A/N: Thanks again to all of you readers, especially those who have offered helpful comments. I am revamping this narrative in response to those inputs; AND some ongoing training I'm receiving, and in preparation for an upcoming post of a whole new AU version of the Castle-Beckett story. But for now, I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. This is a novel based mostly on canon, and we start with season 2, episode 24: "A Deadly Game" with flashback to the pilot.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise.

1

Richard Edgar Castle was sitting at his desk in the office area of his loft apartment located on the upper east side of Manhattan, one of the principal boroughs that make up New York City. At first glance, one could imagine this ruggedly handsome bachelor, in his mid-thirties, as a serious executive married to his work and with little time for anything more; but the décor of his office indicated something else entirely. He looked at the collection of items on the book shelves for about the fifteenth time that morning while spinning around in his chair to take in the rest of the office space. The wall behind the chair was occupied by a large photo print hung safely above the interference of the chair back and his head. The print featured a stairwell with the point of view from the top level and the flights of stairs descending in deep relief in much the style of M. C. Escher. It was actually entitled: 'Lucee Charlemagne Staircase, Down View', and the perspective reminded Castle of the many levels in which real life could unfold. It was his goal, as a now well-established fiction writer, to write his novels with as many twists as those stairs, but for the last few weeks, he felt like he was personally travelling those stairs as well.

His apartment housed other occupants; and the roommates represented a rather unusual combination to be living with an independently wealthy, eligible bachelor often featured on the gossip page six of one of the local papers. Two women were involved – his mother, Martha, and his daughter, Alexis, both of whom he loved dearly, yet on the other hand, both were constant reminders of some past failures. The two were busy with their own affairs of the morning upstairs, while Castle remained downstairs trying to avoid a phone call from one person but hoping to receive one from another. He was trying to write but could not, seeing that his mood was not right, because his current social life was not right either. He continued to gaze about his office hoping to find something that would provide a snippet of inspiration, if not motivation, to take his worried mind off the personal issues and put some ink on the page for his current work in progress.

At the moment he was bored to death with the current work in progress which was a sad indicator because things had started out so well on his new series of books. Rather than using the laptop to get any writing done he had it open to a streaming video program featuring a very old TV episode of some private eye running down a caper; assisted by one of the women in his life. Castle himself did not know why he was watching and old episode of film noir but when he could not write, any and all forms of procrastination were fair game. He wasn't sure if this particular form of procrastination served to give him a hint as to his next move; or if he could glean anything useful from the style the writer or writers had employed in that screen play. He heard the muffled sounds of a brief commotion going on upstairs, but it was not of an intensity to warrant his interaction, so he ignored it and shifted his focus back to the video. The private eye's partner was a good looker. In that genre, all female partners were beautiful women. Therein lay the crux of his problems – the women in his life.

He thought back to the times with his first wife Meredith, Alexis' natural mother. Seventeen and some years had gone by since the brief union of two creative, artsy people with wild dreams and ambitions. Meredith had pursued performing arts. Richard was no stranger to that; his own mother had done the same. But Meredith had proven to be one of the most superficial, live-for-the moment persons on the planet; even more so than Richard himself, if such a thing were possible. The shear frivolity of it all had brought it to an end leaving Richard with a budding writing career and a young toddler to look after. Meredith had moved to Los Angeles to pursue her acting. According to her, LA provided much better opportunities than NYC. That was the story for the general public; however, there was another layer that Richard seldom talked about. Richard had once said that, if his first marriage were to be categorized, one might file it under 'Betrayal, Lies, and Deceit'. In the past Meredith had been known to fly back to NYC unexpectedly to see Alexis, but for now the three-thousand-mile gap between them seemed to be a safe enough distance.

