AN: Thanks for reading everyone, I really appreciate it. I hope you guys will stick with me, I've got some ideas about how I want this story to go and am working towards getting it there, but suggestions wouldn't go astray. Also, I'm been updating fairly regularly, but as I have to return to uni this week (which includes moving house & being somewhat internetless over coming weeks) it may get a little bit erratic. We'll see how it goes, just, fair warning & all that jazz. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Three

At the thought of what that one middle-aged madwoman intended to do him Castle shivered, a hiss breaking from his lips.

Considering the alternative, Beckett rescuing him really wouldn't be such a bad thing. He didn't need his pride to get by, he had enough natural charisma to take it on the chin. In fact, he'd be mighty glad if Beckett and the boys swung by the rescue him right then and there. Funny, the door didn't burst open merely with the thought. Although, he was immensely relieved that it appeared Beckett was safe, he really would have appreciated having her there. It had been much more fun waking up cuffed beside her, tiger or no tiger. Plus, he was sick of being alone with his thoughts. He wanted out. He wanted out, now. Despite his best efforts, the power of positive thinking wasn't getting him anywhere. That was unfortunate. It was also unfortunate that sarcasm wasn't going to get him anywhere either. Shame.

Behind him, the noise of a stiff door opening interrupted his thoughts. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment, the mantra of, 'Please let it be Beckett, please let it be Beckett,' echoing through his conscious. He shifted and slowly lifted one eye open over his shoulder. It wasn't Beckett. He groaned internally and sought to mask the shudder that rippled through his body.

"Honey, I'm home!" the madwoman crooned. She was wearing a matching shirt and smiling adoringly at him. Unsurprisingly, Castle felt sick. The pit of his stomach erupted in a wave of nausea and he fought to control it. He surmised that his best chance of escape was to placate her, let her think she had the upper hand– ignoring the fact that she very much did have it. She approached him, still grinning sweetly at him and he plastered a matching grin on his face. It was just like a book signing, overtly polite and internally disinterested (and wishing Beckett would whisk him away to the precinct – anywhere). He could handle this.

"Hi. My hands are a little bit sore. If it's no trouble could you please loosen my wrists just a bit?" he pleaded, flashing her another fake smile and shrugging his shoulders as if to show his discomfort.

"Oh sweetie, I'm sorry, but I don't know if I can do that just yet. You see, we need to know each other a bit more, build the trust in our relationship," she paused, a glint in her eye, "But I could kiss them better if you like". He didn't like, he didn't like at all. But he had to convince her that he was on the same page. She had to believe that he trusted her. Surely, if she was already this delusional, it wouldn't be hard for her to be convinced that he felt the same way. Hell, in her delusion, he probably already did.

It saddened him to think that his relationship with Beckett was somewhat like this, he just kept slowly backing her into a corner until she caved and had no choice but to want him back. Surely this wasn't a metaphor for his pursuit of Beckett, the universe's revenge for his constant (but subtle) advances. It couldn't be likened to this, abduction, for crying out loud. Besides, Beckett wanted him back, or at least she hinted at it, and it was enough for now. Soft, salivary kisses brushing on his hands jolting him back to reality. Oh god. Now was certainly not the time to mull over mixed messages from Beckett. Now was the time to scream, slam his wrists into the woman's jaw and flee, but with his bonds still tauntingly secure that sequence of events eluded possibility. He substituted screaming with clearing his throat. If he managed to engage her in a conversation, she might stop her mouth's assault of his helpless hands.

"So, what's your name? I'm guessing you already know mine," he forced out through clenched teeth. It sounded strained, even to his ears; he was really going to have to work on the acting. Mother would not be impressed.

"You can call me Mrs Castle," she giggled into his ear.

"Okay," he drew out slowly. "Mrs Ca-aa-stle," he choked out, "do you have a first name?"

"Oh no, Mrs Castle will do just fine, Mr Castle. Unless you'd rather Mrs Richard Castle," she breathed her face still at his ear. Oh god no. He would not prefer that. Especially, not when he was reserving that name for someone else – a certain NYPD detective whose intervention he'd particularly appreciate in this moment.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Kate Beckett glanced at her pile of paperwork and sighed. She was actually pretty satisfied with the amount she'd managed to get done after Castle had left a couple of hours ago. She checked the clock, despite her blasé response to Castle's dinner invitation earlier, if the gurgling in the pit of stomach was anything to go by, she could really do with a solid meal. She dialled his number and brought her phone to her ear – dinner with Castle couldn't hurt. As much as she didn't want to admit it, the past couple of hours had been kind of boring without him and she tentatively noted that she kind of, sort of missed him. She groaned into the still ringing phone, she was becoming pathetic. The man had worked his way into her life, into practically being her life and she was petrified to do anything about it. To make matters even worse, he wasn't answering his damn phone. He'd probably left it on silent in his study whilst he cooked dinner, it wouldn't be the first time. She could just show up. She wouldn't really be unannounced, he had invited her. Maybe, if she stopped and bought a bottle of wine on the way to the loft it wouldn't appear so rude to just show up on his doorstep. Besides, he was the one rudely not answering his phone. Having satisfactorily justified it to herself, Beckett rose and gathered her belongings, throwing a see you later over her shoulder to Ryan and Esposito.

She knocked on his door, trying to internally dismiss her nervousness at showing up virtually unannounced. He would be happy to see her, he was always happy to see her. She was mostly always happy to see him for that matter. The thought brought a soft smile to her face and she knocked again, impatient cop in her not used to waiting for doors to be opened. She heard footsteps hurry towards the door and it opened to a reveal a petite young redhead.

"Detective Beckett," she smiled, looking somewhat confused, "where's Dad?" Beckett glanced back at her with a frozen expression.

"He's not here?" she mumbled somewhat perplexed. "He should be here". She bit down on her bottom lip, hard. "When did you last hear from him, Alexis?" the detective in her taking control.

"I, uh, this morning, he text to remind to be here for dinner. He was really excited to be cooking this new crazy dish, and I was a little apprehensive to try it," she chuckled, albeit a little nervously, at the memory. "I only got home about twenty minutes ago, I figured you guys must have gotten a really interesting case and he was distracted from making dinner. I was going to call him after I showered, but then you knocked on the door. Where is he, Kate? It can't be something bad, right?" her voice softened and her eyes pleaded with Beckett to reassure her. But she couldn't, she needed reassuring too. Where the hell was Richard Castle?