(no subject)
Title:Healing
Author: PI
Pairing: Castle/Beckett
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: STRONG STRONG trigger warning for torture, sexual assault, PTSD
Summary: Kink Meme prompt: Castle is forced to watch Beckett being tortured, hurt/comfort follows. So yeah, major, major angst.
Disclaimer: I don't think Andrew Marlowe and Terri Miller or ABC would appreciate what I've done with their characters, so yeah, not mine.
A/N: This got out of hand. I honestly can't believe I wrote this let alone posted it. This has been in my head for a while and I actually toned it down, so here's hoping it's not too much for most people. My head is an extremely screwed up place, occupational hazard. Also sometimes I have weird tense issues in my writing, so apologies for those.
This all went south too fast for him to comprehend and now somehow they’re tied up in some godforsaken room in a building that should have been condemned 20 years ago, held captive by a man suspected of at least three brutal rape-murders. He’s not too macho to admit that he’s terrified. Not so much for himself, the psycho will likely kill him quick and painless, in fact he’s not quite sure why he’s still alive, but Beckett…
He glances over at her still form, but she’s still out of it, knocked out from whatever the bastard had in his syringe. He desperately glances around, looking for some kind of out. God knows how long they have until their captor comes back. The room is straight out of horror movie, all stained cement walls with mysterious metal hooks and no windows. The door, even if he could reach it, looks solid and is likely locked from the outside. His legs are duct taped to the chair with his hands tied together with some kind of twine behind him. Experimentally he tugs on his bindings, but the twine does little more than dig into his skin. If he puts a little effort into it he can hop the chair a few millimeters, but he knows he’s far more likely to tip over and give himself a concussion then accomplish anything so he stops. He thinks of all the times he has tied himself up for research and knows that if they get out of this he will never do it again; he never wants to remember this fear.
After all these years trailing Beckett he thought he’d seen it all, considered himself a crime scene pro, but even he’d had to walk away from those women’s mutilated bodies. The guy was clearly a sexual sadist, Lanie had confirmed that the women had been tortured for at least 48 hours prior to being killed. After the second murder, SVU had wanted to take over the case but Beckett insisted on keeping it and SVU was completely swamped so they hadn’t put up a fight. He curses that, he curses every single decision that led them here. He curses them “forgetting” to tell Gates where they were going. He curses the decision to check out just one more place before they went home. He curses humoring Beckett and following her deeper into the building when she thought she heard a noise. He curses that when they found a recently dead woman he’d fumbled with his phone and hadn’t managed to call it in before they were ambushed.
He hears a soft rustle and he quickly looks towards Beckett, but she’s still out cold. His mind latches onto the thought that she’ll know what to do, she’ll get them out of this. It’s ridiculous, she’s more restrained than he is and has been stripped of her gun. The fucking bastard had her tied spread eagled on her back to the cast iron bed. It had been a mild night and all she was wearing was a deep blue blouse and black slacks. As he watches, she shifts slightly; clearly, the drug is wearing off. He’s sure it makes him small, but in some ways he hopes the guy kills him right away, because watching Kate tortured is not something he thinks he can take. Unfortunately, it looks like Mr. murderer-rapist has a different idea; he has positioned the chair with a perfect view of the bed.
Beckett’s eyelids flutter and he croaks out a “Kate.”
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The first things she notices is that she can’t move. She tries to turn over, burrow back into her pillow, sure she has at least a few more minutes before her alarm goes off, but she can’t move. When she opens her eyes to figure out what the hell is going on, she’s even more confused. She’s staring up at a ceiling that definitely isn’t hers. She hears her name called and she turns her head towards the sound. Castle is bound to a chair about one foot to her right. “What…” she manages to get out.
“The guy… the case…the dead woman…” He can’t seem to get a full sentence out, but his words cause it all to come rushing back to her and oh fuck they have to get out of here. She looks up at her restraints; thick rope is wrapped around each of her wrists and tied securely to the bed frame. Her legs are similarly tied. There is no way she is getting out of the ropes without a knife.
She looks back over to Castle. “Can you get out of those ropes?” He shakes his head no. “What about your phone, did you get through to anyone?” He almost looks ashamed as he shakes his head no again. Not good, she thinks, seriously not good. She fights down the panic. “Okay, we’re going to think through this, figure a way out.”
Castle looks skeptical. “Look Kate, I need you to know, I love you, desperately. I wanted to come up with some big elaborate plan to propose, like a skywriter or during Game 7 of the World Series on the jumbotron, which you’d pretend to hate but secretly love. I wanted to…”
“Stop!” She cuts out harshly. “No deathbed proposals. No speaking like we’re not getting out of here.”
He looks like he wants to say something but before he can respond they hear the sound of the lock turning and the door opening. They both freeze.
Their captor walks in, shutting the door behind him and flashing them a smile. He doesn’t look like a psychopath, Kate thinks, more like he belongs on Wall Street with his perfectly styled dark hair and pressed white button down with the sleeves rolled up. She learned long ago that evil didn’t have an obvious appearance, but it was still disconcerting to see this man with his glaringly white teeth and an expensive watch walk in. He couldn’t be more than 40; if he’d hit on her at a bar she would have flirted back. “How are my guests doing?” he asks as he walks to stand over her.
“We’d be a lot better if you let us go,” Beckett says while staring him directly in the eyes, she refuses to give.
