.

Gone

.

Chapter One

.

How far can you travel to find what is gone? AU after Boom (2x18).

.

.

Rick rounds the corner of the loft's staircase, the sudden thump to his chest causing him to step back, and he extends both arms, catches a hold of the wall he's run into. Except, well, it isn't a wall, and he grins down at Beckett.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there, or I would've stopped."

Her eyebrow arches, her expression calling out his lie, and he chuckles.

"Okay, maybe I would've kept going, but the feel I'd have tried to cop would've been a small one. Promise."

"Sure, Castle. That'll be the day. I see through your ploy, you know."

Jumping away from her, he feigns disbelief, pointing his finger to his chest, as he opens and closes his mouth dramatically, and his actions earn him the eye roll he was hoping for - it's almost like a gold star for a pun well done.

"Anyhow, as much as I would be willing to stand here discussing my brilliance - I really did bump into you by accident - is Alexis up here? I thought maybe she'd come home without me realizing it."

Beckett's head shakes, her body angling away from him as she stares down the corridor of his second floor, and he mimics her movements, gazing at the bedroom that should have his daughter inside.

"Uh, no. I've just been putting away my laundry, but I haven't heard her walk past."

"Do you need help with your delicates? Because I will have you know that I am a master of the-"

"Castle, is everything okay?"" Her hand shifts toward his chest, before her fingers curl, her arm falling to her side, and he flickers his eyes closed for a moment, clenching his jaw. Overcompensating with wisecrack after wisecrack is taking a toll.

For all that he watches her, observes her, he forgets sometimes that the trained detective in her sees just as much, and he shrugs his shoulder, raking a hand through his hair.

"It's probably nothing." The breath that he releases is audible to his own ears. "I thought she'd be home by now."

"She should be home by now, or you thought she should be home by now?"

Pointing out the difference between an actual reason for worry and being a slightly zealous, protective parent, Beckett profiles him perfectly.

"No, she hasn't broken curfew, and she didn't really say what time she would be back from the library. But, in my defense, she's never this late. Not without calling first."

"Did you try calling her?"

He slumps as he buries his hands deep into the pockets of his pants.

"Yeah, and I sent a text."

He would have sent half a dozen if a voice - one that sounded a lot like Beckett now that he thinks about it - hadn't told him that he was being a little over the top about nothing.

Except the gnaw in his stomach won't leave…

Dislodging his concern with a thrash of his head, his hair flops a little onto his forehead, and he throws one last look toward Alexis' bedroom. He's just being paranoid after the events of the last week. After he'd nearly lost Beckett to the bomb, and then watching Dunn almost shoot her, life seems more dark cloud than sunshine at the moment.

"I'm sure she's fine and most likely on her way here as we speak." Beckett's hand pats his shoulder, the pressure of her fingers against his bicep eliciting a smile. At least there's been this ray of light, this silver lining to the horrific circumstances, that has meant she's been staying at his place.

She's been making noise about going soon, that a hotel will be sufficient until she can find a place to sublet while the insurance side of things is dealt with. He's been firm in shutting that down, playing every card he has, from his own guilt about what had happened, to using his only child as a barter chip.

Anything to keep her, and the growing bond that's forming over breakfast and rides into the precinct, continuing.

"You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right, Castle."

.

.

Squirming on the bed, Kate chews on her bottom lip, darting her gaze between the closed bedroom door and the book that she's reading. Reading may be too strong of a word considering she hasn't turned a page in minutes, the top line scanned half a dozen times, and as she follows the words again, she continues to have no idea about what is going on.

Damn, Castle.

There's nothing to be alarmed about, and she most definitely hasn't been staring at her father's watch - it's shiny, new glass face bringing a curve to her lips every time she peers down at it - noting the increasingly late hour, the absence of footsteps in the hallway outside the guest bedroom Castle had proclaimed as hers.

Alexis is probably downstairs chatting with her dad, explaining about delays on the subway, or maybe getting lost in her studies and not realizing the time… These things happen to the best of people, and of all the kids she knows - not that she actually knows that many - Alexis is the least likely to be out causing trouble. She would never intentionally want Castle to be worried.

Closing the book, Kate clears her throat, the sound louder than expected in her quiet space. She is a little thirsty, and if she were to go down and get a glass of water - and see what's happening - then so be it.

She makes it out of her room and across the beautiful polished floors - it's funny how when apartment hunting she notices all the things she'll be losing, not the things that she'll be gaining - Kate steps lightly onto each stair as she fights against a smile over what is now familiar actions.

This was never supposed to be more than a short stay, an order from Montgomery, and yet…

She's still here, is enjoying her time - much to her surprise - and more than that, she's witnessing a side to her tag-a-long that she'd only caught glimpses of in the past.

The loving way that he banters with his mother, their words razor sharp and yet with a tone that softens every blow, speaks of their affection and generally leaves her laughing so hard she's had to excuse herself more than once.

It's the way he raises Alexis, makes a production of her doing it all herself. Except he's by her side for every occasion, ice cream parties for when she's feeling down, cheers and pompoms - literally, the home made ones in Marlow Prep's green and white colors had her smothering her face with a pillow to conceal her uncharacteristic giggle - before a big test.

