Chapter 10

More angry shouts and loud thumps of heavily booted feet. Fuck. They're already being followed.

She grips Castle's hand tighter, urging him on, but he seems to be slowing down instead, his feet shuffling on the uneven linoleum floor. He still somehow manages to keep up with her, but only barely, and Beckett knows he won't last much longer.

She makes a quick decision and ducks into a side office. She helps him ease down to the ground as he tries to catch his breath, and his head drops instantly between his legs as his abused lungs try to gulp down enough oxygen. He doesn't look good, not at all, but she has no time to worry about that right now.

She takes in her surroundings, quickly scanning the room before jumping up and crossing it in a few hasty strides towards its barreled windows. Heavy wooden boards are nailed to the frames and Beckett actually has to search for a gap so she can take a look in order to assess where they might be, whether it's even worth trying to pry the wood off in the hope of an escape.

The sounds of running feet grow louder. Not too close yet, but louder still, and Beckett's heart hammers in her chest. They need to get out, now. She doesn't want to think about what would happen if they got recaptured, what the price for her escape attempt would be. There is no doubt in her mind that one or both of them wouldn't survive it.

She finds a thin slit of light, her eye pressing against the sharp edge of the thin gap. Sun blinds her momentarily, her dilated pupils taking a moment to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light.

She was right. They are at the docks. Beyond the concrete pier, Beckett can clearly see the shimmering surface of the water.

Suddenly she's clawing at the wood, trying to use her fingers to rip it off, a sudden burst of energy, fury and despair fueling her actions, but it's to no avail. The wood doesn't budge a millimeter. She looks around the room, frantically searching for something, anything, that could help her rip the planks from the frame, help her open an escape window to this nightmare.

Their pursuers' footsteps fall ever closer and Kate's heart races, despair clawing up her throat. They don't have the time, but still her eyes seek out Castle, his silent, huddled form slouched on the ground, back heavily resting against the wall.

He's her responsibility now, it's her job to rescue him. But she is running out of time and she doesn't know what to do.

"There," Castle's voice - rather feeble - cuts through the room. "At the back wall." He points to the back of the room with a shaking hand. "There's a hammer. Maybe that-" he bursts into a fit of coughs, has to fight his way through it to finish. "Maybe that…can help."

She does as he tells her, darting to the back of the office immediately and grabbing for the hammer that was obscured from her view by a broken table knocked on its side.

Using it will make noise, a lot of noise. She knows it will lure their pursuers closer, the sound putting a figurative red dot to their foreheads, but she has no other option.

She grips the hammer until her knuckles turn white and starts to use the claw end of the hammer to prise the wood off the frame.

The effort it takes to throw her weight into prying off the thick boards spikes her blood and raises her blood pressure, making her headache explode until she sees little stars, but she keeps going, unwavering.

"Sorry - I can't - help," Castle stutters in between the individual hits and she shoots a quick backward glance at him, sees his hands still violently shaking over his thighs, his face white as a sheet. He looks close to fainting, but Kate can't afford to think about that right now. She has to get them out.

She raises the hammer again, the tool heavy like lead in her grip.

That's" —grunt— "okay," she calls back to him through clenched teeth, as she throws her weight against the too-short handle of the hammer, rocking rhythmically in an attempt to pry off the board. "Just try" —uhhh!— "to" —arrggh!— "rest.

He doesn't reply to that, and she hopes beyond hope that he is merely resting and not passed out. She has to focus on the task and cannot spare a glance back at him. Fuck, she needs to get him out of here. Now.

She's already managed to break a small hole in between two boards, having used both her despair and rage as the fuel to do the necessary damage. Her head is splitting with pain, vision slightly swimming, but she keeps going, even as her arms scream in protest.

The voices, the running footsteps grow a bit distant, maybe searching another part of the building. It gives her hope, maybe there's still enough time.

She pushes the head of the hammer thought the hole she dug, uses the sides of the metal head to plank away at chunks of wood from outwards in. The wood starts to slowly give in to her desperate pull. One board splinters suddenly and a few pieces of sharp wood fly towards her face. She feels a prickly sting down one of her cheeks but she doesn't stop. The boards finally give in and Beckett feels like releasing a small, victorious cry when one of the boards comes off completely, nails that held it to the frame still sunk deep inside its wood.

The hole in the window is bigger now, it's a gap really. She could her push her whole arm through, but it's still not wide enough – not nearly enough – for a human to squeeze. Not for her and surely not for Castle's bulky frame.

Then she hears it, a voice shouting out somewhere near the corridor, the loudest and closest yet, and she has to suppress a desperate, ferocious growl when she realizes this was to no avail after all. She's already out of time.

She grabs for the lowered gun, pulls the other one from her waistband. There is no time left to escape from here. She'll just have to try to shoot their way through.

With an angry huff, Beckett returns back towards the entrance to the office, stands next to the hollow doorjamb missing its door and squats down to one side of the opening, the one she knows their pursuers will most likely come from and which will hopefully shield them from any direct view. She crouches like a panther, her formerly loud footsteps growing deadly silent as she signals Castle to crawl towards her as well. Her head peeks around the corner to watch the corridor where at any moment now, at least one of their kidnapers will appear.

She feels Castle crouch at her back, clumsy, uncoordinated and far louder than she'd wish for him to be, but she can't do anything about it. He's just…

She doesn't finish that thought. Better stay concentrated.

One of his hands comes to rest against at the small of her back, his trembling, cold fingers splaying wide before they fist into her shirt, desperately holding on to her. Protective and fierce, Kate extends a hand behind her; she snakes it around his body to push him even further back.

