Peronal A/N: Thanks for the prayers regarding my pregnancy. Things are looking better. :-) If you could also pray for my mom and her Cardiology appointment this week, I'd be appreciative. You guys are great.

Story A/N: Reminder that this is AU set sometime after "Undead Again", but "Always" never happened.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Kate is holding her breath. Castle can tell. Her eyes are wide and fearful and there's nothing he can do, doesn't want to make any sudden moves. Castle inches to his feet so so slowly, keeps his palms in the air so Warden knows he's not trying to be a threat. "Just…don't do anything to her. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't have lied," the man says, twisting the knife between Kate's upper lip and her teeth. Kate's eyes squeeze shut and Castle sees a lone drop of blood sliding down the silver of the blade, where it's stopped by Warden's knuckle.

"I know," he breathes. "You're right. You're so right. I shouldn't have lied. I should have known that you were smart enough to figure it out." Castle's guts twist at the apologies and compliments he's giving the man, but he'll do anything to keep him from spilling more of Kate's blood.

"People say I'm crazy," Warden muses into Kate's hair. "Mr. Castle had these lovely lips wrapped around his cock and he wouldn't let you finish him off. You should be offended by that. Are you offended by that?"

Castle can tell Kate doesn't know what to respond with, how to even respond. She has a damn knife in her mouth. Castle just wants to curl up and cover his eyes, cry, give up. This man is psychotic and there's no way any of this is going to end well. Castle is the one Kate depends on to find the silver lining, but he's got nothing once again.

Kate shakes her head, a barely visible movement, were it not for the swing of her hair. He can see her take a deep breath through her nose, so needed that her chest shutters with it.

"You're not offended?" Warden clucks his tongue in surprise and stretches his neck back to look at her face. "Maybe you're both a lost cause, after all."

It sounds like Warden might be giving up on them, on whatever plan he was confident enough in to make him kidnap them and lock them in a basement, while he uses them as his own personal marionettes. Castle doesn't know whether he should be relieved or if that just means that they're not needed anymore. He doesn't want to think about what happens then.

Warden shoves on Kate's back and she goes flying into Castle. He's not expecting it and for a moment the wind is knocked from him, but he manages to get his arms out before she tucks herself into him. Her hands are at his cheeks and she's touching his face everywhere, scrutinizing him as if he were the one injured.

"Hey, hey," he grabs her wrists in one of his hands and brings them to his chest. He rests his other at her chin, eyes her lip, wants to press his own mouth to it, to calm her, reassure her that he's here, that he's sorry, and from here on out he'll do absolutely anything to keep her safe. "Are you okay?"

He peers over her shoulder to Warden, who has already put away his knife and his rummaging through the bags and boxes on the table, shoving things in his pockets. He meets Castle's gaze, and Castle immediately averts his eyes back to Kate. The calculating coldness he sees in Warden's mischievous stare makes his skin crawl. Eyes and a smile, no other expressions discernible through the mask he wears—it's creepy and sinister and Castle can't help but wonder if the man has even an inkling as to his own monstrosity.

"I'm alright," Kate claims, but she's still shaking with fear or adrenaline, or both. He pulls her closer, until he's wrapped around her, palms soothing strokes down her back.

"Isn't that darling?" Warden is watching them with a tilt of his head and gleaming grin.

Castle twists Kate out of his arms and gathers her behind him. He feels foolish, prepared to plead for her safety, fight if needed, in nothing but his boxers. But there's not a thing about this situation that's conventional or comfortable.

"For the record, Mr. Castle, I accept your apology. Perhaps I wasn't completely clear on the rules. My bad." He thuds himself in the head with the heel of his hand in a gesture of foolishness. "But, now that we're all clear, I'm sure we won't be having anymore misunderstandings. Correct?"

"What are you going to do now?"

"Hmm, I didn't hear an answer there. But, that's okay. You've got a little while to prepare yourself for your second chance. I have to go out."

Castle's ears perk up at that and Kate's strong squeeze around his bicep shows that she's seeing the opportunity here, also. He nods, doesn't question, as Warden jingles his keys.

He serves up some parting words as he exits through the basement door. "I wouldn't try anything silly while I'm gone. You'll want to save your energy."

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"Nothing." Castle huffs out in exhausted frustration as he slams his shoulder one last time into the door. It's wood, but the sizzling pain edging up his arm tells him that it has an even more solid core.

"Me neither," Kate sighs. She's fished through the room, over, under everything, shuffled through all of Warden's supplies. "Except there's more water. And some trail mix." She seems a little more excited than she'd like, but she is quickly opening the bag and tossing a handful of the fruit and nuts in her mouth, then grabbing his palm to shake some out for him, too.

