.
Gone
.
Chapter Two
.
How far can you travel to find what is gone? AU after Boom (2x18).
.
.
Tugging the handle down, Kate does her best to breathe through the panic that's clouding her vision, the white haze a fog she can barely see through, and, squeezing her eyes closed, she battles against the fear threatening to engulf her. Never before has the simple task of opening a front door scared her to such a degree.
This could destroy Castle's world, could destroy everything… but, as she opens her eyes, searching the loft's outer corridor, Alexis isn't there, and she exhales, her forehead thumping into the wooden edge of the door.
"Kate?"
"She's not here, Castle. She's not here."
Thank God.
The front of his body presses hard into her back as he looks over her shoulder, and, crossing the line that normally keeps them apart, she pivots into him, her nose bumping against the solid muscle of his chest, relief washing away her common sense.
She's apparently not the only one, and his arms wrap around her shoulders, drawing her even closer until she once again finds it difficult to breathe - although for a very different reason. Mimicking his hold, she buries her fingers into the soft material at the base of his spine, inhales freely for the first time since hearing that Alexis' cell was in the building.
"Beckett? What's that?"
Stepping away from the heat that radiates from underneath his cashmere sweater, she angles herself up, searches his features for context, but his eyes are fixed through the doorway and she rotates until she's facing the same way.
And she spots what she'd missed when she'd initially scanned the floor; her happiness that Alexis' body was absent concealing what lay there instead.
.
.
Stepping around Beckett, Rick strides forward, squatting before the oddity, and the flicker of respite that had his body relaxing vanishes.
"Castle?"
He extends his hand, reaches for the phone, before common sense kicks in, and he coils his fingers into a fist. There could be prints. Evidence.
"It's Alexis' phone."
Beckett's hand slides along his shoulder, the pressure against his muscles causing him to tilt his head in her direction as she bounces on her toes, peers down at the lone device. It's almost like they're at work and he shakes himself.
No. This is not a homicide.
"Don't touch it. There could be-"
"Yeah. I know." His retort rivals his sharpest knife and he screws his face at the way the words left his mouth. Beckett must read the grimace on his features though, the unspoken apology, and her fingers settle on his knee, a quick pat before her touch disappears.
"Do you have any gloves downstairs? And we need to-"
The cell rings, a standard buzz that his daughter would never have chosen, and he falls onto his rear, his hand flying out and taking Kate with him. Thrashing his head from side to side, he divides his stare between her and the phone, his heart splintering.
Oh, God.
He's seen this movie, written this scenario, and, crawling forward, he hovers above the cell, his eyes focused on the screen. Blocked.
Whomever is calling, knows enough not to leave their number behind. With a glance at Beckett as she hunches by his shoulder, he presses the answer button.
.
.
She can't move, and as the ringing stops, a distorted voice starts, her most feared scenario - now that her first hasn't come true - beginning to play out.
"Mr. Castle, do you wish to see your daughter alive?"
Shit.
The question, at least, brings reality crashing down onto her. This is real. Far too real, and instinct kicks in. She needs to call the precinct, run a trace on who the hell is behind this.
"Yes." It's barely a sob out of Castle's throat, and as she searches her robe for where she'd pocketed his cell, she knocks her forehead into his bicep, catching his attention.
She doesn't dare speak, instead pleading with her eyes, she implores him to be strong, to get through this phone call.
To keep the bastard on the line.
His nod is short and sharp, and her fingers curl around his cell deep in her pocket, as she's forced to push aside the urge to cling to him while whispering hollow platitudes.
Lies that everything will be okay.
"Then rule number one. No cops. We're well aware of your association, your relationship, with the Twelfth precinct. And if we smell even the slightest hint of bacon, then she'll fry and so you'll smell it too. Understand?"
Castle's horrified stare rips into hers, and she drags her eyes away from him, staring down at his phone in her hand. Hitting the sleep button, she lowers it to the floor, gazing back at him through hooded lashes.
She won't risk calling the precinct yet. Not when Alexis is at stake.
"Yes."
Again such a simple word shatters as he utters it, and with both hands now free, she encloses his side, gripping onto him, offering what little strength she has.
"Good. Now, is your spitfire of a detective listening in? Or have you fucked her already and she's fast asleep missing tonight's excitement?"
Blind rage boils the blood within her veins, her muscles contracting as the air leaves her lungs in a rasp.
"I'm here, you asshole."
A scream breaks the quiet of the corridor, an abrupt screech that is over as quickly as it starts, and Castle moans Alexis' name beside her, his body slumping in her arms, a weight that's too heavy for her to hold upright.
.
.
He presses his cheek against the floor, his nose less than an inch from his daughter's phone.
What are they doing to his little girl?
