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Gone
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Chapter Three
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How far can you travel to find what is gone? AU after Boom (2x18).
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Rick stares at the faces of everyone else hurrying through JFK, lingering for longer than is sociably acceptable, but there's a shiver racing down his spine. The sensation that he's being watched won't leave, and his paranoia flares, overriding his good manners. Any of the people he's studying could be one of them, could be watching to ensure that he's indeed boarding the one fifty flight to Mexico City.
They needn't have worried. There is nothing, and no one, able to stop him from doing what he has to get Alexis home safely.
"If you keep staring at people like that, you're going to raise suspicions."
"I'm not that obvious. Am I?"
Looking down at Beckett, he shifts his carry-on over to his left shoulder, making room for her by his side. She doesn't stand there for long though, rounding him until she's facing his way completely, her gaze scanning the late night passengers moving to and fro behind him.
"You're always obvious, Castle. And I keep telling you that staring is creepy."
He twitches his lips at her reply, ignoring how her knuckles are white around the strap of her own bag, the athletic line of her body a tightly coiled spring, ready for…
Damn, there are so many unknowns here.
"I'm half expecting someone to jump out and yell punked, Beckett. Or maybe Montgomery to show up and start yelling abuse at me for dragging you along."
Her head shakes, the straight strands brushing the material of her shirt, the one she'd thrown on as they'd rushed to get here in time for this flight. Not that he'd been there to witness that; she'd fled upstairs after her phone call to her captain, appearing minutes later, dressed and a duffel packed ready to go, while he'd still been frozen, waiting for his heart to begin pumping properly again.
It still hasn't. And it won't until his daughter is back in his arms.
"No, Montgomery thinks that I've put in for my vacation days after the drama of Dunn and my apartment. I'm not comfortable leaving them in the dark, Castle. Him or the boys. But I won't risk Alexis, not when there are so many things that are suspicious."
He opens his lips, but the desk attendant's voice booms over the speakers, announcing their need to board - they had already been racing time to book tickets and get here as soon as possible - and he's forced to close them with a snap, his questions about what exactly she means about suspicions drowned out by the reality of flying.
They're headed to Mexico because a mysterious voice on the other end of his daughter's phone threatened her life, and if these were any other circumstances he'd be bouncing on the tips of his toes in anticipation of the adventure that lies ahead.
But he's not.
Nothing about this situation has him excited.
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"You bought first class tickets?"
Following Castle, she moves around the blue curtain separating the 'rich' from those squished in like sardines, attempts to shut her jaw, the sudden drop no doubt portraying her minimal pay packet.
"They didn't say anything about what class to fly in, just to be on this flight. And besides, the bathrooms are much better up here."
She crosses her arms, her eyes tracking the flight attendant as he leaves to look after the next passenger, and once clear, she glares at Castle.
"I am not joining the Mile High club with you regardless of how much better the bathrooms are!"
"Why, Beckett, I was merely talking about how comfortable they are on a journey." His head slants as he gestures for her to take the window seat, and, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, she slides past him, looking at anywhere but at his smirking features. "And anyhow, something tells me you're loud, and I'd hate to get kicked off the flight."
Fighting, and losing, against the warmth that spreads up her neck and across her cheeks, she dips her head further down, sitting and opening the Delta information pamphlet tucked into the seat in front of her.
It's all for show, his act, the comments, the wiggle of his eyebrows that are most definitely not the sweetest thing ever. He's scared, he has to be. God knows she's struggling to hold it all together, but if this is what he needs, to hide behind the persona so that he can keep putting one foot forward, than who is she to begrudge him that?
It's not like her coping mechanisms are anything to write home about.
"Oh, Castle. You don't know the meaning of loud…"
Tilting sideways, she arches an eyebrow, grins at the fish impersonation that his mouth is doing, before she stares at the pages once again.
Not that she's absorbing a word of it.
Each clue from the last three hours is finding its way onto a screen within her mind, her fingers itching for a pen and an actual whiteboard to write everything down. The voice. The hint that he knows them and their habits.
Have they been spied upon? How long has this been in the making? What is the end game? And why Mexico City?
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Even at six in the morning, the assault to his senses is overwhelming, the noise, the smells, the press of bodies as they make their way out of terminal two. The flight had been quiet, and he'd done his best to sit still, bite his tongue as Beckett had tossed and turned beside him. He, too, had tried to close his eyes and sleep, but every time the darkness had descended, an image of Alexis had appeared.
The picture of her was pieced together from a hundred different horror movies, and he'd opened his eyes with a start, his body jerking in recoil every time.
She has to be okay.
"What's our plan, Castle?"
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Beckett's question drags him back to the present, and he drops his shoulders, his gaze finding hers.
"I-" He sucks in a gulp of stale air, the walls of the Mexican airport closing in on him rapidly, and he concentrates on the steady way her eyes never waver from his. "I was expecting them to call again. Tell us what to do next."
He'd turned Alexis' phone back on the moment they'd been cleared to, and with a trembling hand, he pats the device within the pocket of his jacket.
"And if they don't?" Her eyebrow lifts and he swallows hard. "Hell, Castle, if they do? We're sitting ducks just waiting to be knocked off. Unarmed. In a foreign country. No jurisdiction. We-"
"What, Beckett? We what? Shouldn't have come?"
