AU fic where Castle never managed to get his books published (but still changed his name to Castle) and instead works in his mother's coffee shop, Muse. After marrying and divorcing both Meredith and Gina, leaving him with nothing but Alexis, he moved in with his mother and continued to attempt to start his writing career. Turns out all he really needed was some inspiration from a homicide detective named Kate Beckett. (Set in 2011 – Season 3 so Beckett is still with Josh)


Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Breeze driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good, I'm feeling good


7am on Monday morning Castle waited anxiously for his favourite regular in his mother's coffee shop, Muse. Although he would never admit it, he was head over heels in love with her, his heart fluttered as she spoke her order to him as he stared into the depths of her deep hazel eyes. Castle had memorized her order for about 8 years now: grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar free vanilla. Ever since she had showed up that first day with her police uniform on he had fallen for her... And she probably didn't care he existed.

Sure she knew his name, he wore a name tag for god's sake, but to her he was probably just "that guy" who serves her coffee, a friendly face that she sees every morning. Nothing more.

He still remembers after about two weeks of her walking into Muse, when this woman was just a face without a name; she had asked what his surname was. He was confused at first until she explained that it was a "cop thing". Then he understood. She wanted to call him by his surname.

"Castle," he said with pride in his voice, "My name is Richard Castle".

"Kate Beckett," she smiled passing her coffee cup to her left hand as she shook his hand with her right. "I just figured if I was going to see you every morning I should at least know your name and you should know mine".

Castle grinned, "Yeah, sure, of course," but his eyes were still glued to hers, the attraction between them like magnets. He just hoped she could feel it too.

"Anyway," she broke eye contact, "I'll see you tomorrow, Castle?" she asked with hope in her voice, tasting his name on her tongue for the first time.

"Until tomorrow Miss Beckett," he spoke quietly mesmerized by her, his eyes still fused to her, watching as she left his mother's store.

Ever since that day Castle was there every morning at 7am waiting for Kate Beckett. Whether it was weekday or weekend he was there, and he wouldn't allow anyone to take that early morning shift from him. He had watched Beckett (and her hair) grow from a lowly uniform all the way up to becoming a detective, and he had even served her coffee on the house for a week when she broke the news. He had seen her through good times and rough times, but somehow still managed to make her smile whenever he saw her.

But the days when Beckett didn't come in that was when Castle worried. She had a dangerous job, what if she had been shot or killed? Would anyone even come to tell him what had happened? The smile she gave as he passed her coffee over the counter brightened his day, his life. He didn't want to think of a day where he wouldn't see that smile anymore, never. But she always came back.

Yet he was just her barista. Why would she care about him?

Kate Beckett had also met his entire family: his mother, even Alexis when she helped out sometimes before school. To Castle, Beckett was part of his family. More than once she had even taken home one of his manuscripts to read and she loved them. Of course she critiqued him in some parts of his writing, this was Beckett after all. The detective spoke about how they helped her. In which way exactly he didn't know, but if Castle knew that he helped her even the smallest bit then he could die a happy man.

However, what he hadn't told her was that he was thinking about writing a series of novels about her... In actual fact, he had already written three. The only people that had read these three books though were his mother and Alexis, as they read all his unpublished fiction and helped him to improve his writing. Both red heads had questioned whether the detective in the story was based on Detective Beckett - Nikki Heat, he had called her. Castle was pretty sure that if Beckett ever found out she would either, one, think it was really adorable and love him forever, two, hate him for turning her into a fictional character but eventually forgive him after he promises to never send it to a publisher, or three (his least favourite option), not feel the same way about him, never come into his mother's coffee shop ever again and hate him forever. Yeah, he was definitely screwed.

But, according to Martha and Alexis, these novels were the best he had ever written, better than any of his previous Derrick Storm books and were very likely to get published. They were all inspired from stories that Kate had told him from the precinct. She was the most stunning woman he had ever met: sweet, savvy, sexy, smart. She was his everything.

The bell from the door of the store pulled him out of his daydream. As he looked up, a colossal grin took hold of Castle's face. It was her.

"Morning, Beckett," he had started calling her Beckett after he noticed she would never call him Rick. "The regular?" the barista asked.

"Yes please," she smiled back at him.