“I do like a bit of spunk in a woman. You’ll hold out for a long time won’t you? How nice for me.” His eyes flash, for just a second revealing the monster within. Beckett pales. The corner of his mouth lifts and he looks over to Castle. “How about you Mr. Castle? What a pleasant surprise to have you two interrupt me. You know I took some inspiration from one of your books for some of my early work. I think I’ve evolved since then though. I’m much more,” he pauses, "advanced now.”
Castle looks like he might be sick but he manages to sound confident when he speaks. “Mr…what would you like us to call you?”
The other man almost appears amused. “This is so odd, usually my canvasses don’t speak much. I suppose you can call me...Mr. White. Yes. That has a good ring to it.”
“Fine. Mr. White, I have money, connections, whatever you want, if you let us go. I promise we’ll even give you a head start before we try to follow your trail.”
Beckett chimes in then. “You really don’t want to kill a cop. It won’t end well for you.”
Mr. White looks between the two of them and then bursts out laughing, throwing his head back. “Oh you two are so delightful, I’ve never done couples before. I might need to do it more often. I do not need money Mr. Castle and dear Detective if you think the NYPD scares me you are sorely mistaken. Now let’s get to business.”
He steps out of the room for a moment and comes back with a wicked looking knife. “I think this will be nice to start with” he says as he advances towards the bed. Castle is begging, asking him to stop, to take him instead, but Kate can’t hear it. All she can focus on is the knife. This is it, the culmination of all her fears about being a female cop. The guy is most definitely going to rape her, to make sure her death is long and painful. For a moment she longs for the white hot metal of a sniper’s bullet.
He kneels on the bed, shifting so that he is straddling her low on her hips. “Now I think we need to start with that blouse, as lovely as it is.” With that he runs the knife down the center, popping all the buttons. He spreads the sides open and admires the view. She tries to arch, to twist, anything to get him off her, but the ropes are too secure, she barely moves an inch. He laughs. “Precious detective, but you’re not getting away.” He then uses the knife to split the center of her bra, pushing the cups aside so that she’s completely bare to him.
Without shifting his facial expression, he moves the knife down to her stomach and cuts a quick slash and then another and then another. At first she can’t feel the pain, the shock is too much, but then the blood starts to well and she feels the sting. Refusing to show him anything she grits her teeth. He pauses and looks up. “These aren’t meant to hurt too much a dear, just showing you what this little pretty can do.”
“Good. Because I don’t feel a thing. Is your knife an extension of your dick, because I bet I won’t feel that either.” It’s a mistake, as soon as she says it she knows it’s a mistake. This is not what you’re supposed to do with a crazed rapist. But if she’s going to die, she’s going out swinging.
He tenses and appears to lose control. The knife moves to her throat and presses down hard enough to draw blood. He leans down over her, breathing heavily. “You need to mind your manners. I like a bit of sass, but I won’t tolerate rudeness. I’m going to show you what that mouth should be used for and it’s not talking.” His voice shifts back to an even baritone and he sits back up. “Maybe even teach your boyfriend a few things.” He gestures towards Castle who is now babbling mostly incoherently, tears running down his face. “Oh he seems upset and the party hasn’t even really started.”
He moves off of her to stand by the side of the bed and quickly runs the knife down her pants, cutting them off her, leaving her in nothing more than a pair of purple cotton underwear. He straddles her again and begins running the knife lightly over her breasts. “These are lovely you know. So many girls these days get implants. Such whores.”
Refusing to respond she tries to lock down her mind, go elsewhere, but he brings her harshly back by putting two quick slashes on her right breast. These are deeper. He then drops the knife and grabs them, rolling them harshly between his hands. She struggles not to grimace, to show that she wants to cry. She feels his erection against her and the urge to cry grows stronger. A harsh sob comes from her right and she makes the mistake of looking over at Castle. The look in his eyes almost undoes her. She wishes with everything she has that he wasn’t here, but at the same time is selfishly glad he is. She closes her eyes, overwhelmed, trying to go back into a cocoon, to somehow prepare for what is to come.
The knife digs harshly across her stomach again and Mr. White shifts down her body, moving to kneel between her spread legs. “Pay attention!” he snaps loudly. Her eyes open, he is staring at her. “This is important, we’re just getting to the most fun part.” He runs the knife teasingly along her thighs, barely drawing blood. His other hand is busy mauling what skin the knife hasn’t gotten too, pushing into her thighs, leaving bruises for sure. “I just don’t know where to start. Hmmmm. Maybe that sassy little mouth of yours.” He rubs his erection through his pants with his free hand, the knife resting on her left thigh, as he seems lost in thought. “Yeah I think we’ll start there and then bring out the really fun toys.”
She can’t help it, she whimpers. This is what heart-stopping fear feels like; the absolute certainty of death, unbearable pain. She had no time to think when the bullet skimmed her heart. Her other near-death experiences were so full of adrenaline she didn’t have much time to process anything. When she was dangling from the roof the only thought in her mind was how much she regretted not telling Castle. There was a brief moment in the freezer before the hypothermia slowed her brain and another in her sinking car that she felt death was near, but it was nothing like this. This was primal. Her adrenaline had drained replacing itself with the feeling a rabbit must feel when caught by a hawk right before being torn apart. She wants to live but her body is slowly shutting down.
