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Gone
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Chapter Five
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How far can you travel to find what is gone? AU after Boom (2x18).
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"Thank you for joining us."
The voice from his left startles Rick, his body going rigid, and he bites his tongue at the taunt.
After all, it's hardly their choice to be standing once again in the same shadow filled room that they were in yesterday. No wait, that was today. Early today, but still today.
His watch hasn't been confiscated and he was surprised that, alongside Beckett, he managed to sleep until ten this morning. But as his stomach grumbles, he's left hoping that this meeting is a short one.
Do kidnappers provide lunch?
"I am so glad the clothes fit. You are off to an afternoon gathering, but first, I thought it was best we go over some ground rules."
Rick nods, his back molars beginning to grind, and while he continues staring straight ahead at nothing, he focuses on Kate as she reaches for his hand. On how her skin is cool against his own, her knuckles stretching his fingers apart, a reassuring pull that highlights that he's not alone.
She's here, and they will get through this.
"Firstly, we will be watching from afar. No signaling for help. No contacting la policía - not that they will be much help to you here."
Irritation scrubs Castle raw, and he narrows his lips. Screw this.
"We're here aren't we? We came alone? Get to the fucking point of why. Why have you torn my family apart?"
Beckett bends over suddenly, her fingers leaving his as she moves to clutch her side, and he turns toward her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. They've managed to find his weak spot, and while a blow to his gut would mean little to him, done to his muse…
"Are you quite finished, Mr. Castle?"
Nodding, he pays the question little attention, his palm skating across Kate's abdomen. But she's standing tall once more, brushing his fingers away, and her actions give the unspoken message to everyone in the room - she's fine.
"Now, as I was saying, rules. The host of this fiesta is a fan of yours, a groupie as you would say in America, and he was delighted when you contacted him, asking for an invitation."
The pause is dramatic, the room stilled in what is meant to be anticipation? Reverence? But there's only anger on his behalf, anger and an awareness that he should be observing and noting as much as he can about these pricks.
"You will attend and while you are there, you will break into his office. Once you have successfully entered you will place several of these small discs around the room." Their constantly hooded companion holds out a thin, long pouch, and Castle reaches for it, untying the bag. "Once you have finished, you will exit without a trace. Me entendiste?"
"Yeah, understood." He doesn't even want to imagine what happens if they're caught in the office after breaking in, nor does he want to know why he is placing listening devices around the room and what knock-on effect this will have for someone else.
His focus has to stay on Alexis and getting out of here.
Peering down at what he's been handed, Rick wrinkles his nose. "Lock picking tools? How nice of you."
The chuckle that rumbles from the shadows raises every hair on his forearms, and he's not the only one feeling the effect. To his right, Beckett seethes. Her posture - even without her four inch heels - appearing to lengthen.
"You will be patted down on arrival. Normal procedure for these parts, especially when you are wealthy. I suggest taping them to her back, it's much more comfortable than one's stomach."
A hand thrusts forward from the shadows, the fingers wrapped around a roll of duct tape, and Castle swallows the groan.
He has to stick the bag on her back… on her skin… The straps of her dress crisscross her upper spine and shoulders tightly; he won't be able to reach anything that way. Which means…
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Twisting, Kate plucks the pouch from Castle's grip, although his slack-jawed expression hitches her pivot. Here is hardly the time and place to pay attention to that though, to him and what is racing through his mind, and as she ignores the way his eyes continue to stare at where her rear is, she turns back to their captors.
"I'm sure we'll figure something out, but in the meantime what else do we need to know about this party? About our host?"
There's silence for a beat - she's taken them by surprise? - before the leader in the dark shifts forward. It's not enough to see more than his belt buckle, his movements coming to a halt as he must realize, like she does, that he's about to expose more than that to them.
"I asked him to tape it to your back. Don't make me ask again. Or to demonstrate who exactly is running the show here."
Shit.
There's more going on here than just sneaking the lock picking tools through the front door. Having Castle tape them to her back now is...
Is what? Embarrassing? A demonstration of power? A free show of her ass?
The tip of the Uzi swings her way, and she holds the pouch over her shoulder for Castle to take, refuses to stare anywhere but ahead and at the asshole hiding in the shadows, and as her partner - is that what he is now? - takes the bag from her, she tries to steady her breathing.
After all, according to their cover story, Castle has seen her naked, has explored her body, and she should have no qualms about him lifting up her dress and taping the tools to her very bare back.
Except that's fiction, and the facts are... a little different.
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Rick's fingers tremble against the hem of Beckett's dress, before he squeezes them tight around the material, stills the tremor. He's supposed to be her lover and yet he's acting more like a schoolboy, seeing his first flash of lingerie.
Oh, what kind does she have on?
No. No, he shouldn't be thinking about that. What does she wear? What are her favorites? Surely she wouldn't be commando given the circumstances? He has to stop because this speculation will only lead to a tightening of his slacks and an uncomfortable afternoon. An afternoon when he needs all his blood to be flowing through his brain.
