A/N: A little older than I usually write. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.

What gives? Rick wondered to himself in the back of the club. The bouncers were slowly making their way towards him on their rounds, kicking out any drunken stragglers after last call. He didn't hurry, however. His mind reeled, processing everything that had happened in the past three hours. Not that he wasn't used to drunk women throwing themselves at him in clubs, but this was an altogether different case.

He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to remove any lasting drunkenness. Maybe he should crash somewhere other than his own place. Alexis was home with mother, and she really didn't need to see him stumble inside, tripping over his own feet. Sometimes he seriously worried about how his daughter, currently six, would end up. With the genes she had, Alexis couldn't be anything other than what her parents were, right? Monkey see, monkey do...

Rick shook his head. "Must be the alcohol talking," he tried to tell himself. Alexis was a good kid. She'd turn out fine.

Not if she's always got influences like you, his conscience whispered. He growled slightly and switched his mind's focus. Her.

She had been a few years younger than him, mid to late twenties maybe. When she's approaches him and asked to dance, so drunk out of her mind she probably would never remember his face, even if she did happen to see it on the back cover of a book, he'd noticed the haunted look in her eyes, behind the glaze. Whatever was upsetting her, she wouldn't have been here if it hadn't happened. She seemed like she was just slightly out of place; not unfamiliar with the place, just unfamiliar with whatever was troubling her. And that was the only reason she was completely hammered at the moment.

"Hi," she said slowly, picking up a shot off the counter and downing it instantly. Rick wondered how many of those she'd had tonight. He let her continue, slow as she was talking. "I'm Kate."

"I'm Rick," he replied.

"Do you wanna...do you wanna dance?" she asked, slurring the words. He doubted she would be able to stand and dance long enough to actually dance, but he consented out of curiosity. As a writer, he encountered some interesting, and he also wanted their story. How did they get here? What had led them to this? He wondered what had happened to Kate.

"So Rick, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a writer," he smiled at her as she pulled him onto the dance floor. She put her arms around his neck and grinned back.

"That's awesome," she told him. "You any good?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Hmm."

"So what do you do?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I was going to be a lawyer, but that's not going to happen now, I'm switching. I'm gonna be a cop."

"Why is that?"

"Because the cops in this damn city are incompetent," she snapped. Then she smiled again. "Can we change the subject here? I came here to forget my problems, not discuss them. You're a writer, not a therapist."

She continued to dance, but the song changed, a slow song. She made a face and tried to pull him by the hand. "Com on, I want a drink."

He caught her wrist, holding her there. "I really don't think that's a good idea. Stay here, I like this song." He caught her gaze. "Please?"

She bit her lip, pouting. "Fine. But I want a drink after."

Rick rested his hands on her waist, relieved. With any luck she'd like the next song and wouldn't want to go do some more shots. She let her head rest on his shoulder.

"So what's your last name?" Rick asked.

"You sure ask a lot of questions," she slurred. "Just dance."

Did swaying really count as dancing? Rick was pretty sure this didn't count.

Kate whispered against his skin, into his ear. "Please, can we go sit down?"

The haunting in her eyes had moved to her voice, and he shivered. "Of course," he replied. He led her to an empty booth. She leaned on him the whole time, and when they sat down she immediately began to cry against him. He put an arm around her and let her cry, meanwhile wondering what she'd been through.

"Sorry," she mumbled, sniffling.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, wiping her smeared mascara off her eyes. "I'm here for whatever lonely girl needs a shoulder to cry on." He looked at her for one long moment. "But I'm pretty sure that's not actually why you're here. Just don't think about whatever it is. I don't need to know, I don't want to know."

This was completely a lie, but she didn't need to know that. She smiled. "I'll think about you then." She leaned against him and kissed him. He returned the kiss for a moment before pulling away.

"What's wrong?" she asked, pressing her lips to his jaw.

"I don't know what's up, but you'll regret this tomorrow, trust me. I've been there, every other night. And whatever you're going through, I'm not the answer."

She stared at him. "Then why do I feel like the world's starting to feel right when I look in your eyes?"

Rick had to physically prevent himself from raising an eyebrow, that line was so cliche. But watching her, it might've been the alcohol, but she genuinely meant it.

And he knew what she meant. He'd met her five minutes ago, and he felt like he needed to protect her.

"Look, I'm not a replacement for whatever jerk boyfriend dumped you—"

She glared at him coldly. "That's not what this is about."

"Come on, I'm sure—"

This time she slapped him. "This is not about a boyfriend."