Mr. White smiles as if sensing her surrender. He steps off the bed, sets the knife aside, and starts to undo his pants pulling them down his legs over his bare feet. “That’s a good girl.” He neatly folds his pants and sets them on the floor, repeating the process with his boxers. He picks the knife up and straddles her waist. She’s can’t take her eyes away from his erection. “Now my dear this doesn’t have to hurt too much, but there are some ground rules, the first of which is no biting.” He smiles and starts to move upwards.
Suddenly the room is in chaos. Gunfire and screaming and bright lights. She hears who she thinks is Esposito screams “NYPD.” She hears gunfire, feels a weight on her face and then it’s gone. Castle is crying maybe. Somebody cuts the ropes holding her but she can’t move. Someone, it might be Ryan, tries to rearrange the scraps of her clothing to cover her, but then the paramedics are there and Castle is squeezing her hand so hard she thinks she might lose circulation. She’s transferred to a stretcher, gauze is applied to her wounds, and she hears the EMTs talking about shock and then it’s all gloriously blank.
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The next day she lets Castle guide her into the loft. He directs her to the couch. She sits as he goes to fiddle in the kitchen. She looks around, naming items. Television, book, table, laser tag gun. Nothing feels real, it’s all a bit fuzzy around the edges. She wishes she could blame it on pain meds but they wouldn’t give her the good stuff, stitched up the few wounds that needed it and bandaged the rest and told her she was good to go. She was asked several times if she was sure she didn’t need a rape kit. She refused every time, trying to explain that it didn’t go that far. She gave her statement to some detective she didn’t know with as much emotion as a robot. They wouldn’t let Castle in her room until they both gave their statements, but she could hear him making a racket outside her room.
Gates came in briefly told her she had two weeks off and had to be cleared by a psychiatrist before returning to active duty. Then her Captain’s normally stoic face had softened and she had placed her hand beside Kate’s on the bed (almost as if Gates knew Kate couldn’t stand to be touched) and told her that this wasn’t her fault and that anything she needed was hers, just ask.
Now somehow she is at Castle’s loft and she doesn’t know what to do. A shower? Yes a shower would be good. She’d been able to rinse off at the hospital but she wants to spend at least an hour in a shower with water so hot it burns this disgusting feeling off of her. She starts to get up and walk to the master bathroom but Castle is walking towards her with what appears to be water and toast and she freezes. “I…was…going to take a shower.”
Castle quickly sets down the plate and cup on a nearby table. “Of course. How could I be so stupid? I’ll go run the water.”
“I can do it myself” she says angrily. She sees the hurt on his face but doesn’t have the energy to deal with it and walks away.
An hour or maybe more later she steps out of the shower, dries off, and slips into Castle’s thick blue robe before wandering into the living room. Castle doesn’t realize she’s there, but she can see him quietly sobbing on the couch. She doesn’t know why that does it, but suddenly she breaks, collapsing onto the floor with harsh sobs. And Castle is there, gathering her up in his arms, crying with her, whispering nonsense soothing words.
Eventually they peter out, Kate only gasping out a sob now and again as Castle rubs her back. “I...Beckett…Kate…I don’t know what to do, what to say. I love you so much. I don’t want you to hurt. I don’t want to hurt.”
She curls up tighter on his chest, rubbing her face into his shoulder. “I don’t know either. I don’t even know what I feel. I don’t think I know how to be right now.” She’s silent for a minute. “I was so sure I was going to die in there and that it was going to hurt. I’ve never felt like that before. My body froze and now I don’t know how to unfreeze it.”
He rubs her back, rocking her slowly, for a few moments before he pulls back, pushing her hair out of her face and looking into her eyes. “We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get through this together.”
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Three weeks later and they still haven’t completely figured it out, but they’re taking each day as it comes. She’s gone back to the precinct a few times, but only to do paperwork. She did what Gates suggested and asked for what she needed: more time. Twice weekly sessions with her therapist are helping. Castle has come with her a few times so they can do a joint session, but he’s seeing someone on his own as well.
It isn’t ‘normal’ yet and she still feels like she’s seeing the world through a curtain most days, but she’s moving forward in some way, even if it’s only by rote. As she moves around the kitchen prepping dinner, she worries that this is it, this is the new normal. They will tiptoe around each other until one of them breaks down and the other comforts them while trying not fall apart themselves. She will wake up screaming from nightmares where Esposito and Ryan don’t make it in time. Fortunately, she’s gotten to where the screams are silent and she can slip out of bed and cry in the bathroom, leaving Castle sleeping. Seeing his pain is almost worse than her own, she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to manage his pain when she can barely hold herself together.
His keys rattle in the door (he’s made an effort to be really loud when walking around after one time she startled so hard she practically threw her laptop across the room). He sets his keys on a side table before entering the kitchen and sits on one of the stools. “What are you making?”
“Just a stir-fry.” She says as she sets some plates down and passes him a glass of water. “How did your meeting go?”She transfers the meal to a serving dish and sits down next to him.
“Not bad. I pled my case, got a 6-week extension on the full manuscript. Apparently making the news for being held captive by a mad man who killed at least 23 women across 12 states is something Black Pawn can work with.” He used finger quotes around the last phrase, smiling wryly.
She grimaces and continues eating.