"Coming right up," he said turning his back to her and pulling all sorts of leavers and buttons to make Kate her coffee. "Haven't seen you for a few days. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah Castle. Don't worry about me. I've just been busy with a case I've been working on," she was touched by his concern and gave Martha a small wave as she saw the woman behind the double doors behind Castle sorting out their new delivery of coffee beans.

"Good," he turned round back to face her, fumbling around looking for a lid to put on her coffee cup. "I was worried you had left me for Patterson's shop across the street," he teased, still searching for a lid.

Beckett lifted up a plastic lid from behind the counter and Castle's face relaxed as he saw what she was holding. She handed it over the counter and he put it on her cup. "Oh Castle," she grinned, "Do you really not know by now that I'm a one barista girl?" He shrugged. "Anyway," she continued, "I was wondering whether you had anymore manuscripts for me to read."

"Oh, so that's why your here? Not for my wonderful coffee making talents? Detective Beckett, you wound me." They had been friends for long enough to know that he was kidding.

"Come on, Castle, I'm serious. You haven't given me anything new to read for ages. You know I don't like the published stuff as much as yours."

"Detective Beckett, was that a compliment? Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"Castle, stop avoiding the question with sarcasm, do you have something new for me or not?"

He swallowed, "Okay, no, I'm sorry. I don't." the barista murmured slowly trying to ignore the sadness lingering on the detective's face.

"Why not?" she demanded and Castle opened his mouth to reply but she spoke before he could get a word out. "Castle, you have a wonderful talent. I don't care that you might never get published; it shouldn't stop you from doing what you love. Will you at least think about trying it again? You never know, this next one might be a hit." Wow. He never realized how much his books meant to her until now. Did she really love his books that much?

"I knew you only came here for my books," he mumbled, teasing her again.

"Well there's that. And the fact that you do make the best coffee in New York," she grinned and Castle smiled back.

The detective looked down at her watch, 7:15am. She knew she had to leave soon or she would be late for work. "Look Castle, I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Until tomorrow, Detective," he sighed as he watched Beckett stride away and open the door, but suddenly she stopped, "Oh, and Castle?" His eyes flicked up from wiping down the counter. "I expect you to start writing again or I'll start going to Patterson's until you do," she threatened.

"Yes ma'am!" he saluted her, "Scout's honour."

"You were never a scout," she scowled.

"Fine," he gleamed. "But I was serious about the whole writing thing".

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good day, Castle."

"You too" he was about to say but she had already gone.

"So," his mother pulled him out of his thoughts, entering into the room with a dramatic flair, "When are you going to tell her the truth?"

"The truth? The truth about what, mother?" he replied.

"Oh please Richard, I can hear everything through those double doors. Why didn't you just tell her you were still writing?"

"Because, mother, she'll hate me! She'll never want to come into Muse again if she finds out I wrote three novels about her that practically scream "I love you"."

"But you do love her, don't you?"

Castle sighed. Yes, yes he really did. He loved her to the moon and back, more than Romeo could have possibly ever loved Juliet, but that's exactly why he couldn't tell her. He didn't want to scare her away. The barista was worried that he couldn't even survive a week without seeing her smile, the way her dark down hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves as sensational as the sea, her eyes rich, as strong as a lioness. No, he couldn't be without her.

"Look Richard, you don't need to tell her that Nikki Heat is based on her and that you're Jameson Rook. She may not even notice."

"Mother, she's a detective. Of course she'll notice. And besides, I'm sure she doesn't feel the same way. I'm just a barista; she's the best cop in New York City. She probably has a boyfriend and a line of men dying to be with her. She'd never go out with a guy like me."

"Darling, don't be so hard on yourself. She's been through those doors over there almost every day for the past 8 years; I think there's more to that gal than meets the eye Richard." Castle sat down on the stool behind the counter.

"You know, maybe your right. Maybe I should just give her one of the manuscripts, tell her I wrote this a few weeks ago and that I was worried about what people would think about it, that I wasn't sure if I liked the storyline. She'd understand, right?"

"With the way that gal looks at you of course she will," and with that the bell to the shop rang again with a new customer arriving. "You go serve that gentleman, Richard; I've got some coffee beans to sort out". As his mother walked away he was sure that he heard her mumble "I wish you would just kiss that girl while you're both still young", but he ignored it and went back to doing what he did best: serving coffee.