Looking up, he stares into the darkness, his gaze skating around the room to glare at anyone else who might be waiting for a peep show, and, sliding his hands beneath her dress, he steps as close as he can to shield her from any leering eyes.
He can do this…
Except his fingers smooth across the silk of her panties, his aim lower than where he should be, and every ounce of good sense he possesses flies out of his head as his eyes drop down.
It's not just any kind of silk, it's black silk. Tight fitting, perfectly molded to her rear, black silk, and if he lives to a hundred, loses every other memory, he will still recall this moment. The way her muscles of her lower back quiver, her hips edging toward his hand, the pressure against the tips of his fingers increasing.
If this were anywhere else…
That thought at least jolts him into action. Placing the pouch to one side of her spine, he sizes up where's the best spot to put it without causing her too much discomfort, where it won't be discovered in a general pat down. As high as he can is probably best, no one seems to frisk up there in any of the movies he's watched, and as he drops her dress, he begins to work on the duct tape.
It's a lot harder than he expects but wiggling it back and forth, he tears a section free with his teeth - ripping half his lip off in the process - and positioning the tape on the bag, he once again looks down.
He has to go back in, or under as the case maybe. He has to focus on what needs to be done, but as he licks his lips, the flesh still smarting, there's a whisper, a little voice that can't help but wonder - not for the first time - what would happen if he dropped to his knees behind her? What would she do if he used his tongue to trace the ladder of her spine? Used his teeth to nip the sculptured curve of her ass?
Would she like it? Would she like him?
"Castle?"
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There's been no movement from behind her for over a minute, and while appearing not to trust each other is hardly the look they need to portray, the desire to find out what's gone wrong wins against her common sense.
"Castle?"
She can feel him startle behind her, his hands on her dress again, the cold air rushing against her skin as he lifts the material. But then his body shifts closer, the warmth of his fingers a gentle brush where her skin meets the band that encircles her chest.
At night lately, when she curls up in bed, a bed that doesn't belong to her, a bed with linen that smells like him, she closes her eyes, buries her head into the pillow and inhales.
She pretends that the smoothness against her cheek is him. She pretends that she falls asleep in a very different bed.
She pretends that it's his fingers drifting across her skin, and as his thumbs actually travel in a line along her spine, she closes her eyes, pretends she is anywhere but here, that she's not standing semi-exposed before a bunch of hooded men.
For a moment, in her head, it didn't take Alexis being kidnapped to throw them together in a way that she's been writing off as complicated, not possible, the opposite of what she wants.
What does she want these days?
Castle presses the tape to her skin, pulls her dress down with a sharp tug and she lifts her chin, opens her eyes, faces their captors head on.
What she wants is to go home, Castle's family intact… The concept of them? That will have to wait.
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"You ready for this, Beckett?" Holding the car door open for her, Rick tries not to blatantly stare at the mansion their driver has pulled into as he lifts a hand, raking his fingers through his hair. He's grateful that their hoods were removed before they arrived at their fiesta, but god only knows what kind of flattened mess he has now.
"Your hair is fine."
Snatching his hand away - damn her ability to read his mind - he places it against the small of her back, guiding her toward the winding path which leads up through the palm trees and to the high, white front door of their host.
Here goes nothing.
"And I'm as ready as I can be given the circumstances, Castle." Her head turns, her eyes appearing to take in every detail, and it's all too familiar.
Except instead of walking up to a crime scene, they're about to walk in and commit one themselves.
"Thank you, Kate."
Her stride stumbles and he relocates his hand to her hip, tightening his fingers before she turns into his side.
"What for?"
"Being here. For putting everything on the line for my daughter."
Meeting her gaze, he holds her still, attempts to conjure all of the emotions that remain unsaid between them, all the feelings that line his heart as a result of what she's done for him, not just here, but since he has known her, and convey that through his gaze.
He must fail though. Her head ducks, the loose strands of her hair shielding her from him, her body twisting as she moves away, but then her avoidance smacks him hard on the chest - maybe he succeeded after all…
"Can I help you, Señor?"
A clipped voice from his left halts any further speculation, and dragging his eyes from Beckett, he stares at the intrusion.
"Hi, I'm Richard Castle. We're here for the party."
The man in the impeccable black suit gestures for them to proceed to the entrance, and with his future wedged high in his throat, he ushers Beckett the rest of the way, stopping at the open door, and next to the burly guard that stands, legs apart, a Beretta 92 proudly on display at both hips.
"Rodrigo here will clear you for entry, while I check the guest list. If that's…?"
"Yes. Yes, of course." Stepping in front of Beckett, Rick spreads his arms, flashing his best 'book jacket grin' as he waits for his pat down, but the man - he's got to be at least six foot three - doesn't change his insipid look, clearly bored with proceedings.
And then from his back pocket he pulls out a black, thin device. A device that has one purpose.
Shit, they have a metal detector.
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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their beta work! And to all who are reading xoxo