Later that night she’s in a familiar place: muffling her sobs into her fist in the dark bathroom, leaning against the bathtub. Honestly, sometimes she thinks that she would be coping better if Castle hadn’t been there, if he could just help her through her own shit without dealing with his own. While cleaning up after dinner he had crowded in behind her to put a glass in a high cabinet and she had frozen. He jumped away so fast you would think she was poison. She wanted to scream, ‘I can’t help it, it’s not that I don’t want you to touch me dammit.’ Other than holding her when she cries he won’t touch her, if they don’t fall asleep sobbing he keeps a careful 12 inches between them in bed. When she tries to curl up next to him he carefully shifts away or finds an excuse to get up. If she didn’t know better she would think he finds her contaminated, that he doesn’t want to be near her since that man touched her. She does know better though and curses his insatiable curiosity. She’s caught him reading articles about ‘what to do when a loved one is raped’ and ‘how to treat rape survivors.’ That makes her want to scream even more. She wasn’t raped, he of all people should know that. She’s right here. Last she looked, she’s still his partner, his girlfriend, his always. More, she’s still a flesh and blood woman, she has needs. Her therapist has assured her that it’s normal, that it’s okay to resume a healthy sexual relationship as long as her partner is conscious of possible issues.
The door cracks open and she quickly tries to rearrange herself to look like she was doing anything but falling apart on the bathroom floor at 3 AM. Apparently she isn’t successful because when Castle flicks the lights on he looks more broken than normal. “Kate, you should’ve woken me up.” He moves to sit down next to her and gathers her into his arms.
He’s too sweet and suddenly she can’t take it anymore. She pushes him away and shifts to straddle him. He looks shocked. Taking advantage of that, she leans down and kisses him. She’s doing all the work for the first 30 seconds but then he unfreezes and breaks. He pulls her down hard onto him and participates fully in the kiss. It’s brutal, all tongues and teeth and spit. She grinds down on him. He moves his hands to the bottom of her shirt and tugs it up. She gasps as they part long enough for him to pull it over her head.
Refusing to give him time to overthink this she brings their mouths back together, battling his tongue for dominance, sucking on hit bottom lip, running her tongue over his teeth. His hands are running up and down her sides before they finally move to her breasts. He weighs them in his hands before too briefly running his thumbs over her nipples.
Abruptly he pulls back, breathing hard, looking at her with glazed eyes. He holds her still preventing her from reengaging. “Kate, no. We have to stop. You’re still healing”
She glares at him. “I’m fine. My doctor has cleared me. My therapist has, in fact, encouraged me resuming sexual activities. Stop treating me like a child!” Indignantly, she grabs her shirt from the floor and tugs it over her head.
He sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall behind him. “God it’s true I don’t want to hurt you and if there’s one thing that you’re consistent with, it’s overestimating how much you can take,” she huffs in annoyance, but he continues. “It’s more than that though,” he lifts his head back up and stares her directly in the eyes, “I was right fucking there Kate. I watched that mad man put his hands all over you.”
She draws in a quick breath, fearful for a moment that she was wrong about him, that this is about not wanting to touch her because she’s contaminated. He goes on though “I offered him everything and he wouldn't stop. He just kept hurting you and you let out these little whimpers of pain and at that moment I was pretty sure I could kill a man with my bare hands. I was sure I was going to watch you die and it…fuck I just...” He trails off, closing his eyes once again, clearly trying to keep himself together.
She sees now, everything is so completely complicated with them. They’ve been through so much together and for so long they’ve gone on like none if it meant anything. They’re such a mess. She cups his face with her hands and presses soft kisses across his face until his eyes open. “Castle, I’m here, I’m right here.” She takes his hands then and places them over her heart. She leans in and kisses him, gently this time as opposed to the battle it was before.
In a mirror image of last time, she brings her hands to the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head. She runs her hands over his chest, thumbing his flat nipples. He moans softly into her mouth. She moves her hands lower and slips them into his boxers and begins to stroke him. He’s still mostly soft, but she continues to caress him, now and again running her thumb in circles around his tip, until he hardens and begins to thrust slightly into her palm. She stops then, making to stand up so she can remove her underwear, but her stops her as she kneels over him.
Her position puts him at perfect height to feast on her breasts, so he does. First he runs his tongue around her right nipple, flicking it lightly with his tongue before taking it in his mouth and sucking. He switches to the left breast and she moans in appreciation.
Somehow when she wasn’t paying attention his right hand had moved to her hip, where it now slowly starts to trail across to her sex. He runs his fingers lightly across the front of her underwear causing her to attempt to increase the pressure by grinding down. He takes his fingers away then and removes his mouth from her breasts. She looks down at him uncomprehendingly.
He smiles and uses her confusion to work her underwear down as far as he can. Finally getting the picture she stands to strip off her clothes. While she stands, Castle uses the time to shimmy out of his boxers. As soon as she’s done, she returns to straddling him, leaning in again to kiss him. She moves her hand to his cock, positioning him her at her entrance.
She pulls back from his lips and looks him directly in the eyes. “I love you.” And with that she sinks down fully on him and they both let out simultaneous moans. She sets up a slow but steady rhythm.
She’s still not sure how they’re going to get back to normal or what normal even is. She doesn’t know how to stop his hesitation every time he touches her or how to keep from waking up screaming every night. She doesn’t know how to take the haunted look out of Castle’s eyes or what the rest up their lives will look like. As her mind turns to starbursts and he groans out his release below her one thing she does know though is that this is healing.