She will not go down without a fight, and she won't let them take him again either, at least not while she still has a bullet in her clip and a breath in her lungs. She hopes beyond hope that it won't have to come to that, but she wants to be prepared.

She is prepared.

Her grip on the gun tightens.

The corridor is still empty. She can't really understand how it's even possible their pursuers haven't walked through here already, but that's not important anymore, because distinctive loud footsteps can be heard at the very end of the corridor, the way she and Castle originally came from. It's a rather long corridor and she crouches there, a viper in wait, with Castle's cold hand brokenly gripping the back of her shirt, so vulnerable. She grips her gun even tighter, narrows her focus, pushes out the pain and fatigue, the splitting headache, putting all her concentration into this single goal.

She will get them out. She will get them out.

They are searching the corridor now. Not merely passing, no. There are loud bangs and noises just down the hall, their pursuers searching the empty rooms and offices, methodically making their way down the whole long passage.

No chance they'll go unnoticed.

Beckett thinks quick and hard, weighs her options. Castle has rested for a while, so he may be able to run again. But even if they venture into the corridor, their footsteps will give them away. There is no guarantee there actually is an exit at the other end, and even if there is, it's most likely already covered. And that's a gamble she isn't ready to take.

On the other hand, staying in this room means they're stuck. Two sitting ducks, of whom only one is in any state to fight back. If they come in here searching, that's it, they're done. Still. The office, despite the small gap in its boarded windows now, is inconspicuous – just one of many - in the long line of offices along the corridor.

She picked it at random, chose to hide in here because she already felt Castle losing his footing at her back, knew he wouldn't probably make it more than a couple feet without toppling over. The boarded windows and hammer were really just a matter of coincidence.

She contemplates their options, unable to decide whether to make a run for it or simply stay hidden. Instinct tells her to run, but one quick look back at Castle over her shoulder tells her all she needs to know.

He is hunched against the wall, heavily resting on his haunches, bottom nearly touching the ground. One of his hands is still tightly bunched in the fabric of her shirt, the other wound tightly across his bent legs as if trying to hold his shaky frame together. His head's buried on his knees and he has a hard time just staying quiet. Shivers and dark, shallow rasps for air wrack his whole body.

There is just no way he is running for it. And so the decision's already made.

Their pursuers are a couple of doors down the hall, must be if the loud noises they make are anything to go by. Kate quickly scans the room, looks for a place, an inconspicuous nook, to conceal themselves. There is a desk all right, a wooden, old-school office desk, with a full wooden back. She wishes there were a less clichéd and more bullet-proof place to hide, but she is out of time and options.

She turns to Castle, nudges him slightly. He opens a tired and somewhat confused eye - Kate notes with dismay - regards her silently as she points with her gun towards the desk. Crouching closer, she presses her face against the side of his face, whispers into his ear, "Quick, Castle, let's crawl behind that desk over there. Maybe we'll be lucky and they won't spot us."

She can see how the mere movement costs him. He must be at the end of his strength, yet he obeys, surprisingly quiet and stable as he creeps his way towards the desk. Beckett is hot on his heels.

The narrow space is tight, the desk too small, and there are two of them. But they manage, somehow, just in time, as loud sets of footsteps echo in the corridor just outside the office.

There must be three or four of them, Kate figures, trying to count the footsteps. They are talking, discussing directions and giving commands in no hushed voices, too secure in their own environment and numbers to care. And rightfully so.

Beckett has the gun trained in her hand, pressed against her thigh, ready to shoot at anybody foolish enough to try to get to them. The other gun she took away from the dead man is on the ground right next to her, ready to be exchanged for the first one if she empties her clip. Despite having two guns, Kate's reasonable enough to know she's definitely not skilled to shoot properly left-handed. Not to mention both-handed. Though, she won't completely disregard this option if it comes down to an outright shoot-out.

Her heart is hammering in her chest, and the loud pounding fills her ears with blood, thumping thick and heavy against her skull. Beads of sweat run down her face and she has to force her breathing to calm down. She can feel Castle's bulky, soaked frame at her back and side.

He's hunched and squeezed tightly under the table in what surely must be a highly uncomfortable or even painful position, but he doesn't utter a single word of complaint. He's a silent, steady, slightly unnerving presence at her back.

The men are rummaging through the office next door and surely, one must have poked his nose into their hiding place by now too. The trouble is, she doesn't know for sure, and she can't see, doesn't dare to sneak so much a peek. She didn't even notice when she stopped breathing, only feels her lungs burn with the lack of oxygen now, and she forces herself to draw a deep, silent, steadying breath, then another.

A hand reaches out from behind her, his thick, familiar fingers ghosting at her middle, groping around with an unusual lack of grace before they settle at the curve of her hip, close to her middle. She finds his hand in the semi-darkness with her free one, squeezes in reassurance. His hand is cold, and yet his skin is sweaty, clammy, maybe even a little numb. Nothing like the touch she is used to. And still, it's the best form of comfort she could ever wish for.

She slips her hand underneath his, flips it over so their fingers can twine, palm kiss, and Kate squeezes tight, firmly pressing their joined hands against her chest. They won't end like this, she vows, they won't end like this.

Montgomery's words suddenly fill her ears, the sharpness of the memory momentarily blinding her.

There are no victories. There's only the battle. And if you're very lucky, you find someone willing to stand with you.

She presses their hands firmer against her sternum, right over her heart, gulping down the sudden lump in her throat, willing her trembling heart to settle down.

She will do anything to make them stand.