He spins toward consciousness, his mind spiraling up and up through the haze.
"Kate," he hears, a hoarse, far-away rasp. "Kate. Kate."
Then silence.
His wrists throb. His shoulders ache. There's a tight knot in his side, a stich that makes him want to curl up into himself.
He can't curl, can't draw his legs up like he wants to.
He blinks his eyes open and groans, finally all the way up, though tendrils of fog still cling to him. His gaze first fixes on the hazy golden light, streaming through gaps in a high wooden ceiling. It's beautiful, the catch and swirl and lift of dust motes, up and down, back and forth.
He thinks the voice calling Kate's name was his.
He closes his eyes. He remembers.
"Kate," he calls again, panic strengthening his voice (the force of his memories behind her name, now, the bend and crumple of her body onto the dark forest floor), as his eyes snap open, ready, this time, to see.
She's here. Her body is stretched in a long, vertical line, her hands cuffed over a wooden rafter, the tips of her toes barely brushing the ground, her weight borne almost entirely on her wrists. There's a trickle of blood running down her forearm.
She's five feet from him. Maybe less. Close enough that he feels himself tilting at her, every muscle in his body straining out to touch her.
He can't move. He registers, vaguely, that he's in the same position as her, his hands cuffed up around a rafter perpendicular to the one she hangs from. The extra several inches he has on her allow his feet to rest more firmly on the ground. He tugs down with his arms, feels the pain stab through his wrists, down his biceps, feels the liquid fire under his still-healing graze.
They're in a lofty, dilapidated barn. Dawn or dusk filtering through missing wooden slats in the roof – he searches himself for any kind of hunger, but all he feels is an empty, roiling nausea, from the drugs or from their hopeless situation or from the thin trickle of blood winding down Beckett's arm. His mouth and throat ache from thirst. Dawn, he decides, because he doesn't want to think that they've been here for much longer than an evening. Dawn, because there's a certain kind of hope associated with the break of a new day.
"Beckett," he tries, pushing down the panic coiling tightly in his stomach. She'll be fine. They'll be fine.
He tries to make himself glance around the space. Tries to canvass the surroundings, take stock of potential weapons, locate all possible exits. But his mind keeps spinning off, hazing away when he needs it most, and every tiny loss of focus brings him back to her; every shift of light sends his gaze wheeling back to the limp lines of her body.
He doesn't know how long he waits, twisting against the cuffs, calling her name, his wrists and arms and head aching, but finally, a shudder runs through her body, then a long, slow twitch, and then she's kicking out, reaching with her feet to find purchase that she can't get. A low sound vibrates in the back of her throat, a small, broken moan that he can only hear because it's so utterly still. It echoes through his brain, makes his muscles jump.
"Hey, Kate, hey, don't worry," he starts, letting his words unravel in a steady, nonsensical murmur that fills the too-quiet air with something other than the shuffle of her feet reaching for solid ground.
Finally, her eyes blink open, muzzy and unfocused. "Cas," she rasps, her voice breaking off. He's close enough that he can see her throat working, see the slow, unsteady way she runs her tongue over her lips. "Castle," she gets out. "Where?"
He wants to shrug, settles for humming equivocally. "Your guess's as good as mine."
Her response is cut off by the swing and creak of the side door. Maddox steps into the barn, glancing at his watch. "You're right on schedule," he tells them, striding efficiently up to where they hang.
Beckett twists toward Maddox, suddenly focused on nothing but him. "This isn't about Castle." He's impressed by how much strength she's suddenly thrown into her voice, by the semblance of clarity she's managed to gather into her hard stare. "He doesn't need to be here."
He's gasping for air before he even registers the pain in the center of his stomach. He bends and curls, wheezing desperately, vaguely registering the sound of Beckett's voice but unable to pick apart the syllables into words. He registers that Maddox has spun and punched him in the gut, fast enough that he never saw it coming, harder than he's ever been hit before.
"Nice punch," he wheezes once he's got his air back. He wants the sniper's attention fixed on anything but Beckett.
Maddox ignores him, turning to stare intently at her. "Actually, my conversation today almost exclusively regards Mr. Castle. I can gag you, or you can allow us to converse."
"You don't need to gag me," she growls. Her voice is hoarse with anger and her eyes are flashing, but he knows, he knows that she won't do anything to get him hit again.
Maddox tilts away from her, back towards Castle. "There's a file that I'm interested in." He pauses, expectant.
"A file," Castle echoes, trying to keep his voice flat, emotionless. A chill twines up his body, filling him with a hollow kind of coldness.
"Yes," Maddox says, staring.
"I don't know anything about a file."
Maddox stares at him for a long minute, then speaks as though Castle hasn't said a word. "Mr. Smith, unfortunately, proved to be less than helpful. We found a deleted file on a computer in your loft that indicates you have a more extensive knowledge of the complexities of this situation than the ex-Detective Beckett. The rudimentary board she'd set up in her apartment revealed her lack of understanding of the powers in play."