Author: PI
Pairing: Castle/Beckett
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: STRONG STRONG trigger warning for torture, sexual assault, PTSD
Summary: Kink Meme prompt: Castle is forced to watch Beckett being tortured, hurt/comfort follows. So yeah, major, major angst.
Disclaimer: I don't think Andrew Marlowe and Terri Miller or ABC would appreciate what I've done with their characters, so yeah, not mine.
A/N: This got out of hand. I honestly can't believe I wrote this let alone posted it. This has been in my head for a while and I actually toned it down, so here's hoping it's not too much for most people. My head is an extremely screwed up place, occupational hazard. Also sometimes I have weird tense issues in my writing, so apologies for those.
This all went south too fast for him to comprehend and now somehow they’re tied up in some godforsaken room in a building that should have been condemned 20 years ago, held captive by a man suspected of at least three brutal rape-murders. He’s not too macho to admit that he’s terrified. Not so much for himself, the psycho will likely kill him quick and painless, in fact he’s not quite sure why he’s still alive, but Beckett…
He glances over at her still form, but she’s still out of it, knocked out from whatever the bastard had in his syringe. He desperately glances around, looking for some kind of out. God knows how long they have until their captor comes back. The room is straight out of horror movie, all stained cement walls with mysterious metal hooks and no windows. The door, even if he could reach it, looks solid and is likely locked from the outside. His legs are duct taped to the chair with his hands tied together with some kind of twine behind him. Experimentally he tugs on his bindings, but the twine does little more than dig into his skin. If he puts a little effort into it he can hop the chair a few millimeters, but he knows he’s far more likely to tip over and give himself a concussion then accomplish anything so he stops. He thinks of all the times he has tied himself up for research and knows that if they get out of this he will never do it again; he never wants to remember this fear.
After all these years trailing Beckett he thought he’d seen it all, considered himself a crime scene pro, but even he’d had to walk away from those women’s mutilated bodies. The guy was clearly a sexual sadist, Lanie had confirmed that the women had been tortured for at least 48 hours prior to being killed. After the second murder, SVU had wanted to take over the case but Beckett insisted on keeping it and SVU was completely swamped so they hadn’t put up a fight. He curses that, he curses every single decision that led them here. He curses them “forgetting” to tell Gates where they were going. He curses the decision to check out just one more place before they went home. He curses humoring Beckett and following her deeper into the building when she thought she heard a noise. He curses that when they found a recently dead woman he’d fumbled with his phone and hadn’t managed to call it in before they were ambushed.
He hears a soft rustle and he quickly looks towards Beckett, but she’s still out cold. His mind latches onto the thought that she’ll know what to do, she’ll get them out of this. It’s ridiculous, she’s more restrained than he is and has been stripped of her gun. The fucking bastard had her tied spread eagled on her back to the cast iron bed. It had been a mild night and all she was wearing was a deep blue blouse and black slacks. As he watches, she shifts slightly; clearly, the drug is wearing off. He’s sure it makes him small, but in some ways he hopes the guy kills him right away, because watching Kate tortured is not something he thinks he can take. Unfortunately, it looks like Mr. murderer-rapist has a different idea; he has positioned the chair with a perfect view of the bed.
Beckett’s eyelids flutter and he croaks out a “Kate.”
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The first things she notices is that she can’t move. She tries to turn over, burrow back into her pillow, sure she has at least a few more minutes before her alarm goes off, but she can’t move. When she opens her eyes to figure out what the hell is going on, she’s even more confused. She’s staring up at a ceiling that definitely isn’t hers. She hears her name called and she turns her head towards the sound. Castle is bound to a chair about one foot to her right. “What…” she manages to get out.
“The guy… the case…the dead woman…” He can’t seem to get a full sentence out, but his words cause it all to come rushing back to her and oh fuck they have to get out of here. She looks up at her restraints; thick rope is wrapped around each of her wrists and tied securely to the bed frame. Her legs are similarly tied. There is no way she is getting out of the ropes without a knife.
She looks back over to Castle. “Can you get out of those ropes?” He shakes his head no. “What about your phone, did you get through to anyone?” He almost looks ashamed as he shakes his head no again. Not good, she thinks, seriously not good. She fights down the panic. “Okay, we’re going to think through this, figure a way out.”
Castle looks skeptical. “Look Kate, I need you to know, I love you, desperately. I wanted to come up with some big elaborate plan to propose, like a skywriter or during Game 7 of the World Series on the jumbotron, which you’d pretend to hate but secretly love. I wanted to…”
“Stop!” She cuts out harshly. “No deathbed proposals. No speaking like we’re not getting out of here.”
He looks like he wants to say something but before he can respond they hear the sound of the lock turning and the door opening. They both freeze.
Their captor walks in, shutting the door behind him and flashing them a smile. He doesn’t look like a psychopath, Kate thinks, more like he belongs on Wall Street with his perfectly styled dark hair and pressed white button down with the sleeves rolled up. She learned long ago that evil didn’t have an obvious appearance, but it was still disconcerting to see this man with his glaringly white teeth and an expensive watch walk in. He couldn’t be more than 40; if he’d hit on her at a bar she would have flirted back. “How are my guests doing?” he asks as he walks to stand over her.
“We’d be a lot better if you let us go,” Beckett says while staring him directly in the eyes, she refuses to give.
