A/N: Spoilers for Heat Wave.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
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Kate groans, stirs to life. Castle straightens in his chair and watches her. He can see her eyebrows quaking above her blindfold, her body twitching as it's hindered by limited movement. He watches as each arm tugs ineffectually, her shoulders pulling up with the strain. He can tell the moment she remembers what has happened and is at least thankful that he doesn't have to try to explain.
She's rocking in the seat, panic flooding her jerky features. She kicks her bare feet against the wooden legs, and she's going to end up hurting herself if she doesn't stop.
"Kate," he leans forward, grunts against the painful pull on his restraints, because he needs to calm her down. He whispers shh and it's okay over and over again until she settles, still gulping air.
Warden is laughing from behind her as he tugs on her hair, causing her head to thrash back into his chest. He cuts away her blindfold and stands stock still menacingly behind her.
Her eyes jolt open, wide and shifty, with fear lingering in them.
"Castle?" In just his name, he hears all of her questions that he can't answer.
"I don't know," he breathes.
"What, you're not even going to formally introduce us, Mr. Castle? How very inconsiderate." He holds his hand out for her to shake and she stares at it. "Oh, I forgot, you're a little tied up. You can call me Warden."
"What do you want from us?"
"Well, I know the two of you have been having problems," he says nonchalantly as he paces the room. "Of the relationship nature," he adds, looking at Castle. "Oh wait. I forgot. You're 'honored to be able to follow the NYPD in their quest for justice'. And 'glad that Detective Beckett is still putting up with me after four years'. But, no, you 'are not in a relationship'," Warden air-quotes, giving an unsettling word-for-word account of his awkward interview with the Post last month. "Therein lies the problem, don't you think?"
"I'm not sure how that's your business," Kate snaps.
"Well, I've always been a little nosey. When I was a kid, I liked to take things apart, see how they worked, then put them back together. Sometimes successfully, sometimes not so much," he winces, lips curling and eyes squinting through the holes in his mask. "I'm just doing it on a larger scale now." He gestures to them, waves around the room. "Humans are a lot more complicated. You're my guinea pigs. I knew you wouldn't mind," he sing-songs.
Castle growls. He can feel blood trickling into his cupped fingers where the rope is rubbing his flesh raw. "If you're asking…we mind."
"Well, then you'll have to get the fuck over it," he spits, vexation lacing his words.
Castle startles at the way this man goes from calm to crazed in an instant.
"Guinea pigs? I still don't understand." Kate looks fearful and pissed and confused, and Castle wants her to be quiet, stop the questioning. Warden has given him enough vague clues for Castle to know that he's got something twisted planned for them. He doesn't want Kate worrying about it, but he realizes now how powerless he is to that, how mute his wish to protect her really is. He's joked about the abundance of times he's saved her life, but is now defenseless to this man's whims. It makes him want to cry.
"Well, to put it simply, we're going to do a little roleplaying. Don't worry about not knowing your lines—they're characters you're familiar with."
Castle purses his lips and closes his eyes, can't look at her now. She'll see his anxiety.
"Now, Mr. Castle here has indicated that he's not interested in participating. That would surely be a shame, but there's an understudy poised to take his place. Warden looks around the room, spins in a circle, then points to his own chest, opens his mouth in mock-surprise. "Moi? Oh, I'd be so honored."
Castle lifts his lids and almost closes them again. Kate's eyes are boring into his, pleading.
"Mr. Castle, Miss Beckett, I need to grab a few things. I'll be just a moment. Please have your final decision made before I return. Until then, I bit you adieu." He bows theatrically, his lips meeting Kate's forehead, hands curling at her neck, before he rises again and exits the room.
"Castle—"
"Kate."
"I don't want him to touch me," she whispers. "Please."
She's begging him not to let another man hurt her, and it's haunting and vomit-inducing. He's the only one who can keep her safe for now, but only by agreeing to play a sick game with unknown results in return. "We'll figure something out. I promise. I won't let him touch you."
A key scraping in the lock draws their attention away from each other and back to the door Warden exited from. Kate huffs out a breath and blinks rapidly, staving off tears. He can see their glint at the seams of her eyes, crawling to the tips of her lashes. With a deep inhale and furious shake of her head, she has herself composed just in time for Warden to reappear through the door.
"We're so quiet in here." He sets a medium sized box and paper grocery sack down on the table and begins digging into the latter. "I take that to mean that a decision's been made. Fun for me or fun for you, Mr. Castle?"
"He'll do it," Kate blurts for him.
