sense of self and her control.
With him in her heart she remembers how to breathe.
Kate holds onto his image when her phone chimes little over half an hour later with a message.
St. Thomas d'aquine church.
1 hour. Take seat. He will find you.
Her fingers reach beneath her coat, searching for a reassuring graze to a weapon she doesn't have. She curses, but whatever the outcome, she's in it now, no turning back.
The church is beautiful, awe inspiring and absolutely the worst place for a meet.
When Kate walks in she finds the building dimly lit in shadow and candlelight, the stain glass windows trapping whatever sun could stream inside, and no matter where she chooses to sit she won't be able to see all the entrances. Not to mention her back will be to the majority of the church.
It's wrong. She doesn't like it.
It goes against every cop instinct she has but Kate finds a seat two rows back on the left hand side of the altar, eyes flickering around the room as she waits.
Shadows dance, sending fire and glowing confusion in human shaped patterns up the length of the cold brick. It's hard to concentrate, find one source of light or sound, and her body reacts immediately, eyes catching with a man who sits alone at the back of the church.
Her fingers curl in her palm, biting back another urge to reach for her abandoned weapon.
Behind her the bench creaks and Kate spins to find herself face to face with her contact.
"Vengeance is mine, sayeth the lord, I will repay."
His accent is thick and he toys with the words like a cat with a mouse, releasing some and trapping others, clawing at the edge of his sentence.
Ice creeps through her veins as their eyes meet.
"But sometimes, the lord needs a little 'elp, eh?"
He laughs; it's the least funny thing she's ever heard.
Kate finds herself nodding, taking in his body language and the bulges in his coat, her visual assessment telling her he's unarmed while her gut screams he has a weapon, most likely trained on her this very second.
"I 'av terms." He states when she doesn't speak, " 'alf now and 'alf when I find 'er."
"You know where she is?" Kate blurts, unable to help herself.
"Not yet, but I will. 'owever, I don't promise to find 'er alive."
Her fingers grip tight to the wooden pew, knuckles scalded white again as her teeth sink into her tongue and Kate's whole body fights against its own violent hatred of that outcome.
"That is out of my 'ands I'm afraid."
It goes against everything she is, everything she does, everything she has believed in her entire life to give her trust to this man, but Kate can see no other choice.
She didn't doubt it before and she doesn't question it now, because when it comes to Castle and his family, Kate finds that there is no law she's willing to leave unbroken, no length she will not go to.
So, when he stands, this man cast in shadow and mystery and no small amount of danger, his hand held out and his voice low when he says, "Come, we need to leave," Kate follows without a second thought.
She's doing this for Martha, for Alexis and for herself. She's doing this for Castle and nothing, not even her own mounting sense of dread, will deter her.
They end up buried deep in the bowels of the church. Marching through underground caverns and centuries old walkways. They descend flight upon flight of ancient stone steps, lit only by more flickering candles, until they find themselves miles below street level.
If he's brought her down here to kill her, she has no weapon to defend herself and no means of escape. Kate remembers her promise to Martha, thinks of her father and the man she loves and steals herself for a fight.
Her fists clench as she prepares, if he makes the first move, she's ready to defend herself.
An eerie green glow rises to meet them as they descend the last few steps. Their shadows bounce and dance where the passageway is at its narrowest point, forcing them to walk in single file. It allows Kate to breathe as she follows behind. At least walking like this there's less chance of a sneak attack from behind.
"Do you speak French?" He asks as they round a corner and find themselves in a room draped with lengths of thick electrical cable, buzzing fills her ears and she swallows thickly, a strange sense of being too far below ground swooping through her. The man turns and waves her ahead of him, stealing her relief with the simple gesture.
"No." Kate lies immediately, trying to sound apologetic as self preservation kicks in hard and fast. Somehow she gets the sense that the uncultured American act is gonna work in her favor, especially if this man and whatever contact he is taking her to believe they can speak freely in front of her.
"That is a shame," the man smiles, ignores her and proceeds, "Bonjour Henri."
"Bonjour."
Kate starts, jumping at the presence of another person. The man is short, pale and squirrely, his eyes covered though Kate herself is finding the darkness oppressive. He holds a hand in greeting.
"You ar' Kate, I presume."
His hand hovers as Kate steps forward to take it, shifting back and forth in the air. He's blind she realizes, or at least severely partially sighted, their fingers connect and a shiver slides through her body at the clamminess of his skin.
"Yes, I am," she swallows thickly, stepping back. "And you are?"
"We call 'im The Mole." The man at her back laughs, gesturing around to the tech heavy burrow, the darkness that consumes them, the covered eyes of Henri, "Clever, no?"
"Witty."
Kate shudders again and tries to keep her reaction hidden.
"Gaston said you 'ad proof the girl was still alive?"
Henri sits down and disappears from sight, hidden by wires and machinery, leaving Kate to turn her attention back to the man whose name she still doesn't know. He gestures for her to follow and when he takes up a seat on the lone leather couch Kate has no choice but to follow and perch at his side.