"Thanks." He's mumbling around the mouthful while she twists open the cap on the water and holds it out for him to swig. He nods his head for her to go first and she complies. He picks a few of the cashews out of the bag and pitches them too in his mouth, but nearly spits them out in a hiss when she presses the cool water bottle to his bare stomach.

"Sorry." She winces and tries to help by swiping at the condensation left behind, but he grabs her wrist with a 'That's okay.' because she so isn't helping anything.

He stalks across the room and plunges his legs into his pants, hopping a little to get them to the curve of his waist before fastening them and his belt. His shirt goes on just as hastily, his fingers trembling as the buttons slide back into place and he stuffs the tails messily into his pants.

"What's wrong?" She's at his back, her palms warm against his shoulder blades through the worn fabric of his shirt.

"Seriously?" He doesn't turn around. He's going crazy and doesn't want to take it out on her, but he can't help it. He's claustrophobic with his want for her and it makes him feel wrong, pathetic, dangerous. "When he gets back…" he trails off, shakes his head before he begins again. "You know what comes next, Beckett."

Warden's take on Page 105.

"I do."

"I'm so sorry, Kate." He folds his hands around his face and takes a stuttering breath, needs to figure out how he's going to go through with this, or get them out of it. His attempts at chivalry haven't been successful thus far and he feels like a failure. He moves to the edge of the air mattress, drops dejectedly beside it onto the cold floor, his back propped against the starched sheet that's draped over its side.

"Hey." She crouches at his feet, lays her palms on his knees. He won't look at her. Can't. She's going to hate him, whether she thinks so or not; she will, he knows.

"You know," he starts, stops, weighs his words. A deep, burdensome breath lifts his chest. It hurts, hurts to suck in the air; he can feel his heart thudding, slowing him down, filling him up, choking him. "I always hoped we'd do this one day," he admits reluctantly. "But not like this. Not like this." He doesn't know what makes him admit this to her, especially now. He tucks his chin to his chest in shame, shame at even thinking about this, about letting her know how much he wants to make love to her. She shouldn't have to carry that burden right now.

"I think about it too. A lot, recently." He raises his head, looks at her then. Her skin is flushed, breathing a little quickened, and she's smiling, a smile that's shrouding pain and fear, but has some genuineness too. "Maybe we were close, huh?"

"Were we?"

"We were." She nods, leaning over his legs to brush her mouth against his. It's light, gentle, experimental—just a slight press. "I want it on my terms, our terms," she whispers at his lips.

"Want what?" His brain isn't working properly; he can't keep up. He thumbs her lip, brushes across the cut there.

"You. When you make love to me." His breath catches and he's not sure if it's at her words or because her fingers are touching the buttons on his shirt, no move to loosen them, just a press; her thumb taps each one as she trails down the line to where they disappear at his belt. "Let's do it now."

"Kate—"

"It needs to be just us. I don't know what's going to happen after today, Castle, what he's going to do to us."

"He's not going to—"

"It's very possible that he is."

"I won't let him hurt you again," he growls, jerks her up and over his knees. His mouth finds hers, and she falls into the kiss immediately, sucks at his lips, licks into his mouth. She moans unintelligible words around his tongue, fists her hands into his hair, the tug and pull more pleasure than pain. "Shh. Slow down," he pants, the taste of copper at her lip bringing him back to the reality of this. She's ignoring him, sliding her body up his thighs, knees at his hips, and he's so damn hard again already.

They're in a cold, isolated dungeon of a room, a psychopath trying to tap into their lives, control them like characters on a page, and nothing should be able to get him aroused right now. But, Kate, God, Kate—her hands are finally taking care of the buttons that she toyed with earlier, popping them one by one. He can't think straight. Her wet mouth is trailing fire down his chest. "Are we doing this, Castle?" Her hand skims across his belt and lower, pressing the heel of her hand to his zipper. "First time. Our terms," she repeats.

He bucks into her palm and her fingers curl into the denim, pulsing pressure there. His eyes don't leave hers. She's waiting on his response; the answer pressing insistently into her hand not yet enough. Nodding, he reaches his belt buckle, deftly opens the leather; he brushes her fingers as he unfastens his jeans, tangles with the impatient digits at his zipper.

He flattens a hand to the icy concrete beneath him and lifts up enough to help her pull the fabric down his legs. He hisses when he touches down, the cold seeping through his boxers.

He sheds his shirt as he shuffles back onto the air mattress and she follows him, shucking her own pants and panties as she crawls up his legs until her knees flank his hips. She finds him through the slit in his boxers, throbbing and ready, too eager against her experimental fingers.

"You can't keep doing that," he explains, cursing himself as her nimble hands leave him. "You feel too good."