Castle closes his eyes, exhales shortly with something that feels almost like relief. He can hear Beckett make a low, frustrated noise in the back of her throat, cursing him, undoubtedly, cursing him for his inability to keep himself out of this case. He doesn't want to look at her right now, doesn't want to meet her eyes, doesn't want to see the accusation in them, doesn't want her to see the relief in his. If it had to be someone Maddox needed information from – at least that someone could be him.
"We have reason to believe that some members of the 12th Precinct are now also aware of the existence of this file. Obviously, this places us in an uncomfortable situation."
"I don't know anything about what's happening in New York," Castle says.
"We know you've been in communication with Smith," Maddox informs him. "We'd like to know more about exactly what that communication has consisted of. Especially where it concerns the file on my employer."
"Why not just ask Smith, then," Castle growls.
Maddox tilts his head. "Not possible."
"You killed him." He's surprised by the surge of anger that fizzles through his blood at the thought of yet another man shot down in this desperate war. But - it doesn't quite add up. "Why'd you kill him before you knew where the file was?"
"Smith was an… interesting problem. A loner." Maddox regards him intently, slowly tapping his fingers against his thigh. "Occasionally, you need leverage with someone like him. Someone who's so determined to cling to his mission that he detaches from society. There's only so much power you can hold over a person who is utterly disconnected."
Castle catches Beckett's slight twitch in the corner of his vision, and he can't help but glance over to her briefly. Every muscle in her body is tense. Her eyes are dark, glinting with anger and frustration. He can see it in her gaze, everything she won't say aloud – Shut up, shut up and play along, shut up and do whatever you have to do to keep him from hurting you.
"That's why, when we found your board, I was actually glad," Maddox continues. "Your mother. Your daughter. Your… erstwhile detective." He lets the threat trail off as he walks over, positioning himself so that he's standing next to Beckett and they're both turned towards Castle. "You have so many points of leverage."
"I don't know where the file is," Castle spits out, all wisps of the morning's eerie calm leaving him in a great rush. Panic claws at his throat, shortens his breath to a sharp staccato. He jerks against the cuffs, hard, blood surging through his veins with a crackling energy, terror rising up so suddenly that it's a physical, crushing force.
"I thought you might say that." Maddox reaches up to just above where the cuffs encircle Beckett's wrists. The light's just bright enough for Castle to make out his large hand wrapping around her pinky.
She's utterly still, her breathing slow and steady, her eyes clear and focused on his face.
The terror clenches around his throat. He talks, pouring words forth into the quiet barn, hoping to stumble into something, anything powerful enough to move this man away from Beckett. "Look, I have resources. Money. Connections. I'm sure there's something we can –" his words cut off abruptly as Maddox's hand jerks quickly backwards.
Beckett doesn't make a sound, but her whole body arches forward, her muscles contracting, her eyes slamming tightly shut before they open, fix back on him.
"What the hell?" Castle yells, the words scraping over his raw throat.
"Do I have your attention now?"
"Yes!" he shouts, unable to regulate his volume, pulling desperately at his cuffs. "Yes, please just –"
"The file," Maddox prompts, his voice unnervingly even, his eyes devoid of pleasure or pain or any kind of emotion.
He reaches over wraps his hand around her ring finger. The one with the wedding bands. Shit. Shit.
Castle feels himself lunging helplessly against the cuffs, feels the words spilling out of him, useless, hopeless words, words that he knows won't stay Maddox's hand, words that he knows won't make a difference. "Fuck, I don't know, I fucking don't–"
Maddox's hand jerks again. Castle's not sure whether it's his imagination, but he swears he can hear a soft snap echoing through the barn. He definitely hears a low noise echo in the back of Beckett's throat, a quiet, jagged growl of pain. Her body shivers, shudders as she bows backwards in a tight arch and then sinks down, her trembling weight hanging on the cuffs. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her forehead furrowed.
His stomach roils, bile burning acrid through his esophagus. He swallows. Swallows again, trying not to choke on the heavy knot of panic that's snarled just north of his collarbones.
Maddox watches him for a brief moment, but he can do nothing but try to draw in deep, even breaths. "This is not a game, Mr. Castle."
Everything he might say snags in his throat. He wants to plead with Maddox to let her go, wants to offer him something, anything that will make him stop, but he doesn't have the only words that can save her. "I don't know where it is," he whispers, unable to keep the heavy defeat out of his voice. Beckett's eyes are still closed, her breathing quick but steady.
"We'll see," Maddox says, trailing a finger slowly, lightly down her forearm. She jerks back as Castle again pulls forward, both of them at once straining at their cuffs. Maddox laughs sharply, briefly, the first sign of emotion Castle's seen from him. "You have a vivid imagination, Mr. Castle, but you'll soon find out firsthand that I'm capable of things you've never even dreamed of." He pauses, still standing only a few inches away from Beckett, letting his words soak into the stagnant quiet of the barn.
The trill of a cellphone cuts through the silence. Maddox pulls it out of his pocket, glances at the screen, starts walking toward the door. "You might want to try and think of where that file could be," he tosses over his shoulder as he walks away. "Soon enough, she'll be begging for just a couple broken fingers."