“I do like a bit of spunk in a woman. You’ll hold out for a long time won’t you? How nice for me.” His eyes flash, for just a second revealing the monster within. Beckett pales. The corner of his mouth lifts and he looks over to Castle. “How about you Mr. Castle? What a pleasant surprise to have you two interrupt me. You know I took some inspiration from one of your books for some of my early work. I think I’ve evolved since then though. I’m much more,” he pauses, "advanced now.”
Castle looks like he might be sick but he manages to sound confident when he speaks. “Mr…what would you like us to call you?”
The other man almost appears amused. “This is so odd, usually my canvasses don’t speak much. I suppose you can call me...Mr. White. Yes. That has a good ring to it.”
“Fine. Mr. White, I have money, connections, whatever you want, if you let us go. I promise we’ll even give you a head start before we try to follow your trail.”
Beckett chimes in then. “You really don’t want to kill a cop. It won’t end well for you.”
Mr. White looks between the two of them and then bursts out laughing, throwing his head back. “Oh you two are so delightful, I’ve never done couples before. I might need to do it more often. I do not need money Mr. Castle and dear Detective if you think the NYPD scares me you are sorely mistaken. Now let’s get to business.”
He steps out of the room for a moment and comes back with a wicked looking knife. “I think this will be nice to start with” he says as he advances towards the bed. Castle is begging, asking him to stop, to take him instead, but Kate can’t hear it. All she can focus on is the knife. This is it, the culmination of all her fears about being a female cop. The guy is most definitely going to rape her, to make sure her death is long and painful. For a moment she longs for the white hot metal of a sniper’s bullet.
He kneels on the bed, shifting so that he is straddling her low on her hips. “Now I think we need to start with that blouse, as lovely as it is.” With that he runs the knife down the center, popping all the buttons. He spreads the sides open and admires the view. She tries to arch, to twist, anything to get him off her, but the ropes are too secure, she barely moves an inch. He laughs. “Precious detective, but you’re not getting away.” He then uses the knife to split the center of her bra, pushing the cups aside so that she’s completely bare to him.
Without shifting his facial expression, he moves the knife down to her stomach and cuts a quick slash and then another and then another. At first she can’t feel the pain, the shock is too much, but then the blood starts to well and she feels the sting. Refusing to show him anything she grits her teeth. He pauses and looks up. “These aren’t meant to hurt too much a dear, just showing you what this little pretty can do.”
“Good. Because I don’t feel a thing. Is your knife an extension of your dick, because I bet I won’t feel that either.” It’s a mistake, as soon as she says it she knows it’s a mistake. This is not what you’re supposed to do with a crazed rapist. But if she’s going to die, she’s going out swinging.
He tenses and appears to lose control. The knife moves to her throat and presses down hard enough to draw blood. He leans down over her, breathing heavily. “You need to mind your manners. I like a bit of sass, but I won’t tolerate rudeness. I’m going to show you what that mouth should be used for and it’s not talking.” His voice shifts back to an even baritone and he sits back up. “Maybe even teach your boyfriend a few things.” He gestures towards Castle who is now babbling mostly incoherently, tears running down his face. “Oh he seems upset and the party hasn’t even really started.”
He moves off of her to stand by the side of the bed and quickly runs the knife down her pants, cutting them off her, leaving her in nothing more than a pair of purple cotton underwear. He straddles her again and begins running the knife lightly over her breasts. “These are lovely you know. So many girls these days get implants. Such whores.”
Refusing to respond she tries to lock down her mind, go elsewhere, but he brings her harshly back by putting two quick slashes on her right breast. These are deeper. He then drops the knife and grabs them, rolling them harshly between his hands. She struggles not to grimace, to show that she wants to cry. She feels his erection against her and the urge to cry grows stronger. A harsh sob comes from her right and she makes the mistake of looking over at Castle. The look in his eyes almost undoes her. She wishes with everything she has that he wasn’t here, but at the same time is selfishly glad he is. She closes her eyes, overwhelmed, trying to go back into a cocoon, to somehow prepare for what is to come.
The knife digs harshly across her stomach again and Mr. White shifts down her body, moving to kneel between her spread legs. “Pay attention!” he snaps loudly. Her eyes open, he is staring at her. “This is important, we’re just getting to the most fun part.” He runs the knife teasingly along her thighs, barely drawing blood. His other hand is busy mauling what skin the knife hasn’t gotten too, pushing into her thighs, leaving bruises for sure. “I just don’t know where to start. Hmmmm. Maybe that sassy little mouth of yours.” He rubs his erection through his pants with his free hand, the knife resting on her left thigh, as he seems lost in thought. “Yeah I think we’ll start there and then bring out the really fun toys.”
She can’t help it, she whimpers. This is what heart-stopping fear feels like; the absolute certainty of death, unbearable pain. She had no time to think when the bullet skimmed her heart. Her other near-death experiences were so full of adrenaline she didn’t have much time to process anything. When she was dangling from the roof the only thought in her mind was how much she regretted not telling Castle. There was a brief moment in the freezer before the hypothermia slowed her brain and another in her sinking car that she felt death was near, but it was nothing like this. This was primal. Her adrenaline had drained replacing itself with the feeling a rabbit must feel when caught by a hawk right before being torn apart. She wants to live but her body is slowly shutting down.
