Owww. Ow, ow, ow.

His brain was registering senses one at a time, deciding that feeling would be the first. A throbbing at the base of his skull. Dull cramping in his side, what could possibly be a busted rib. The only good thing about going down so easily this time seems to have been a lack of injuries. The lack of feeling in his hands added to the press of cool metal on his wrists caused some worry.

A quick tug of his arms confirmed this. Worry, oh yes, now it was time to worry. Handcuffed to a chair, sore, and a slow, woozy process of gaining his sight back in a dimply lit room. He shook his head slightly in an effort to speed the process and immediately regretted it. The throbbing increased tenfold and the movement set his ears ringing. He groaned. Definitely time to worry.

As the ringing settled from sonic boom to rock concert, he slowly became aware of another sound in his vicinity. He swallowed hard and forced the nauseous sensation that was threatening to overtake him back down, prying his eyes open and straining to see in the grayness. A little less than ten feet from where he sat, he could barely make out a seated body, light dully hitting from above. He could see, just barely, that, whoever it was, was moving. Or, at least, struggling to move. And struggling to communicate, if the muffled noises were any indication.

For a brief moment, he thought his eyesight was improving.

In the next, he realized, with another turn of his stomach and a slap of familiarity, that the lighting was actually improving in a strikingly professional way. A glance to the ceiling above and he was all too convinced of the situation.

Stage lights.

And to his right, he could see the outlines of plush, black theatre seats fall into view. Two spotlights slowly coming to life in the small catwalk space. His head jerked back to the figure across from him and his heart plummeted.

"Becket…"

And for the first time he could make out the word that was continually muffled behind the black fabric that had been roughly tied around her mouth and head. Castle. Her eyes wild, her hair feathering out above the gag.

"Beckett -!"

A sound, like an electric circuit sparking out, for only a second. Her body jerked slightly and she yelped, her eyes crushing shut and then opening again an instant later even wider than before. He stared, horrified, not sure what had just happened and rapidly searching his mind for ways to prevent it from happening again.

"No, Mr. Castle."

The voice boomed, making him jump. Beckett looked at him, her eyes pleading, before sending her gaze out above the empty audience. He followed her gaze and it landed on the only other source of light in the small theatre. At the back wall, he could make out a silhouette settled in the lighting booth. The voice had come over the god-mic.

"I don't like the last name idea," it continued. "It's overused on every bad cop show ever made. The least we could do is address each other properly. Call her by her given name."

His eyes flicked back to Beckett's face, utterly terrified now, surely reflecting what his own face must be.

"Kate… Katherine."

Barely choked out.

Because now he could see what had happened to her.

This sick bastard had hooked her up to electrodes.

"That's a good start. If this is all going to go well, you'd better get used to my vision. Any deviance and… well, let's just say that the electrical capacity of this space has yet to be tested. And it would be a shame to have to find out what it is, wouldn't it?"

He felt frozen as the lights began to dim again, terrified to say anything, the wrong thing, and wanting nothing more than to give her any reassurance that he was going to get them out of this. But can I?

"Kate…" He put as much into that one word as he possibly could as her face faded into darkness.

The muffle of the fabric over her mouth did nothing to keep her words from him this time.

"Rick."