"Oh, goody." He slides his palms together in excitement. "As much as I'd love to have a luscious sampling of you for myself, I'm a true romantic at heart." He lifts two candles out of the bag as if to prove his statement. "I don't know why you're looking at me like that, Richard. I'm trying to help you out here," he stage whispers to him, nods his head in Kate's direction. "See if you can manage to not fuck it up this time, huh?"
He stacks a few assorted colors and sizes of candles on the corner of the table, then steps back between their chairs.
"I'm going to untie you now." He circles behind him, and Castle sees Kate's line of vision move up and over his shoulder; she's watching Warden with the same look he imagines he had earlier. She's trying to figure him out, whether she knows him, decipher his motivations. She's silently interrogating him, but he can tell she's getting nowhere when she slumps back into her chair, lowers her eyes back to his, smiles a truly unconvincing—but somehow still reassuring—smile.
"Oh, and just so you don't get any ideas," Warden pauses, takes a deep exaggerated breath that he releases as a whistle, then pats Castle roughly on the cheek. "If you try anything silly, I'll shoot her in the head."
Castle hasn't seen a gun, but he believes him, knows in this short amount of time that the man is sinister—or just plain crazy—enough to do that without remorse. As the bindings fall away from his wrists and he feels the fibers of rope peeling away from his pared flesh, he bites into his lip to keep the discomfort from showing on his face.
"Oh, I got a new toy," Warden calls out, randomly, backing away from Castle with a warning for him to stay put with an extended finger. "Wanna see?" Neither he nor Kate answer, but you couldn't tell from Warden's excitement while rooting around in the box.
For a slight moment, Castle thinks it's a gun, but as he fingers it, shows it off like a game show prize, Castle can see that it's a Taser, a stun gun.
Any momentary thoughts of relief Rick has are forgotten as he's struck with the probes, can feel the barbs piercing his skin. Every muscle in his body seizes, squeezes his bones. He can faintly hear Kate screaming for him or at Warden; he's can't be sure.
His lips are parted, but no sounds are coming out. He's researched this; even thought it might be cool to have it done like he's seen on TV and YouTube videos. He's amending that. His breath is getting lost somewhere between his lungs and his mouth. Standard police tasering is five seconds; he's not sure how long this has been, but oh my God, he's not going to be able to stand it much lo-.
And it's gone.
The pain (was it even pain?) has subsided, but his muscles are still twitchy and he can't quite control them. He finally has enough motor function to press his feet to the concrete floor and push himself back up into the chair that he had nearly slouched out of. He's breathing hard and his heart is racing—he can't seem so find a rhythm to either.
Warden strides up to him and Castle flinches, bracing himself for the next wave of immobilization. But his fingers are fishing around on his torso and then Castle feels it, the sharp twist of agony as Warden jerks the barbs from his flesh.
"Ha. It works! Neat." He spins to Kate, shows her the twin hooks of metal, ends tinged with his blood. "Same rules apply to you, Miss Beckett. Don't try anything stupid or he'll get it again. That was a low setting," he warns. He slides the stun gun into a cargo pocket on his jeans at the same time that he slips out his knife and swiftly loosens Kate from her bondages.
"Why are you doing this?" Kate demands.
"Because I can. Now stand up." He's gesturing to both of them and their compliance is immediate.
His legs are still a little wobbly, but he doesn't have much problem with the movement. Kate is steadying him just in case, asking him if he's okay (he can't respond to that without lying or scaring her), her fingers sliding down his forearm, and—after she realizes that he's not in danger of collapsing—down to his hand.
"Over here," Warden offers, nudging Castle ahead with his knee, Beckett follows at his side. With his still knife-armed hand, he pulls back a thick black curtain, its rings chiming and scraping against the metal rod flanking a small alcove in the corner. It looks like maybe the area was built for a washer and dryer. It instead houses a small couch, patterned like old-fashioned curtains, a brown and green paisley print, faded at the arms and cushions. "Have a seat and we'll get started."
Castle and Beckett lower onto the cushions. Castle notices her eyeing their surroundings. She sucks in a small, startled breath and his eyes follow hers to the coffee table angled beside the couch. There lie four lime wedges, a shot glass, half-bottle of tequila, and a salt shaker.
"I'd like to start off authentic, but we're omitting the paring knife for now. But, I took the liberty of wedging your limes," he waves proudly towards the table. Kate shudders beside him, vibrating shoulder to thigh, where she's pressed against him. Warden grabs the candles and places them around the table. "Pretend they're lit," he instructs.
"What exactly are we doing?" He knows, oh he knows, but he wants to hear it.