"That's the point," she teases as she unbuttons her own shirt, eyes never leaving his lap. He wasn't sure he could get more ready, he's so tight and wound and hard for her. But when she shrugs her blouse off and in the same motion her bra falls from her shoulders, he feels himself twitch painfully, his biology impatient.

"You're gorgeous." He feels this strange feeling of guilt as he reaches out and touches between her breasts, skirts his fingers along the puckered skin. She doesn't appear shocked that his attention is drawn there, but after a few short seconds, she reaches up and moves his hand to cup her breast, closes her eyes when he takes over the movement himself.

This is wrong and so right at the same time, but the conflicting emotions aren't enough to keep him from leaning forward and replacing his wandering fingers with his mouth, rolling his tongue against a tightened nipple.

Before he can figure out where to offer his attention to next, she takes the decision from him, rolling off his lap. His breath hitches, knew it was too good to be true, that this was a selfish choice, agreeing to take her body under these circumstances. She's changed her mind.

Or maybe she hasn't.

She hasn't left him; she's only rolled to the side of him, naked and laid out on the mattress. She beckons him with her eyes and two tugging fingers curled into the waistband of his boxers.

He's completely nude and on top of her before he knows it. His mouth is at her neck, measuring her rapid pulse with his tongue. His hand is crawling down her body, ribs to hip, then inside her thigh, where she stops him. "Just you," she breathes. "Now."

He want to say no, tell her he's doing this right, but his body's urges suppress his brain's romanticism and he shifts and pushes into her. She grunts in surprise, then claws at the small of his back and lower, holding him to her.

These embarrassing sounds are gurgling from his throat, but he can't think coherently, let alone verbalize how amazing she feels wrapped around him, gripping him everywhere that they touch. He wants to be smooth, suave, make this great for her, but he's emotional blubbering mess. He wants to chant his love for her over and over again, but a sharp stab of hurt reminds him that she already knows how he feels, kept it a secret for her own reasons. He's coming to terms with that, and it helps that she told him her wall is coming down. And that she wants him there for it. That does mean that he's got a good chance to have a larger part in her life, right?

"You're thinking too much," she whispers, as she swipes at the hair slung across his forehead, then scrapes both sets of nails along his scalp. It makes him shiver. "Just think about how it feels. God, Castle, it feels so good," she says as their hips slither against one another.

He wants this to last, God he wants nothing more than that, but he's never had anything feel this good, never been so attached to a moment, so many emotions coursing through his veins. He's pumping into her quickly, too quickly. Her breath is hot and wet at his shoulder, where she's lifted herself up to tuck her face into his skin.

"Rick—"

His name, the way she moans it, almost sends him over the edge. Wanting her there before him is the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Castle—"

She's sobbing now, desperate, choking whimpers.

"Do you want me to stop?" His hips sink into hers, and he stills within her, body shaking in protest of the lack of movement.

"Why-why would I want you to stop?" Her teeth are at his jaw, the long line of her neck stretching to gulp air as she licks at his skin. She shifts impatiently beneath him, flexing her thighs, and hooking her ankles at his calves.

"I don't know. I don't know," he murmurs. "You deserve better than this." Tears are pricking at his eyes as slaps his palms to the mattress to ease off of her, but she pulls him back, tightens around him on his deep slide back in. His eyes screw shut in a long blink, and he can't halt the moan that escapes from his throat.

"No one makes me feel the way you do." She drops her head until their eyes meet. She's arching and rocking into him and she's so slick around him; he can't wrap his mind around it, how wet she is, the undulating eagerness of her body beneath him. "Please don't stop."

He doesn't.

He feels her fluttering around him, a faint tightening that he drives through. He heeds her body's warning and slows down to deep, methodical thrusts. Her eyes widen and her teeth latch onto her lip when he grips her hips in his palms and slides her down the mattress. The angle surprises even him, the way with which his hips crowd even further into hers, and it's his own groan that releases. But her light flutterings turn into intense contractions and she grips his head and shoulders as she pants out her release. He lends her his mouth, muffles her cries with his tongue as he spills into her.

If he can't breathe, he knows she can't, with his boneless weight pressing her into the air mattress beneath them. But, each time he inches up, her elbows, criss-crossed around his neck, tug him back down. "Stop it," she hums at his ear. "Just stay for a moment."

"Yeah. 'Kay." He shifts the little bit that she'll allow, so at least some of his weight hits his forearms and knees as he allows his shaking muscles to relax. But his mind is racing, competing with the loud, raging noise in his ears, triggered by the intense pleasure he just experienced. He waits for the feelings to ebb away, for his heart to stop its erratic thumping. Part of him thinks it never will.

He knows he'll never be the same.

They'll never be the same.