Mr. White smiles as if sensing her surrender. He steps off the bed, sets the knife aside, and starts to undo his pants pulling them down his legs over his bare feet. “That’s a good girl.” He neatly folds his pants and sets them on the floor, repeating the process with his boxers. He picks the knife up and straddles her waist. She’s can’t take her eyes away from his erection. “Now my dear this doesn’t have to hurt too much, but there are some ground rules, the first of which is no biting.” He smiles and starts to move upwards.
Suddenly the room is in chaos. Gunfire and screaming and bright lights. She hears who she thinks is Esposito screams “NYPD.” She hears gunfire, feels a weight on her face and then it’s gone. Castle is crying maybe. Somebody cuts the ropes holding her but she can’t move. Someone, it might be Ryan, tries to rearrange the scraps of her clothing to cover her, but then the paramedics are there and Castle is squeezing her hand so hard she thinks she might lose circulation. She’s transferred to a stretcher, gauze is applied to her wounds, and she hears the EMTs talking about shock and then it’s all gloriously blank.
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The next day she lets Castle guide her into the loft. He directs her to the couch. She sits as he goes to fiddle in the kitchen. She looks around, naming items. Television, book, table, laser tag gun. Nothing feels real, it’s all a bit fuzzy around the edges. She wishes she could blame it on pain meds but they wouldn’t give her the good stuff, stitched up the few wounds that needed it and bandaged the rest and told her she was good to go. She was asked several times if she was sure she didn’t need a rape kit. She refused every time, trying to explain that it didn’t go that far. She gave her statement to some detective she didn’t know with as much emotion as a robot. They wouldn’t let Castle in her room until they both gave their statements, but she could hear him making a racket outside her room.
Gates came in briefly told her she had two weeks off and had to be cleared by a psychiatrist before returning to active duty. Then her Captain’s normally stoic face had softened and she had placed her hand beside Kate’s on the bed (almost as if Gates knew Kate couldn’t stand to be touched) and told her that this wasn’t her fault and that anything she needed was hers, just ask.
Now somehow she is at Castle’s loft and she doesn’t know what to do. A shower? Yes a shower would be good. She’d been able to rinse off at the hospital but she wants to spend at least an hour in a shower with water so hot it burns this disgusting feeling off of her. She starts to get up and walk to the master bathroom but Castle is walking towards her with what appears to be water and toast and she freezes. “I…was…going to take a shower.”
Castle quickly sets down the plate and cup on a nearby table. “Of course. How could I be so stupid? I’ll go run the water.”
“I can do it myself” she says angrily. She sees the hurt on his face but doesn’t have the energy to deal with it and walks away.
An hour or maybe more later she steps out of the shower, dries off, and slips into Castle’s thick blue robe before wandering into the living room. Castle doesn’t realize she’s there, but she can see him quietly sobbing on the couch. She doesn’t know why that does it, but suddenly she breaks, collapsing onto the floor with harsh sobs. And Castle is there, gathering her up in his arms, crying with her, whispering nonsense soothing words.
Eventually they peter out, Kate only gasping out a sob now and again as Castle rubs her back. “I...Beckett…Kate…I don’t know what to do, what to say. I love you so much. I don’t want you to hurt. I don’t want to hurt.”
She curls up tighter on his chest, rubbing her face into his shoulder. “I don’t know either. I don’t even know what I feel. I don’t think I know how to be right now.” She’s silent for a minute. “I was so sure I was going to die in there and that it was going to hurt. I’ve never felt like that before. My body froze and now I don’t know how to unfreeze it.”
He rubs her back, rocking her slowly, for a few moments before he pulls back, pushing her hair out of her face and looking into her eyes. “We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get through this together.”
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Three weeks later and they still haven’t completely figured it out, but they’re taking each day as it comes. She’s gone back to the precinct a few times, but only to do paperwork. She did what Gates suggested and asked for what she needed: more time. Twice weekly sessions with her therapist are helping. Castle has come with her a few times so they can do a joint session, but he’s seeing someone on his own as well.
It isn’t ‘normal’ yet and she still feels like she’s seeing the world through a curtain most days, but she’s moving forward in some way, even if it’s only by rote. As she moves around the kitchen prepping dinner, she worries that this is it, this is the new normal. They will tiptoe around each other until one of them breaks down and the other comforts them while trying not fall apart themselves. She will wake up screaming from nightmares where Esposito and Ryan don’t make it in time. Fortunately, she’s gotten to where the screams are silent and she can slip out of bed and cry in the bathroom, leaving Castle sleeping. Seeing his pain is almost worse than her own, she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to manage his pain when she can barely hold herself together.
His keys rattle in the door (he’s made an effort to be really loud when walking around after one time she startled so hard she practically threw her laptop across the room). He sets his keys on a side table before entering the kitchen and sits on one of the stools. “What are you making?”
“Just a stir-fry.” She says as she sets some plates down and passes him a glass of water. “How did your meeting go?”She transfers the meal to a serving dish and sits down next to him.
“Not bad. I pled my case, got a 6-week extension on the full manuscript. Apparently making the news for being held captive by a mad man who killed at least 23 women across 12 states is something Black Pawn can work with.” He used finger quotes around the last phrase, smiling wryly.
She grimaces and continues eating.