"You're fixing what you broke. By starting back at square one."
"Square one?" Kate asks, angry lilt to her voice that makes him uncomfortable, want to cover her mouth with his and hide her, tuck her away somewhere safe.
"Back to where you began. When things were fresh and new."
"You're talking about characters in a book," Castle hisses.
"Based on you both." Warden nods, bobs his head enthusiastically. "Start, Rook." He points to the table, disappears into the shadow of the curtain, where while looking at Kate, Rick can't even see him in his peripheral vision. That gives him a dash of comfort.
Castle sighs and sticks the web of his hand in his mouth, salts it, then plucks it back between his lips. He skips the shot glass, just swigs from the bottle then bites into a lime wedge, wincing as the mixture of the three sharpen in his throat.
"Keep going," he hears, off to his right.
His fingers shake when he pours the shot, amber liquid sloshes over the sides of the glass. Kate must notice, and after he drops the bottle down, she grabs his wrist, steadies him and shakes her own salt onto his hand. It's too exhilarating and uncomfortable when her tongue scrapes his flesh. In a character reversal that betrays his book, he's the one who foregoes eye contact in this moment. By the time he opens his eyes, the shot is drained and another lime wedge has been consumed.
She's worried about him, that he can plainly see. They both have enough anxiety piled on in this situation that her trying to share his burden is too much. He's being selfish. This isn't any easier on her, yet he's the one hiding from it, leaving her weighed down by the encumbrances.
When she offers him her hand, already shining with salt crystals, he finds her eyes, tries to let her know they're in this together. His lips wrap around the space between her thumb and forefinger; he lingers there until he sees the tequila lifted into his vision. She eases her hand from his mouth and he knocks back the alcohol, squeezes the juice of the lime onto his tongue and swallows hard.
He remembers writing this scene as if it were yesterday, not years ago. He felt guilty then, too, he recalls, because it was Kate Beckett he imagined in this, and subsequent scenarios…nothing fictional about her. And now now he has it, a fantasy come to life.
But, it's tinged with nightmare.
"This is where you kiss," Warden announces, theatrically.
When Castle wrote about Nikki and Rook holding each other's steady gaze, he didn't picture them being surveyed and instructed. Once he meets Kate's eyes, he tries to tell her how sorry he is. If he weren't so selfish, wasn't craving some alone time with her, bribed her into going to dinner, this wouldn't have happened. It wouldn't be happening.
His eyes shutter in reflex when she touches two fingers to his jaw, leans up and in to brush her lips across his cheek. She pulls back a little, but stays there, swayed into him. His heart is hammering.
Oh.
He wrote this. Just like this.
He wishes they were in a time or place where he could be flattered, make a joke at how well she knows this scene. But, when Warden clears his throat, he knows there's no time for that. It's his turn. Time for him to play the part.
He brushes her hair back, tucks it behind her ear and sighs. Her eyes closed, and he'd like to think it's from his touch; maybe under different circumstances he'd allow himself to believe that and relish in it. Going "off-script", he laces his fingers into her hair and tugs her towards him. He just wants to hold her for a moment.
But, before he can urge her head to his neck, her hands are flexing on his shoulders and her lips are on his. His groan echoes around them, hangs heavy in the air. She's sobbing into his mouth, and he can taste her tears, more brackish and harsh than the salt he licked from her skin. Instinctively, he slants his head and presses closer into her when her tongue curls past his lips. It's rough and desperate, and after staring at one another—tied to chairs—this is the only physical bond they have, the thread tying them together and it's too much and not enough.
"Gotta stop," he grumbles, still kissing her, not willing to let her go, but needing to.
"Don't leave me." She's begging and clinging to him, pulling him tightly to her, his shirt fisted in her palms.
"Shh, I'm not leaving you. I'll never leave you."
"Oh, don't make promises you can't keep, Mr. Castle."
His eyes shock to Warden, who is glaring at him, suddenly angered. "Did you tell the blonde whore that you're screwing the same thing?"
Damn it.
Castle shakes his head. "I'm not—we're not. It wasn't like that." He's annoyed at himself for feeling the innate urge to explain this. He turns to Kate, stilled in his embrace. "There hasn't been anyone in a very long time," he whispers gently. Kate nods her head, smooths her hands down the front of his shirt before letting him go. She's still canted into him, though, away from Warden.
"She doesn't believe you," Warden taunts. "I wouldn't believe you either." Kate goes to speak, but Warden holds up his hand, stops her. "Hush. For my story, it doesn't even matter. Take him to your bedroom, Nikki."