This is a version of Castle that she'd always suspected, and, much to her shame, kind of brushed away, not focusing on it for more than a glancing second.

Hitting the open space of the living area, Kate scans the darkened room, the lights on dim. All except the ones highlighting the front door, and the sight stills her progress.

Damn.

"Alexis?"

Castle barrels through the entrance of his office, a tumbler of scotch? whiskey? in one hand, his phone in the other, and she opens her mouth before closing her lips with a snap.

What can she say without stabbing the knife of fear further into his chest?

"She's still not answering her cell?"

Nope, that wasn't it.

His body shrinks before her, his statue normally one towering with strength and masculinity almost curls into itself, and she strides forward, her hand reaching for his phone.

The long list of unanswered calls glows on the screen, and she sucks a sharp breath in, even as she attempts to quiet the hammering of her heart, the worry that is pulverizing her insides now that she has reason for alarm.

Alexis should have been home by now.

"Do you mind?" Lifting his phone, Kate waves the device between them, and he nods, appearing to catch on to her meaning.

"Sure."

She brings forth the precinct's number, hits the call button, and, listening to the buzz sound through the cell, she traps Castle's hand as he raises the glass to his lips.

The last thing she needs is for him to be at anything but one hundred percent.

"This is Detective Beckett, can you put me through to homicide? Thanks."

The warmth of Castle's fingers curl around hers where she holds his drink, and she meets his stare. But his head indicates no, and she lets the tumbler go, watching as he heads into the kitchen, dumping the two fingers down the sink.

Exhaling a breath that had gathered since she'd seen the alcohol in his hand - no doubt a leftover side effect of her father's dark years - she refocuses on the phone and LT's voice as he greets her on the other end.

"Yeah, it's Beckett. I need a GPS trace on a cell." She may despise invading Alexis' privacy this way, but the hands are now sliding past eleven and the spasm in her gut is far too similar to a takedown about to go sideways, or the moment before a suspect makes a run for it.

It's bad.

.

.

He listens to Beckett with half an ear, his feet taking him around behind the sofa, past the kitchen and stairs before he stalks alongside the open bookcase of his office, and as the loop starts again, he fists his fingers, the blunt edges of his nails clawing at his palms.

Where could she be? Who could she be with?

His mother. Shit, why didn't he think about her before, Alexis could have gone to see her at Chet's place, maybe together they lost track of time, and maybe her phone needs charging, and...

Twisting towards Beckett, he reaches for his cell, the desire to call his mom overwhelming, but the sight of his detective standing haloed by the lights of his front door pulls him up short.

The normally smooth skin of her forehead is marred by the diagonal line of a vein, the one that appears when she stares at the murder board for hours on end, or when a suspect blatantly lies to her face and frustration flies off her in sparks.

Her bottom lip, the one he spends far too many days fantasizing about, how it will feel when he draws the soft flesh into his mouth, how he will start kissing her and never stop, is trapped between her teeth, the skin a paler pink as she squeezes down.

Something's wrong, and the notion of contacting his mother shatters at his feet. Deep down in that place within his soul where intuition lives, where instinct rules, he knows that Alexis isn't anywhere.

Not anywhere safe.

"Beckett?"

Her hand lowers, his cell dangling from her fingertips, and as her eyes rise to meet his, he steps back, placing the sofa between them.

"The GPS is on, and they were able to trace her phone. But..."

He slides another two feet away from her, the hard line of the table nook he uses with his daughter for late night food binges, or life-changing discussions over coffee, slams into his spine.

"Beckett?"

"The trace gave this address, Castle. The trace says she's at home."

A chill creeps into his blood stream, his heart no longer able to pump around the ice that's formed, and he'd run over to Beckett, shake her by the shoulders and tell her that clearly his daughter isn't here, if only he wasn't frozen to the floor.

She's turning, her gaze searching his home and he wants nothing more than to laugh at the absurdity of her actions. His daughter's phone isn't about to appear before them, if it was here, Alexis would be too, and...

Oh, God. Where is she?

"Oh, God."

It's not him that utters the words, even if they are screaming inside his head, and Beckett stands ridged facing the loft's front door, before her head twists back to him.

No. Oh, fuck no.

Understanding dawns and it shatters the cold that had held him in one place. He races past Beckett, dodging her outstretched hand, but as he wraps his fingers around the door handle, he can't move, he can't open it.

"Castle, please."

Her body envelopes his side, gently nudges him back toward the hall closet, and he fights against her, remains strong. But the emotions stealing his oxygen, the sensation of free falling into a bottomless abyss, wins, and he shifts with her until the stairs bracket him from behind.

Her mouth opens, but he whips his head side to side. Don't. Don't tell him that it will be okay, because this - this is anything but okay.

She's edging away, her blank stare locked fast with his, and he stays motionless, doesn't breathe, doesn't do anything but pray to the heavens and all that may exist, that his daughter is not on the other side of the door.

He won't survive that.

.

.

Thank you to Jo and Jamie for beta-ing this fic, it was a labour of love that was started ten months ago (and while I'm on the subject, yes small changes in airdates to story dates do occur), but they pushed, along with B (who was my language helper), to get it completed xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo