AN: This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. I'm not entirely sure how long it will be at this stage, and the chapters will get longer as the story progresses. I also promise you that there will be more of Beckett as soon as I'm finished introducing the story and setting the scene. Let me know what you think! I'm a fan of feedback.

Richard Castle groaned and stretched his fingers and toes. The appendages felt stiff and restricted, which he found to be somewhat odd so he fought off the remnants of deep slumber and slowly opened his bright blue eyes. Glancing down he stiffened. He was not rather uncomfortably perched napping at his chair in the Twelfth as he had assumed, but was bound ankles and wrists to a stiff, solid chair bolted into the cement. The sight startled him from his sleepy condition, he was most definitely awake now. Only one thought running through his mind – his partner, Detective Kate Beckett. He scanned his surroundings and was hesitantly relieved to find himself alone in the dimly lit room. Perhaps Beckett was safe and sound at home or work and not waking in another room in the same predicament. Castle ached for the first thought to be true, the alternative he just didn't want to consider. But, he had better do everything in his power to make sure that he was in this alone. He didn't want to alert whoever held him captive that he was conscious, but he needed to know if Beckett was nearby, just beyond the walls that encased him.

"Beckett!" he shouted, "Kate, Kate!" He waited, silence and a faint echo of his attempts his only reply. It looked like it was just him. Hopefully that meant Beckett was coming for him, whoever had done this was in for it, big time. He grinned somewhat at the thought, before his expression settled, serious and analytical. It was time to assess the situation. If this was because of his continued investigation of Beckett's mother's murder then he didn't have much of a chance. They had killed more powerful men than he without hesitation. He could only hope that someone else had it in for him, depressing as the thought may be. Although, if it were the figures responsible for Johanna Beckett's murder at least he might get some answers before he found his way to his premature grave. Answers that died with him would do nothing to help Beckett though, so was his life really the price he wanted to pay to satisfy his desire to know the story behind the tragedy? He thought not. So escape or rescue it was.

He tested the bonds that held him; they were secure and rather tight and uncomfortable now that he considered it. He curled and uncurled his fingers and toes, hoping to aid his circulation and relieve the pressure. He paused, an odd thought striking him, he was barefoot. Why on earth was he barefoot? What kind of abductor removes his victim's shoes? Or, had he been kidnapped barefoot, snatched from his loft while he slept? Oh god, Alexis. He struggled to remember that events that had culminated in this. Had he been taken from his home? Was his daughter safe? It had been a quiet day at the precinct, he'd placated Beckett with coffee (and winning conversation) as she'd struggled through paperwork. They hadn't even had a new case. He remembered hesitantly leaving the precinct early, Beckett still working, in order to make a dinner for his mother and Alexis. Naturally, he'd invited Beckett, who gave a noncommittal – I'll let you know in a couple of hours if I've gotten through this paperwork – response. That meant she might have called, and worried when he didn't answer and be on her way to rescue him as he sat here, trapped. Although, another part of his mind assured him that she hadn't wanted to refuse his offer outright to his face, and wouldn't call, would just give the excuse tomorrow that she had gotten caught up and lost track of time. He sighed, this wasn't really the appropriate time or place to be analysing if Beckett reciprocated his feelings.

He had shut his eyes, trying to remember, but as his thoughts distracted him from what was at hand, he felt it better he open them and try to assess the situation once more. He certainly wasn't going to escape just sitting round waiting to be rescued – not like it seemed he had much of a choice in the matter. He glanced around the room once more, noting that it was nondescript, plain walls, concrete floor, windows blackened out and a single door on the wall behind him. He returned his gaze to himself and gasped, his jaw dropped and shock rushed through him. No, this was too weird. He was never going to live it down. Beckett would claim it was his fault and that he had brought it upon himself. She would also kill him. Rescue was not an option, it was far too embarrassing. He needed to escape.