The heels of her slick leather ankle boots hit the wet, dark asphalt with a sharp clap as she hastens her pace, swearing under her breath as the rain strikes her umbrella with renewed fervor. Her hold hardens around the cold, metallic shaft as a particularly strong gust of wind almost snatches it away from her. Her hand is red with the effort of fighting against the feisty wind and the already bitter cold, her feet drenched to the bones despite the makeshift shelter above her head that's not too useful anymore. The sky above is heavily charged, splitting apart with a deafening bang that cuts through her, the exposed skin at her neck shivering. The determined lines on her face never drop, her legs speeding up with purpose.

She's cold, drenched and exhausted, the week worth of exhausting training catching up on her and making it hard to fight the capricious weather all day. But Kate Beckett does not give up, not in the face of injustice and crime, nor under the wrath of erratic weather. Generally, one is more likely to spend a rainy, cold day off work at home with a hot beverage and a good book or a movie, preferably wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Especially, when the week has been rough and gruelling , leaving your limbs sore from the brutal drills, and your mind bruised from hard discipline, and self-doubt. She's got only two days to herself before she has to go back, and so far, she's spent one in the rain, running doggedly from one bookstore to the other. Her comrades would probably think that she's crazy, misinterpreting obstinacy for madness.

She needs to find it - the book. She'd learnt earlier this week, quite by chance, that the limited-edition copy of her favorite author's brand new novel and series was to be released in the upcoming days. Kate Beckett was surely not one to let out a girly shriek in excitement, but she won't hide that she actually grinned wide enough that she'd had to bury her face in her pillow so as to avoid getting teased. That had been before finding out that barely three days later, most copies were sold out. This is why she decided to spend her weekend looking for one, even if it meant running through the rain in New York City for two days straight. It's not like she's got anything to do or anyone to see, anyway. By the time she finds a small, but cozy looking bookstore she's never been to before, the rain has subsided to a faint drizzle, the sky clearing up and letting through thin sun rays that draw tiny rainbows here and there.

She folds her wrecked umbrella, shaking it away from herself in a fruitless attempt to get most of the water off it, and pushes a wet strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes narrow as she brings her face closer to the glass door - can't tell whether the small bookshop is open or not. It looks lit, but barely. With a shrug, she wraps her hand around the cold handle and pushes forward, smiles as the door cedes and triggers a cheery chime.

Kate sets down the umbrella on the floor, just by the door, and lets her eyes adjust to the dim light as they travel the empty, small room. Unzipping her raincoat, she walks around the narrow aisles, follows the vivid creeper that runs and snakes around the shelves, between the books. She likes it. Loves how the singular touch of vegetation and the smell of old books mix together, calls to her most well-hidden senses. She runs her fingers along the dusty, dark wood as her eyes eagerly search for the mystery section. When she comes face to face with it, she can only tell how small and limited it is. Her heart sinks, brows knitting together, because she knows there is little chance she'll find it here. Her fingers curl around the shelf as her eyes scan the book spines over and over again, shoulders sagging.

She must look stupid, staring at the book spines as if the book would appear by magic. Thing is, she really wanted - needed that book, had thought about it all week, only to face disappointment and it's not fair. She's working hard to graduate in a few more months, pours everything she can into it, and rarely ever finds a way to relax or just enjoy herself for a moment. Do anything else other than train hard.

With a sigh, she walks away, back to the central room where an oval-shaped table sits, topped by a pyramid of books she didn't think were necessary to look at, but maybe…

When she reaches the room from the back, a man is standing by said table with a book in his hands and oh, that's 'Gathering Storm', her book. She's looked for it all day, and to hell if she's gonna let some guy take it away from her. Surely not.

Her blood begins to pump through her veins and simmers ridiculously fast, rushes to her cheeks in no time at all as she crosses the room in three long strides, crossing her arms over her chest once she comes to a halt before the oblivious stranger. If he heard her, he doesn't show it. In fact, he seems not to have noticed her at all, he's just... staring at the book.

She clears her throat once, watches his frame shake as he startles and drops the book, the sound loud enough to make him take a step back with a hand covering his heart as if he was about to have an attack.

"Geez, you're scared me," he comments, his wide blue eyes dancing over her face with a hint of surprise.

"Sorry," she says with a brief shrug, stares him down anyway.

Not really.

He succinctly narrows his eyes at her, and when she thinks he may be about to say something, he just lowers himself to the ground where the book fell.

Uh, oh, that's her chance.

She bends her legs and falls on her heels, feigning not to have seen him do the exact same thing when she grabs the book. Except that he's taking the other end, and when she lifts her face, he's watching her with a quirked eyebrow. Is he challenging her? Because, he can't possibly be ready for that. Still, willing to play, she arches an eyebrow of her own and pulls it toward her chest, only to find resistance.

Damn him.

"This is mine." It's sharp, almost a growl that reverberates in her throat, and she doesn't care that it sounds harsh, totally doesn't notice how his pupils dilate at the sound.

He recovers fast, a smirk teasing his lips as he stands, taking her up with him. "Oh really? I believe I've had my eyes, and hands on it first."

Her own fingers curl around the thick spine, eyes narrowing as she pinches her lips together, containing the rumbling fury that's roaming around in her chest. "Maybe. But you.." she pauses, tries to come up with something and goes with the first thing that crosses her mind. "Won't like it."

His grin spreads, eyes sparkling so annoyingly that she can't help but tug on the book once more. "I won't? Why's that?"

"I've..heard that it's bad," she tries, eyes narrowed into thin slits at her own poor choice of words.

Curiously, he shifts his weight, the smirk dropping instantly off his face. Uh.

"You did?" His voice is a tad lower, strained as if concerned. She can tell that it's totally working, can even feel him release his hold on the book.