Later that night she’s in a familiar place: muffling her sobs into her fist in the dark bathroom, leaning against the bathtub. Honestly, sometimes she thinks that she would be coping better if Castle hadn’t been there, if he could just help her through her own shit without dealing with his own. While cleaning up after dinner he had crowded in behind her to put a glass in a high cabinet and she had frozen. He jumped away so fast you would think she was poison. She wanted to scream, ‘I can’t help it, it’s not that I don’t want you to touch me dammit.’ Other than holding her when she cries he won’t touch her, if they don’t fall asleep sobbing he keeps a careful 12 inches between them in bed. When she tries to curl up next to him he carefully shifts away or finds an excuse to get up. If she didn’t know better she would think he finds her contaminated, that he doesn’t want to be near her since that man touched her. She does know better though and curses his insatiable curiosity. She’s caught him reading articles about ‘what to do when a loved one is raped’ and ‘how to treat rape survivors.’ That makes her want to scream even more. She wasn’t raped, he of all people should know that. She’s right here. Last she looked, she’s still his partner, his girlfriend, his always. More, she’s still a flesh and blood woman, she has needs. Her therapist has assured her that it’s normal, that it’s okay to resume a healthy sexual relationship as long as her partner is conscious of possible issues.
The door cracks open and she quickly tries to rearrange herself to look like she was doing anything but falling apart on the bathroom floor at 3 AM. Apparently she isn’t successful because when Castle flicks the lights on he looks more broken than normal. “Kate, you should’ve woken me up.” He moves to sit down next to her and gathers her into his arms.
He’s too sweet and suddenly she can’t take it anymore. She pushes him away and shifts to straddle him. He looks shocked. Taking advantage of that, she leans down and kisses him. She’s doing all the work for the first 30 seconds but then he unfreezes and breaks. He pulls her down hard onto him and participates fully in the kiss. It’s brutal, all tongues and teeth and spit. She grinds down on him. He moves his hands to the bottom of her shirt and tugs it up. She gasps as they part long enough for him to pull it over her head.
Refusing to give him time to overthink this she brings their mouths back together, battling his tongue for dominance, sucking on hit bottom lip, running her tongue over his teeth. His hands are running up and down her sides before they finally move to her breasts. He weighs them in his hands before too briefly running his thumbs over her nipples.
Abruptly he pulls back, breathing hard, looking at her with glazed eyes. He holds her still preventing her from reengaging. “Kate, no. We have to stop. You’re still healing”
She glares at him. “I’m fine. My doctor has cleared me. My therapist has, in fact, encouraged me resuming sexual activities. Stop treating me like a child!” Indignantly, she grabs her shirt from the floor and tugs it over her head.
He sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall behind him. “God it’s true I don’t want to hurt you and if there’s one thing that you’re consistent with, it’s overestimating how much you can take,” she huffs in annoyance, but he continues. “It’s more than that though,” he lifts his head back up and stares her directly in the eyes, “I was right fucking there Kate. I watched that mad man put his hands all over you.”
She draws in a quick breath, fearful for a moment that she was wrong about him, that this is about not wanting to touch her because she’s contaminated. He goes on though “I offered him everything and he wouldn't stop. He just kept hurting you and you let out these little whimpers of pain and at that moment I was pretty sure I could kill a man with my bare hands. I was sure I was going to watch you die and it…fuck I just...” He trails off, closing his eyes once again, clearly trying to keep himself together.
She sees now, everything is so completely complicated with them. They’ve been through so much together and for so long they’ve gone on like none if it meant anything. They’re such a mess. She cups his face with her hands and presses soft kisses across his face until his eyes open. “Castle, I’m here, I’m right here.” She takes his hands then and places them over her heart. She leans in and kisses him, gently this time as opposed to the battle it was before.
In a mirror image of last time, she brings her hands to the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head. She runs her hands over his chest, thumbing his flat nipples. He moans softly into her mouth. She moves her hands lower and slips them into his boxers and begins to stroke him. He’s still mostly soft, but she continues to caress him, now and again running her thumb in circles around his tip, until he hardens and begins to thrust slightly into her palm. She stops then, making to stand up so she can remove her underwear, but her stops her as she kneels over him.
Her position puts him at perfect height to feast on her breasts, so he does. First he runs his tongue around her right nipple, flicking it lightly with his tongue before taking it in his mouth and sucking. He switches to the left breast and she moans in appreciation.
Somehow when she wasn’t paying attention his right hand had moved to her hip, where it now slowly starts to trail across to her sex. He runs his fingers lightly across the front of her underwear causing her to attempt to increase the pressure by grinding down. He takes his fingers away then and removes his mouth from her breasts. She looks down at him uncomprehendingly.
He smiles and uses her confusion to work her underwear down as far as he can. Finally getting the picture she stands to strip off her clothes. While she stands, Castle uses the time to shimmy out of his boxers. As soon as she’s done, she returns to straddling him, leaning in again to kiss him. She moves her hand to his cock, positioning him her at her entrance.
She pulls back from his lips and looks him directly in the eyes. “I love you.” And with that she sinks down fully on him and they both let out simultaneous moans. She sets up a slow but steady rhythm.
She’s still not sure how they’re going to get back to normal or what normal even is. She doesn’t know how to stop his hesitation every time he touches her or how to keep from waking up screaming every night. She doesn’t know how to take the haunted look out of Castle’s eyes or what the rest up their lives will look like. As her mind turns to starbursts and he groans out his release below her one thing she does know though is that this is healing.