"She called her father."
"There is proof?"
"A video." Kate replies fishing for her phone, grateful to whoever it was that transferred it to her phone. She's played it more than once, listening to Castle's voice, Alexis in tears, until her heart could take it no longer.
" 'e will need dis'" He extends his hand and takes her phone. In one movement he removes her last source of comfort and defense, leaving Kate completely cut off.
The video plays on repeat.
She's never considered it before but if there was a torture specifically designed to drive her to distraction and inflict as much pain and guilt and suffering as humanly possible, this would be it.
Castle's voice echoes all around her. It pours from the mounted units above their heads, the megaphones and amplifiers, stereos and Frankensteined boomboxes. Every sound device available has been tweaked and manipulated to provide a different level of noise, a distorted or twisted version of the speech patterns of her partner.
When it reaches an unbearable level, The Mole kicks it up a notch and increases the volume. It coincides perfectly with Alexis' voice as she panics.
She's long since given up staring at the girls face on the computer screen and Kate curls her body over her knees, arms coming up either side of her head to block out the sound.
She can feel her heart in her chest, behind her eyes, in her ears, the blood rushes, the beat pounds and Kate feels as though she could explode with pent up rage and desperation. One more second and there is no telling what -
Mercifully the video cuts off.
Kate seethes through clenched teeth, "I told you, police tech and the F.B.I went through that video with a fine tooth comb," she stands, paces and clenches her fists, "If they didn't find anything, it's because there's nothing to find. We're wasting time."
A loud distorted echo blares above her head and behind her The Mole rises up from his chair and hisses at her to be quiet.
He talks too quickly in French and she misses most of it, something about eyes or ears and she turns to the other man expectantly.
" 'e says 'e 'as something. You've been listening with your eyes, looking for clues."
Henri types frantically at the keyboard and the sounds around them distort, grow louder and Kate covers her ears when a particularly high pitched tone rents the air. Alexis quivers on the screen as Henri replays one three second sound clip over and over and over again.
It grows louder each time.
"What?" Kate starts forward, knowing from the man's sinister smile he believes he's found something, "What is it?"
" 'ear that?" He laughs, the sound grows louder, sounds like chipmunks chattering, "Church bells."
"Are you serious?" Kate barks, spinning between the two men, hearing nothing.
"Shhh." Her unnamed contact stands and puts his body between hers and Henri's.
"St. George's in the 16th." Henri twists a knob, sends crackles scattering all around them as the sounds bounce from the walls, then tweaks it and a faint ringing finds its way to her own ears.
Incredulous Kate's hand flies to her mouth as she hears the bell chime, long and low and in the distance.
The other man returns with a map, and she joins him once more on the couch, watching as he runs his fingers over the streets of Paris spread out before him. He pulls out a pin and marks the church.
"From the sound of it she is maybe, six, eight blocks away, hmm, there is a restaurant in the building she is in."
Kate opens her mouth to question how on earth he could know that, yet as she does Henri distorts the sound even more and for a split second she hears plates and cutlery and the sounds of a kitchen in full swing. It's impossible. Miraculous. Her eyes well, fingers covering her lips and she blinks hard as she trains her eyes on the map once more, refusing to let the shreds of hope that lay here draw tears from her eyes.
"There's a hum, like a fingerprint." Henri answers her unspoken question, "Unlike any other. It is unique."
The man at her side jumps to his feet and fishes out a laptop, pulling up street maps and scrolling frantically. Kate sits back and digs the palms of her hands into her eyes, a loud sigh escaping her before she has a chance to tamp it down.
Henri asks the question in French before his counterpart echoes it.
"When did you last sleep?"
She laughs mirthlessly, "I don't know." She caught maybe an hour on the plane, she's gone longer with less at work before, and there is caffeine in her system still. She can last a little while longer yet.
"You should sleep."
"Not likely."
The man makes a face, sighs and gestures to the couch at her back, "This will take some time, Kate."
Against her own better judgement Kate slides back onto the couch, curling her knees up underneath her and leaning her head onto her arm. She refuses to lay down, refuses to give in, but she keeps up the pretense and plays the part, settling her body as if preparing to let exhaustion wash over her.
"I'll wake you when we 'ave something, eh?"
She nods, closes her eyes and listens. Her body grows heavy and after a few minutes she hears The Mole whisper in French, "She doesn't trust you."
The other man hums agreement, his fingers tapping on the keyboard.
With her eyes closed, for a split second, Kate can pretend that it's Castle she hears. That she's tucked up in his bed with the sounds of his writing spilling through the open door. She imagines how, in a moment, the melody of his fingers on the keys will cease, and the bed will dip. The warmth and heat and love of the man surrounding her before Castle finally presses his lips to her forehead.
Tears leak under her weighted lashes and, for the first time since the case begun, Kate doesn't force them to stop.