"Fine, it's not about a boyfriend." He rubbed his cheek but forgave her; she didn't know what she was doing anyway. He realized he had to get her home, but the only way to convince her to leave was by lying. He switched his tone, but she didn't notice. "Hey, wanna go back to my place? Oh, wait, nah, my place is trashed. Couple of my buddies are staying there, they threw some crazy party last night."

"You could come to my place," she grinned.

"Sure, of course," he replied. She gave him the address and he called a taxi before helping her in. She stared out the window while he leaned in the passenger side to talk to the driver. "Hi," he muttered. "Can you drive around for a while, wait until she falls asleep? I will pay you double whatever it costs."

"Sure thing. Get in."

Rick slid inside, and she leaned in to his side again. "Rick," she breathed, "thank you. You're amazing."

And just like that she was asleep on his arm.

"That took a lot shorter than I thought it would," the driver commented.

"Shh," Rick hissed, pushing Kate's hair behind her ear with his other hand and cradling her face. He had nothing to worry about though; she was completely out.

"Can you just take us straight home, then?"

The cabbie nodded and pulled up to the front of her building. "Here you are."

"Thanks. Here, keep the change." Rick handed him a roll of twenties. The man's eyes widened.

"Thanks," he said. "Have a nice night."

But Rick wasn't listening; he'd already scooped her up and walked towards the door. The doorman let them in, watching curiously, but didn't comment until they'd almost reached the elevator. "Hey, aren't you—"

"Yes I am," he called back, hitting the up button. He found a key in Kate's pocket, giving him the room number, and let them into her apartment. Rather than searching for her room he set her on the couch gently. He found a blanket in the armchair and laid it over her sleeping form and pushed her hair away from her face again.

"I'm sure if this were any other situation, it would be different. Maybe it was real, but you seem too fragile right now to take chances with. Maybe I'll never see you again, and you won't remember me, but I'll remember you. And maybe you'll remember this speech, but I don't really know how, because I'm not really a psychologist or neurosurgeon or anything. But you're going to be a great cop. And I hope, if we ever meet again, you're stronger than you are now. Actually, I'm sure you will be. You owe it to yourself to not let this destroy you." He paused and leaned back on his heels. "Anyways, I don't know your full name, but I'm Richard Castle. Well, actually, I'm Richard Rodgers."

He stood and left, closing the door and hearing it look behind him as he walked away back to the bar, if only to ponder on this and hope that he would remember it in the morning.

The next morning Kate woke up as soon as the sun hit her eyes through the window, wondering how she'd gotten home alone. Her head throbbed, making it difficult to think, so she finally shrugged the whole thing off and took an aspirin, then left to get a coffee and a bear claw. As she approached the coffee shop, she passed a bookstore, glancing inside absently. She frowned and stopped walking, staring at the bestselling newly released murder mystery, A Rose For Everafter, by Richard Castle. Why was that name so familiar?

She went inside to buy it, shrugging again. She needed a new book anyway.

The next day, she picked up the first Derrick Storm novel. A week later, she was hooked.

Kate stood in line on a Saturday in jeans and sneakers, clutching her copy of Storm's Last Stand. It had been almost an hour and the rain pounding on the windows was becoming tedious. Even her soaked ponytail and sweatshirt had already dried in the stuffy bookstore.

Finally the line moved faster and she reached the front. "Hi, I just wanted to tell you that your books helped me through a really bad time and I wanted to thank you for that. You probably hear stories like this all the time, but—" she cut herself off, realizing she was rambling, and handed him her book quickly.

"You'd be surprised," he replied, focusing on the signature he was writing. "It's always nice for a writer to hear how he's helped someone through his writing." Finally he looked up and met her gaze, smiling warmly. "Glad to know I've touched someone."

She smiled backs. "Thanks, Mr. Castle."

"My pleasure."

She walked away feeling warm and jittery. It wasn't until she'd reached the door that she'd read through the whole note.

"Glad that you made it through whatever trouble you were having, and happy to know that I was a part of it, Kate. Love, Rick Castle."

For a moment, she smiled, but then it disappeared, to be replaced with a frown. "Wait..." she said out loud, attracting the glances of people passing.

She checked her clothes, books, purse, and even her hands for any identification. There was none. She looked back at the author, who was in the middle of talking to another grinning fan. If she wanted to talk to him again, she'd have to wait for another two hours, and she didn't have that much time. Instead she tucked the book inside her jacket and stepped into the pouring rain, still confused.

She paused and looked back one more time.

"How the heck did he know my name?"

A/N: Hope you liked it! Feedback is always appreciated. :)