"Now, now, Detective. There's no need for name calling. But since you are here, let's try to be more of a help than a hindrance. Okay?"
"What do you want?"
If he could feel anything but desolate, he'd be grateful that Beckett is taking the lead, that it gives him a moment. He just needs a moment to box every catastrophic scenario that his imagination his bringing to life. He just needs a moment to remember how to breathe again.
"There's a Delta airlines plane leaving JFK early this morning for Mexico City. I suggest he be on it, you too, if you want. After all, I hear you're rather adept at following each other around. But that's up to you. It's him that wants his daughter back."
The dial tone sounds, and the buzz pulverizes the dam that was holding back his tears, the hot moisture coating his face.
He just wants his baby home, and he whispers, "No."
The sound is more of a moan than a word.
"Castle. Castle. Rick. I know. I do. But we need to work out what our next step is. We have to go to the precinct and get a plan in place. And-"
"No."
They said no one. No one but the two of them. And he's finally slammed the what ifs into a box, has hatred setting alight his sense of desperation. It's time to act. Time to plan. It's time to get his daughter away from them and destroy every last son of a bitch who was involved in her kidnapping.
"No, Beckett. You heard what they said. No. Just us." He pushes down on the floorboards, and standing, he stalks into the loft. There's money in the safe. Passports are there too. Or did he move them to the drawer? He'll have to take Alexis' as well, she'll need it for the flight home. Clothes. Warm things. It's the end of March and Mexico will be nice during the day but cool off at night.
"Castle! Castle, stop!"
He can't. He has to book tickets. He has to-
He's forced backwards, the pillar outside his office slapping against his spine as Beckett crosses her arms over his chest.
"Just stop and think this through. You can't go running off to Mexico, into who knows what. You don't even know if Alexis is there."
"I have no choice."
Her stance softens before him, her hands dropping to his, and he deflates, his head listing away from her.
"I know this seems-"
"You don't, Beckett. You don't know. That's my little girl out there. They have my child. And there is nothing I won't do. Nowhere I won't go to get her back. They said no cops. So, it's not negotiable. No involving the others." Swallowing his impatience, misplaced and directed at the wrong person, he turns his hands, entwining their fingers. "I'm going."
.
.
Castle's body slides away from hers, their hands no longer joined, and as he pivots, his back facing her as he jogs into his office, she tries to catch his sweater. She's too late though, her fingertips ghosting across the material without success.
She's losing him.
She's lost him.
Dropping her head forward, she breathes slowly, each puff of air blowing the short strands of her hair, and they flutter like delicate butterfly wings. Proof she's alive. Proof of life.
It's something that even she takes for granted most of the time, lost in the everyday, going through the motions. At least until moments like this happen and the fragile nature of life is painfully clear.
It's been a recurring concept for them lately.
She would trade places with Alexis in a heartbeat, take away the anguish that both Castles are experiencing, but she can't. But does that mean she throws common sense out the door and goes running blindly off into the unknown?
There are ways to handle situations like this. The FBI and protocol. But that means red tape and moving at a snail's pace...
Groaning, she stalks after him. The sound of drawers slamming gives away his actions, but what is the cost of jumping feet first without a parachute? What will be the cost if they don't?
"We need to at least call the boys. They can help. And Montgomery. We can trust him, trust that he'll keep this quiet and on the down low."
Castle's throwing cash into a carry-on bag, his lips moving silently, and she closes her eyes, frustration at him, at the world, clenching tight in her stomach.
"Can we talk about this, please?"
He's pulling the zipper closed, walking through another doorway and she follows, until comprehension brings her to a stop.
Oh, his bedroom. Of all the ways she'd envisioned her first time here - not that she has, not at all - it was most definitely not under these circumstances.
"There's nothing to talk about, Beckett. We are not contacting anyone and I'm getting on that plane. If you could water the plants and collect the mail while I'm gone that would be great."
"This isn't funny."
The bag thumps on top of the bed, his hands curling into fist and she rakes her fingers through her hair. Nothing about this scenario is amusing.
"You don't have to come, Beckett. They said they only needed me there, but please don't stand in my way. And don't put my daughter's life at stake by calling in the cavalry. Just let me go."
The steel that laces his plea is stronger than any wall she's faced, and the fact that he's going, with or without her, hurts more than she'd admit to anyone. But does that mean she trails after him without thinking of the consequences? Or is this him thinking of the consequences? The ones that will come to pass if they do nothing, play this by the rule book and leave Alexis in someone else's hands.
Pivoting, she walks back into the main living area, heads for his home phone, and dialing a number that could start an avalanche she can't stop, she waits for him to pick up while she does her best to ignore Castle and his angry expression beside her.
"Sir, It's Beckett. Do you have a minute?"
.
.
Thank you to my betas, for all the support and for reading xoxo