Then there was his second ex-wife Gina Cowell, who was by no means a safe enough distance away. Richard had made the mistake of marrying one of the employees in the corporate offices of his publishing house, which was just across town in Manhattan. That marriage also had come to its final conclusion almost three years ago, but he was still paying for it in every sense of the word. He had paid for it while married also. Gina required high maintenance; and when she felt such attention was inadequate, she would go on mega-shopping sprees just to generate his attention. He was glad she was out of the loft; he only wished she was completely out of his life, but unfortunately for him, a phone call or a taxi ride was all it took to insert Gina back into his affairs; nevertheless, she was still the face of his publisher and still kept close tabs on him. Way too close for comfort was Castle's opinion on the matter given that she had been bothering him all week regarding the progress of his latest manuscript. She kept reminding him that the writing business was just that – a business, which had deadlines. Did all writers have trouble with deadlines or was it just her ex-husband, she had wanted to know. She accused him of stonewalling her just for spite. The sad truth was that he simply didn't have anything ready.

Basically, the second half of the manuscript was still missing. It had only been a scant year and eight months since he been in that situation previously. Gina had been hounding him mercilessly on that occasion also. It had been around mid-September on the evening of his book launch party for the final installment of the Derrick Storm series. The book entitled Storm Fall had gone to press. Richard Castle let his daydream continue by recalling some of the more memorable events that had unfolded. A moment later the mental scene promptly vanished as the loud knock on his office door brought him back to his troubled present. In her normal style, his mother barged right into the office without so much as one second's pause after the knock on the door.

"Well I see you're working rather early this morning . . . and on a weekend no less," she said in a joyful mood.

The dialog from the streaming video episode was still going in the background. Just as he was about to reply, the portable phone on the credenza rang for the second time that morning. Richard made no motion to answer it.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

Castle remained seated with his arms folded across his chest. "No . . .," he replied in matter-of-fact tone, ". . . and neither are you."

He issued the commanded as she headed across the room for the phone. She stopped and looked at him.

"Who are you hiding from?" she asked in a somewhat musical manner, as she frequently did.

"It's Gina," he said with a touch of annoyance in his voice, "I'm hiding from her."

Martha looked at him a little more sternly. "Why? . . . Did you miss an alimony payment?" she asserted.

Richard informed her that Gina was not calling as his ex-wife but as his publisher.

"The first draft of my new manuscript was due yesterday," he sighed, "and I haven't finished," he continued in a hushed tone as he frequently did when he was embarrassed about something he did or rather didn't do.

"Why not?"

"I haven't felt like writing . . . and besides I'm not entirely happy with where my characters are heading," he replied

"Well, change them," was his mother's answer.

"Working on it," he replied, as he mentally grappled with how he could change them both on paper and in real life.

During this little dialog Martha had been holding a shopping bag and two summer hats and was definitely in his office with something on her mind. She was dressed to go out somewhere. Richard began to piece together the possible reason for the commotion going on upstairs he had sensed earlier.

"Don't tell me . . .," he began.

She cut him off, wanting to know which of the spring and summer hats, she had put on display, he thought would make her look her best. He opened his mouth to speak.

"This usually means . . .," he began again.

"Yes, it means I got the part!" she blurted out enthusiastically.

She had just turned sixty in March, but she was still full of energy and the love of live performances.

"Well, I know it's just a twelve-week travelling summer star program, but still . . .," she went on ". . . it means you'll have to endure the summer without me. . . I'll be gone through August."

Richard frowned briefly. "I'm sure I can get along very well without you . . . but I take it this means you're not going to the Hamptons with us for the holiday weekend," he concluded.

"No darling, I won't . . . rehearsals start this evening, and then we'll be shipping out on Thursday evening . . . we open at the Watkins Glen Theater to kick off the summer," she explained joyfully.

As if the energy levels in the room were not high enough already, the moment was augmented by squeals of delight coming from the staircase and through the living room.

"I got in . . . I got in," Alexis exclaimed as she burst through the office doorway.

"Oh good, you got in!" echoed her father, as he wondered into what she had gained entry.

This one got the part; that one got in; and what have I got besides a nagging publisher and an unfinished manuscript he lamented silently.

"To what?" he asked as he looked at her with a smirk.

