So One Man

This time when the senator enters the bare and concrete structure, they're both beat to hell and firmly manacled to some sturdy metal chairs that Caviato must have dragged in earlier. The writer's hands look bad, fingers twisted at an odd angle, and one of his eyes is swollen shut. She has a hell of a cut at the bottom of her jaw, and she's tilted sideways, a cant to her body that betrays some kind of pain in her left side.

He envisions himself laying his hand over it. Feeling the heat of her skin. The heaving of her breath beneath his palm. The pained flinch that she would no doubt try to hide.

The three of them are alone. Caviato had known better than to argue.

Her eyes are fixed on the writer, even now, even though Bracken has somehow drifted to stand right in front of her so that his shins are nearly touching her knees.

"I'm impressed by how far your investigation has come," he says.

Her mouth stays closed and her gaze stays fixed firmly on the writer. He's the one who finally speaks. "The 12th and the FBI are up to speed. Game's over, Bracken. You're the first one they'll suspect if we turn up dead."

"It's laughable that you think you'll turn up anywhere," Bracken says, directing the comment at the detective.

She still won't turn her face to look at him.

He could reach out, wrap his fingers around her jaw, force her head around. But he thinks there is a more – elegant – way to handle this situation. He steps away from her to stand above the writer.

"What would you do to save him?" he asks, suppressing the smile that threatens to twist his lips when her eyes immediately snap up to track him.

It coils somewhere deep inside him near the base of his spine, the steady, icy brilliance in her irises, the unwavering determination in her gaze, the resolve that tangibly crackles through her.

"Anything."

Castle is gagged. Kate keeps her eyes on him even as the duct tape is spread across his mouth, but his gaze telegraphs only don't do it, don't do it, don't do it.

She swallows, and Castle is silenced by the tape. He grunts something at her, but Bracken completely dismisses Castle and turns back to her. His gaze is hungry.

"How about a kiss?" he says, mouth flirting with a smile.

Kate doesn't even know how to reply to that but Castle struggles just at her side, violence in the muffled curses vibrating in his chest.

"A kiss," she says flatly. She's beyond - this has turned into something she never saw coming. She'd do anything to save Castle's life, but she's not stupid. "You're not going to let us live. I'm not giving you anything. This is already over, you bastard. Even if you kill us, you're done."

And that's all it takes for Bracken to break.

She actually sees the crack split right through him and into his eyes. He turns back to Castle with a jerk of his body, his rage rolling through the room so fast that Kate flinches. And so she misses the moment Bracken grabs her partner's hand but not when he breaks Castle's finger.

Castle bellows from behind the duct tape, animal pain.

"No!" Kate yells, pitching forward in the chair. "No. Stop. Stop it. Just wait. I can-"

Bracken reaches out and grips the bottom of Castle's chair, drags it around so that now Castle is opposite from her. She can see the beads of sweat on his forehead, the way his eyes aren't quite focused, though he's trying. He always tries; he never gives up.

"Castle, Castle," she calls out, trying to get him to look at her. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay."

Bracken steps between them so that he blocks her vision. He hunches close, a hand against the back of her chair, completely ignoring Castle. Kate feels the ache in her ribs from the vicious body blow she took from Bracken's other man, and more than that, the echo of Castle's pain vibrates in her bones.

"Kate," the senator says quietly. "What I really want..."

"What?" she scrapes out, darting her eyes back to his. "What do you want?"

Bracken's face is so close that she can smell the wine on his breath, the scent of boiled shrimp from the buffet; it makes her stomach churn.

"What do you want from me?" she yells.

"Something you won't give," he sighs. Forlorn. Like she's spurned him. The senator reaches out and takes a lock of her hair from the falling-apart bun, tugs on it, and then brings it to his nose.

Her heart catches.

Behind Bracken, Castle groans and she hears the chair scraping against the concrete. Bracken doesn't even look his direction. She feels the terror building hard in her chest, but she shoves it violently aside. He's a senator. He's not going to do the dirty work himself.

"Then get it over with already," she growls.

Bracken's face closes down. He spins around and goes for Castle, gripping him by his shirt and jerking him up, the chair clattering on the concrete floor, still attached to Castle by hands and feet. "But Kate, darling, I'm having too much fun."

And then he slams Castle back down against the chair and she sees her partner's head pop back, hard, whiplash pushing a grunt out of his chest. Bracken reaches in and wraps his fingers around Castle's, torques the writer's wrist in the guise of keeping the chair from falling over.

"Stop!" Kate strains against the bindings, the flare of agony racing up her side and pounding in her split lip. She can just get her feet to touch Castle's, shoulders wrenching in their sockets, when she feels her thumb slip against the plastic of the zip tie. "Stop it. Stop!"

Bracken comes back to her, puts his foot to the seat of her chair, wedging his shoe between her knees, and he shoves her back. The chair rattles and her head echoes the noise, a groan coming out of her lips she can't contain.

The senator comes in close, gripping her hair with one hand, forcing her head back to meet his gaze. "You. Have. No. Say." His words are punctuated by an unbalanced rage that deepens that crack even wider.

He's lost it. This isn't a man intent on political power or money. This is a man intent on her.

And she might be able to use his delusions against him.

"If you let us go," she starts quickly, quietly. "I'll do - whatever you want. Let Castle go. He'll have to walk to find help. It will take - take some time. And you can... just release him."

Bracken straightens up, staring down at her. He calls over his shoulder, his voice half sing-song. "Oh, writer. Did you hear that? She's offering herself to me." He sneers but doesn't turn around, his gaze crawling all over her. "For you."

"Just let him go," she says slowly. "You don't need him for this - we don't need him." She stares up at him, intending everything, if only he'll release Castle. "But only if you let him go."