Her lips quirk up on their own even as the smell of victory tickles her nose, but she schools her features fast enough, strives to sound convincing. "Oh yeah, really, you shouldn't waste your time."

His gaze hardens into something so cold that the blue hue seems to freeze, drawing an involuntary frown from her. "I see. Why do you want it so much, then?"

Right. Why, uh?

She shrugs. "Just wanted to see for myself, you know, how bad it actually was."

It's a terrible argument, and it would totally not work on her, but he does seem on edge already, and if all he needs is a little push, then..

At that moment, his face closes completely, the light gone from his eyes and the lines of his face rigid. That's weird, and isn't what she was going for exactly, but..

He tugs so sharply and suddenly on the book that her fingers slip, a protest blooming on the tip of her tongue. "This book isn't for sale, sorry," he prompts flatly, laying it back on a display stand, "At least, you won't waste your time. Good evening," he says at last before turning his back to her and walking over a small desk by the entry - leaving her standing there, blinking and confused.

Shit, that backfired seriously fast, even for her.

Something doesn't feel right, though, the way this guy changed his whole demeanor so fast doesn't make sense, at least she thinks so, and she absolutely didn't mean to offend him.

Just..intimidate him a little, at worst.

She gives the book a last look before heading to the door, grabs her umbrella. "Hey," she calls before making her exit. He raises his head with an inquiring eyebrow, doesn't seem as angry - but rather..defeated. "I'm sorry if I've offended you in any way, I didn't mean to be rude. I didn't know you owned the place."

He shrugs at her with a small smile that doesn't quite feel genuine, "It's fine, but you should go before it gets bad out there."

She follows his lead and directs her gaze to the persisting rain and darkening sky. He may be right. But, first. She strides to his desk, lays a makeshift card with her phone number on the dark wood. "Here. Please, call me if you've got any more coming in?"

He eyes the flimsy piece of paper skeptically, and then her. "Will do, and you are?"

"Kate Beckett."

He nods quietly, wordlessly, but has the modesty to give her another polite smile before returning his eyes to his laptop. She sighs, taking an extra minute to give him a once-over, and although he does seem quite broody, she now notices how broad his shoulders are, how thick his arms under the thin sweater, how his eyes that had sparkled with pure mischief, are now casted by a dull shadow.

And she did this.

She turns her back before he can catch her looking, but even as she takes a step outside, she can already tell that he won't call.

Perhaps, she'll come by next week, find a way to apologize.


The moment the door closes behind her, Richard Rodgers Castle lets his face drop into his hands with a growl. The day had started off so well, bouncing on his bed with his already so grown up daughter, chest bubbling with joy. He'd drop her off at school, before coming here and had spent quite an uneventful day. He'd written a little, watered the plants, had rearranged a few shelves, and had just been quietly thinking back on the last few crazy days when she had shown up.

He hadn't heard her, or the chime that he's gotten so used to that he barely hears it now. She'd freaked the shit out of him out of nowhere, and nothing that happened next makes sense to him. She'd mistaken him for a client, which does happen a lot, and clearly thought he was about to get the book.

That's mine.

He'd been surprised to say the least, at the steel in her voice. It hadn't been exactly rude or impolite - but protective, defensive even. Fierce in a way that had made his heart throb, because that's his book. Writing anonymously is a choice he made, and while it has its benefits, he doesn't really get to know what people think. How they feel about his novels. How they experience them.

He'd wanted to play, see how far he could go, how far she would go.

She'd looked at him with flames dancing in her eyes, wet strands of hair framing her face in an interesting contradiction. It'd made his fingers tingle.

She'd looked like she'd lived a thousand lives, but she's young. He could tell by the naked, unguarded defiance in her eyes, the incredibly smooth skin, but not only. She'd been brave and eager, had stood tall and strong - all too happy to take a challenge.

She's beautiful, too, even drenched and shooting daggers at him through her striking green eyes.

But she's unknowingly wrecked his heart - left him with a raw gaping wound right after making his chest bubble with hope. He'd thought she was genuinely interested, had never expected...that. He doesn't read the reviews, his mother does - at his great dismay. He doesn't need to know, he writes what he's passionate about, that's what matters most to him.

Still, it hurts. He's started a new series he's excited about, has done a tremendous amount of research on, and has enjoyed writing it from beginning to end - he'd had great hopes for it. And he thought they'd been met, the book had sold crazy fast, everywhere.

So, why..?

He finds that the why doesn't matter much. He's bruised, feels like a tornado shattered the place.

I've heard that it's bad

What he doesn't get is why her opinion matters so much. He knows what failure feels like, has learnt from it. Perhaps she's just awaken in him insecurities and fears that's been there ever since he started being published.

Growling, he pushes himself off his seat. Shuts the laptop down, and gives a sharp whistle. No need to dwell on that, he's got a daughter to get home to, who he knows will make today feel like a mere distant memory.

He hears the distinct clicking sound of nails on wood, sees the golden dog walk sluggishly and sit obediently on his haunches before him, his tongue peeking out to lick his chops. The quiet beast looks up at him with glassy eyes, his dark nostrils dilating as he smells the air and gives a defeated sigh.

"Yeah, you're right."

Castle pats the dog's head. "Let's go home, Buddy."

The dog gives him a low woof in response, nudges his hand as his eyes gain some more light.

Castle glances at the card she left on his desk, eyeing the harmonious curves of her handwriting and shakes his head.

No one needs to read a bad book.

Thoughts?

New story for Alex's #BookstoreAU ! Fair warning - it's a romance, and that's pretty much *all* it is. Should be in between 5 and 6 chapters.
As always, I'm not telling you what the prompt is, you'll understand as the story goes :). x

It is an AU, so some details will be close to canon, some not.

N/A : Fausse impression : False impression.