"The summer program for high school students at Princeton, New Jersey."

"I thought you were wait-listed."

"I was . . . but there was a last-minute cancellation and I got the spot . . . but you have to hurry and fill out the rest of the paperwork because check-in is at 2:00 PM this Friday."

Meanwhile Martha was looking on in amusement. Richard was shocked at the suddenness of the changes. He glanced at the program brochure and the registration forms that Alexis had put on his desk. God, he thought to himself, not caring to voice any of his internal turmoil, now it's happing here at home too . . . I thought things back at the 12th precinct were bad enough. He turned his attention back to the documents in hand.

"Wait a minute young lady," he commanded after he had read the details. "It says here that the rooming accommodations are coed," he stated with a voice of concern.

"Yeah, it's college," Alexis replied, completely unconcerned.

"No, it's a summer program, at a college, for high school students," her father corrected.

Martha mediated the ensuing discussion on the matter forcing Castle to grudgingly relent. He didn't know which one was the worse of the two evils: either his recently turned-sixteen-year-old daughter hanging out in the company of sixteen-year-old boys at a summer program; or his daughter starting driver's education training among the environs of NYC. Both thoughts conjured up scary pictures in his mind, but he was glad the subject of driver's education hadn't come up yet. His mind snapped back to the upcoming weekend.

"This means you won't be coming to the Hamptons!" he exclaimed with dismay.

She nodded a 'No', her facial expression showing she was truly torn between the decisions she had to make.

"I even got the illegal fireworks . . . you know the kind you like with the silver starbursts and everything," her father went on.

He continued to relate all the neat things they had historically done on those particular outings.

"I can't believe you'd give up illegal fireworks and a weekend at the Hamptons for a head start on a top-notch education," he concluded.

"Yeah, I know . . . I'm a huge disappointment," she replied good-naturedly.

He gave her a hug.

Since the two of them had garnered his approval and had excused themselves from the trip to the Hamptons, they left him alone in his office and scurried off to start getting their last-minute affairs in order. The video streaming episode had concluded, and the computer sat there waiting for the next user inputs. He was about to reach for the mouse when the office phone rang again for a third time and yet again it was Gina showing on the caller ID and yet again he ignored it. He knew he couldn't hold her off forever. He refreshed the view on his manuscript file still showing that the next chapter he had intended to work on was still a blank page. He was supposed to be through the final chapter of his next book, Naked Heat. The cursor continued blinking patiently in the upper left-hand corner of the screen. There had been phone calls and diversions aplenty over the last week and right up through the morning but the one phone call he really wanted to receive, but had not, was from Detective Kate Beckett of the New York City Police Department – The NYPD for short.

Richard Castle and the NYPD homicide department had forged a working relationship completely by chance on the evening of the Storm Fall book launch. The first face of the NYPD Richard Castle had seen on a professional basis had been the young detective Kate Beckett. It was a moment he would never forget, for it was certainly more noteworthy than a couple of his former, non-professional meetings with the NYPD. Much to Detective Beckett's dismay, the Mayor of NYC, with whom Castle had struck a friendship, liked the outcome of the chance collaboration and had asked the police commissioner to allow Castle to continue consulting for the NYPD's 12th precinct as long as the arrangement produced good results for both the writer and the department; and continued to generate good press for the city's police force. So, for the past year and eight months, Richard Castle had been allowed to tag along with the homicide department to do research and obtain insight for his writing; and to help the department free of charge. Not all on the city payroll considered him to be of help but the problem Castle was facing at the moment was that there had been no calls for the past four days. It was not that criminal activity in the city of New York had somehow been put on hold during that time, just that it meant that there was no new activity generated in the 12th precinct; or at least Beckett's team had not informed him of such. Richard Castle began to worry that Kate might be reaching out in directions that no longer required his help. His participation depended on the approval of both the detective and the captain of the precinct. He turned his attention back to the blank page, struggling to compose an opening sentence for the next chapter. If only he could just get started, perhaps the rest would begin to fall into place. Gina Cowell and Kate Beckett . . . he let his mind wander back to that fateful evening.

