One Writer Girl

Beckett let loose a frustrated sigh through tightly clenched teeth and flung the book – gently, she wasn't a monster, it was a book – to the floor. She slipped further into her warm bath and stared unblinkingly at a crack splaying her ceiling. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told Castle she was a one writer girl. It was maddening at times. She'd been trying to read the perfectly respectable crime novel fresh off the press, but her attention was elsewhere. She knew exactly where it was focussed – Castle. Not the man himself – although, he often ran havoc in her thoughts – but his words, the books that had brought them together. The ongoing saga of Nikki, Rook and justice was consuming her thoughts. She needed more. She needed to know what happened next. No other story would satisfy her hunger.

Her frustration only increased with the knowledge that she had literally just finished the most recent Richard Castle novel. She would have to wait months, verging on years for the next instalment. She was one of the lucky few permitted an advanced copy but it still wasn't quick enough. As far as she knew Castle had only begun to craft the next conspiracy or mystery that Nikki and Rook would find themselves ravelled in. He had only started to outline the development that Nikki and Rook's romance would progress throughout its pages. The title would be far from constructed, the cover design even further so.

It was infuriating. She needed answers. She needed them now. She couldn't get lost in another book when she was so consumed in world Castle had infused so innately into her psyche. Being a one writer girl certainly had its drawbacks.

Her professed memory reminded her of one thing – she had a unique access to that writer, that certainly had to be considered a perk…

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Castle threw a casual glance over to his phone as it shrilled. Beckett. He lost all pretence of nonchalant and dived for the object, cursing as he knocked it further from his reach in his haste to answer.

"Castle," he managed to choke out quite smoothly, given the manner in which he'd winded himself on the edge of his desk struggling to get on a grip on dammed slippery, shiny phone. Alexis shot him a judgemental look, laced with affection and he attempted to get a handle on his perturbation. In a highly mature move he stuck his tongue out at his daughter. The girl rolled her eyes with a grin. It was the little moments in their relationship that stunned him into awed pride of the woman she'd become, his little girl.

"You're not in the middle of anything are you?" the frustrated edge to Beckett's voice drew Castle's attention fully to the woman at the other end of the line.

"Oh no. Alexis is just expressing her admiration of my phone answering skills. I'm like a ninja, Beckett. It's amazing, I tell you," he chuckled brightly.

"I'm sure," Beckett responded dryly.

"What are you up to?" Castle pressed gently, anxious to know the reason Beckett had called without stating a body drop as a means of greeting.

"Nothing, just reading," she sighed. Castle didn't miss the annoyance colouring her tone – he did, however, somewhat pointedly ignore it.

"What a coincidence, I'm writing," he responded enthusiastically. Beckett groaned. Not exactly the response he'd planned on eliciting with that statement. He knew she liked his books. It was actually a little disconcerting that she seemed that disappointed to hear he was writing. He had kind of hoped she'd been excited and he could tease her with plot ideas. "A little insulated here, Beckett," he grumbled, keeping a lightness to his tone that he hoped would assure her he wasn't genuinely hurt – yet. That only served to pull another sigh from her lips.

"You're killing me, Castle," she admitted quietly, her words barely more than a whisper. If Castle wasn't so attuned to the very tenor of her tone, he was sure he may have missed it.

"I'm sorry?" he murmured, completely lost as to meaning behind her words. He wondered if it would be appropriate for him to tell her that she was killing him too, having her and all her beautiful glory in his life everyday without being able to touch her – kiss her, hold her, tell her that he loved her. Yes. That was definitely killing him too. He couldn't discern if that was where her admission was headed though, so he refrained, waiting on her to expand on her weighted statement.

"I just – oh, don't worry about it…" she trailed away, every word laced with latent hesitation.

"I do worry about it, I mean, I will worry about it if you don't tell me," Castle asserted hastily. Alexis threw him a puzzled look, clearly hearing his side of the conversation. He shook his head at her and she smiled sweetly. She rose, gesturing to the empty tea cup clasped in her hand, he shook his head once again and she ambled from the room. He heard the kettle burst to life moments later, the shrill noise a stark contrast to the silence spilling from the line. "Beckett," he placated gently.

"Could you tell me a story?" she blurted out suddenly, her mind's filter falling short.

"Any story?" he tried to school his tone, the surprise still dwelling feverishly close to the surface.

"Umm, Nikki and Rook?" he didn't need to see her to know that her teeth were clamped firmly on her bottom lip as she spoke. He wisely bit back the laughter rising in his throat. She was such a closet fan girl. It was endearingly sweet – and, also insanely hot. It pulled fantasies to the forefront of his mind – them, in their bed carefully crafting the more intimate scenes from his books. He was unequivocally sure that the practical construction of his novels could only add to his writing prowess. Maybe if it he argued that it was imperative to his career she might be swayed… Probably best not to ask right at this moment. He cleared his throat –

"I don't have much written, just the first couple of chapters. I could email them to you?" he rambled, nonchalance apparently a thing of the past. He used to be smooth. Beckett had ruined him.

"Can you read them to me?" she groaned. "Agh," she gulped. "You could just email them to me. That's cool, too," apparently Beckett wasn't so smooth herself these days.

"I can read them," Castle declared hastily. "Over the phone?" he hedged after mulling it over for a second.

"Yeah. Or… You could come over," Beckett added, a detached air to her voice betraying none of the apprehension her invitation initiated in her own traitorous body.

"Yeah," Castle agreed softly. "Yeah," he affirmed more seriously. "See you soon." He disconnected the call, excitement and so much more coiled tightly within his stomach. Snatching his laptop from the socket, he threw a hasty farewell to Alexis before sprinting to the elevator.

Beckett set down the phone with a muted sigh, her body humming in anticipation. She pulled the plug from the bathtub, drying off and pulling on some comfy sweats. She planted herself on the couch, the ends of her hair still dripping. What was it she'd been thinking about being a one writer girl? The perks definitely outweighed the pitfalls.

AN: Apparently I like to unwind from writing essays by writing some more… Whatever.

Your opinions mean the world to me – please review!

Oh, because I'm all for excessive sharing, this story was inspired by my current frustration – I read the most recent Kathy Reich's novel and I need the next one, now! Seriously, this on-again, off-again relationship is doing my head in!

Also, I can't decide if this will be a one shot or not? Help? Indecision rules me…

(Apologies for the repost, apparently FF net ate this story…)