Anger at her words, at the truth they've been avoiding since they'd jumped into the town car on their way to JFK, rears, exposing his fangs, but now is hardly the time to be voicing these worries. He has been doing his best to smother every one of those fears. They didn't have time for checked luggage which means her Glock is still at the loft. Anything could happen to them, her, in Mexico, and no one would be any the wiser to why.
That this is a trap that could cost all three of them their lives.
"Castle-"
"You didn't have to come-"
"Rick."
It's the hiss in her tone that stops his tirade further, and concentrating on her face, the way her eyes no longer meet his, staring to the left, her hand having found his fingers without him realizing, he shifts his stance, following her gaze.
A Hispanic man in his late twenties-early thirties, in a neatly pressed suit holds a paper sign, the black, handwritten Richard C. a stark slash against the pristine white.
Shit.
"I guess that's for us." He inches a little closer to Beckett, as if he can somehow shield her from what is about to happen, and as the pressure against his fingers transfers until she's holding his hand securely, she nods.
"This could be the stupidest thing we've ever done, Castle."
Dragging his eyes down to where their hands are interlocked - he's never been so grateful to have her here, even if he wants nothing more than for her to be a thousand miles away from what's about to go down - Rick squares his shoulders, attempts to portray a confidence he doesn't feel.
And with Beckett a solid force by his side, they walk as one toward an unknown rabbit hole.
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There's a layer of sweat between their palms, and she's fighting the urge to unhook their hands, to wipe the moisture on her jeans, but every time she's wiggled against his fingers, his grip has tightened and she hasn't been able to follow through on her desire.
And now, standing side by side in the darkened room that the driver had ushered them to, there is no way she will let him go. Even if the kidnapper's assumption about their relationship is so off course it's laughable - the only sex that occurs between them is on the pages of Castle's books - they can keep thinking there is more to them than reality.
Anything, if it keeps them together…
"Mr. Castle, so good of you to join us. And I see you brought a friend along."
Twisting her head toward the voice to her right, she peers around Castle who stands between her and more black, but as they both remain quiet, the man steps their way.
He's managed to pick the perfect spot, nothing but the carefully pressed seam of his slacks and the polished loafers appear in the light in which she and Castle are standing, and she narrows her eyes, searches the floor for some kind of marking that tells him where to place himself so he continues to stay concealed from them.
It's then that she notes the way his shoes have been re-stitched, well, but not without evidence of the event, and she adds it to the gathering information. The way their driver's suit was neatly dry cleaned, and yet clearly faded with time. The gleaming dark blue paint job she'd seen on the car before hoods had been positioned over their heads, was a contrast to the threadbare material of the seat, her fingers poking holes into the foam below.
What in the world did it all mean though?
"Cat got your tongue? Maybe I can do something to loosen it?"
A sharp clap echoes around the room, and she's glad the hoods were removed as they'd been shoved in here, because the shadows are haunting but all out nothingness would be more than her frayed nerves could take at the moment.
And before them a television flickers awake. It's big, old, and on a cart that reminds her of her elementary school days, but then all thought of collecting clues flies out the window - if only this room had one.
Alexis lays on a bare mattress, curled in on herself, the black and white picture adding a layer of horror to this image, and Castle's hand falls away as he slumps down. Kate chases him though, grabbing his arm, pushing her body hard into his side, does everything she can to keep him upright.
She won't let him fall.
"What do you want?" The rasp in her voice takes her by surprise, and she swallows, raises her chin in the direction of the obscured kidnapper. "Why are we here?"
"Ahhh, Detective Beckett. Or can I call you, Kate?" Slime coats her first name and it takes all she has, and a death grip on Castle, for her not to fly across the room and wipe every last trace of it from him. "Everything will be revealed eventually. But in the meantime, you'll be our guests."
His hand appears in the light, a finger pointing toward the screen and Alexis, as she shifts in her sleep.
"Guests that will remember just what is at stake here. Si?"
She mimics Castle's short nod, his stare never leaving his daughter until the television goes black, and with a moan, he turns into her. Threading a hand around his shoulders, she holds him, instills as much strength as she has left, but then the Uzi appears by her side, the man gesturing to his left with it, and she drops her hand, linking her fingers with Castle's once more.
The man is wearing a makeshift mask. It's more a hood, but unlike theirs from earlier, his has two holes cut out allowing him to see, and he leads them through a cement corridor, water trickling from cracks in the cement. She pins these details up on the white board that has become her mind, clutches Castle's elbow as he stumbles slightly on the uneven ground.
"Stop."
Behind them a door creaking on its hinges sounds, and she spins, widening her eyes at the small room that the man is waving his gun into.
"Home, sweet home."
Oh, shit.
It's a replica to Alexis'; one mattress on the ground, a cracked and uncovered toilet in the corner. She's seen better cells than this in jail.
"You've got to be kidding me?" Castle seems to have found his voice, but his question earns him a jab to his kidney with the point of the Uzi, and she opens her mouth to protest before the weapon swings toward her.
Right...
Home, sweet home it is, and stepping inside, she avoids Castle's gaze as the metal door closes with a thud, the sound of a key turning in its lock signifying the likelihood of them escaping.
Zero.
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Thank you to all the wonderful people who have helped on this, and to you for reading xoxo