She hope she's buying them some time.

Or. At the very least, she's saving his life. He never deserved this.

The pain is sharp and hot.

It radiates up his arm and through his whole body, throbbing like a living, clawing thing.

He must be hallucinating from the pain, because Castle just heard Kate offer Bracken anything and holy, holy shit she's crazy, she can't…he won't… no. No.

Castle thrashes against the restraints as a desperate, guttural noise tears from his throat.

"You don't need him for this - we don't need him." Kate won't look at him, her eyes fixed on Bracken with fucking impossible intent. "But only if you let him go."

His horror is impotent, his bellowing strangled by the duct tape even as it erupts in his chest. He's struggling so hard the chair is rocking, slamming against the concrete. His stomach heaves, he's going to choke on his own vomit, this can't be happening. She isn't doing this.

Bracken slowly circles behind Kate and reaches out, slides his fingers through her hair and down her throat. Castle strains against the zip ties, trying to line up his hands so he can break free. There are tricks - he knows there are tricks - ways to break out of zip ties; fuck, if he could just focus. The skin shreds along his wrist, his broken fingers pulsing, but the pain is consumed by white-hot fury as Bracken leans down, his lips against Kate's ear, his eyes finding Castle's.

"Let him go? I don't think so." The senator trails his hand lower, the back of his knuckles grazing the edge of Kate's neckline, caressing her bare skin. "Maybe I want him to watch."

He's not going to let it happen; he's not. Not after everything, not when she won't even look at him; he won't let this be their end.

Castle wrenches harder on his tied hands, his legs still duct taped to the chair, but with every twist, every jerk, he can feel the tape straining. All he has to do - all he needs is one good, vicious kick and it's over. It will be over.

"Let me show you how this should be done." Bracken's loving it, his mouth turned up in a smirk, his face flushed, his twisted desire for Kate heightened as he taunts Castle.

And it pushes Castle right over the edge.

The panic coalesces, burns clear and bright into a rage so focused that Castle can see every angle, every possibility; he knows exactly what he has to do.

The zip ties give way with a crack and Castle explodes from his seat, the heavy metal chair clattering against the concrete as the tape clings to his ankles. He yanks up the chair with his uninjured hand, jerking away the duct tape, and in one movement, Castle slams the chair into Bracken's temple.

As the blood erupts from Bracken's head, the senator staggers back and goes down on one knee, his hand wrapping around Kate's thigh as if to hold himself up.

No, fuck no. He will never touch her again.

Castle plows forward into Bracken's gut, but the senator surges up, fisting his hand around Castle's broken fingers, twisting. Castle screams at the jagged shock, the pain ripping up his arm and into his shoulder, curdling his guts. He stumbles to one knee, the chair clattering beside him, sucking in breaths that won't come.

Bracken laughs, the sound bubbling around the blood between his teeth, bearing all of his weight down on Castle and that brutal grip around his mangled fingers even as Bracken sways on his feet. "Oh, excellent. Do you see this, Detective Beckett?" Bracken reaches out fast, like a snake attacking, grabs Kate by the hair, forces her head around. "He's going to fight for you, he's - damn it," Bracken breaks off as Kate sinks her teeth into his forearm.

That's my girl.

Castle yanks his fingers free, and the pain - shit - it twists him up as he tries to rise, off-balanced by the lurch of his own feet.

Bracken backhands Kate across her mouth and everything is forgotten. The pain is gone; the desperate fury possesses him. Castle smashes an uppercut into Bracken's jaw, plows his left into Bracken's ribs, and he hears the crack of bone just before he brings his knee up into the man's groin.

Bracken crumples to his knees but doesn't collapse; his face is a horrific mask of blood and jeering glee."You think you can beat me?" he spits out. "The writer?"

"That's right. The writer." Castle yanks him up by his shirtfront, Bracken's breath hot and sour in his face. "You'll never touch her. You lose."

Bracken can barely hold up his head, blood dripping off his chin, but he still smirks through the gore. "I never lose. You've just assaulted a United States Senator. You'll rot in jail. She'll never be yours-"

Castle punches Bracken in the throat, right in the windpipe, shutting him up. Drops him to the floor and hits him again. The fist smashing into Bracken's face isn't his fist. So calm, so purposeful, he sees nothing, feels nothing but the force that runs through him like a current.

Dimly Castle hears Kate pleading his name, the sound reverberating in his head and yet distant at the same time. His vision is black along the edges, his pain numb, formless. There is no stopping.

Bracken tries to crawl away, one hand flailing so that his fingers graze Kate's ankle - still touching her. Castle yanks him away from her, any part of her at all, and he slams the man back against the floor so hard his head bounces, the sharp crack one of the most satisfying things Castle's ever heard.

Bracken makes a broken noise and twitches, his legs scuffling in a futile effort for purchase. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, his face a mess of blood and gristle, his eyes wide and unfocused. He's done.

But Castle isn't.

He reaches out, drags the heavy metal chair towards him, can see the reality of it finally registering in Bracken's eyes. The inevitability of defeat.

Castle brings the full weight of the metal chair down on Bracken's head. Solid. Satisfying. The vibration of the metal, the work of his muscles. The controlled fire of his rage, honed now for months, delivers the final blow.

It's done.

It's over.

He stands, the chair clattering to the floor, and he takes a long breath in, like a man waking from sleep.

Later, when he will have to testify, they'll ask him if it was self defense, if he truly believed their lives were in danger in that moment. Castle will look the questioner in the eye and answer yes. He will have no trouble answering yes.

It's not really a lie.

In this moment, it is nothing more than finishing the job started long before by the senator himself. Castle told her once that he would do anything for the ones he loves.

Anything.

So they will live. While Bracken does not.