His ex-wife, Gina, had arranged and hosted the book launch party, which she really enjoyed planning for and being a prominent part of during the event. Richard Castle had experienced more than a few of these parties by that time and knew the drill. He was in rare form that particular evening since he had been free from his marriage with her for about a year. He had been at book signing venues all that afternoon leading up to the evening's formal activities. Book signings drew scores of women between twenty and fifty years of age and their presence put him in his wealthy playboy who can do no wrong mode. While Gina was giving a public introduction, he was on the sidelines still giving autographs and signing books. Some of the women present preferred to have various surfaces of their bodies signed instead. As Gina was reaching the conclusion of her introductory speech she caught him out of the corner of her eye signing the mostly exposed chest of a blonde twenty-something woman prompting her to shoot him a dirty look. He just grinned back at Gina and had mentioned to the recipient of the signature that all she had to do was give him a call when she was ready to wash it off. Then Castle nonchalantly took the stage and gave some details as to how Derrick Storm had been a great adventure for both writer and reader alike.

The audience, as well as those who had managed to read advanced copies of Storm Fall, were amazed that this was the end of Derrick Storm and the series. Both Gina and Richard hoped the readers would enjoy this last book as much as they would enjoy the last slice of a very good dessert. But afterward, Gina was in a bad mood with Richard's antics at the party. She got on him about why he had chosen to have Derrick Storm just killed off by a shot to the head, with no chance of being able to bring him back for another run. Castle had countered that she was just worried that the goose, which had laid the golden eggs, was now dead but he assured her there was more good stuff to come. That wasn't what Gina had found out. As far as she was concerned this particular author was suffering from a severe case of writer's block. She had even threatened to have the publishing house take back the advance they had given him for his next series. Castle had retorted that he had already given the advance back – in the process of divorcing her. The little spat had caused Richard Castle to revert back to a more sober state and a somber mood.

He had retired to the quieter fringes of the party venue near one of the bars in the back. Alexis was sitting at the bar trying to do her homework accompanied by Martha. When Richard approached the two he overheard their conversation about having a test the next week. Alexis had one in algebra whereas Martha was referring to one involving liver function. Obviously there had been a difference of opinion as to how much study would be involved on each one's part. Parties were held to have fun and Alexis didn't appear to be having any. Castle found it amusing and brightened a little bit, and he brightened still further when his mother spotted a good-looking man in her age group across the room. She left with the threat 'Look out mama's going fishing . . .' Richard was still somewhat upset that his mother's loose lips had let on to Gina at some point that he was having trouble writing. The problem was simple enough. It had all become routine and predictable. The characters in the Derrick Storm series were becoming predictable. The book tours were very predictable, consisting of endless meetings with fans and countless signatures and dedications had to be written in the copies of his work. And then there were the women since many of them knew he was an eligible bachelor and made all kinds of advances and remarks. Signing body surfaces was nothing and he well knew from experience, just by the asking, additional surfaces could easily be made available. Things could go in any direction he wanted them from there. A man who could have what he wanted got it; along with a high dose of frustration due the sameness of it all.

Meanwhile the NYPD had some frustrations of its own. Castle would soon come to know that it had something to do with him. About two weeks before the book party, a businessman named Marvin Fisk had been done away with in his own office having been strangled with his own necktie. The murderer left no finger prints but did leave the scene like one depicted in one of Castle's earlier books entitled Hell Hath No Fury. There had been little else to go on. Kate Beckett and her homicide team took note of the details but dismissed the episode as more coincidental rather than a copy-cat murder. But a day before the book party a second murder of unusual character occurred. The 12th precinct's homicide team had jurisdiction over that one also and this time the scene was no coincidence. A young woman, Alison Tisdale, had been murdered in her own apartment where she had been found with two small caliber gun shots to the chest; had been stripped naked; laid out face up on the coffee table; and had been carefully covered with red rose petals over all of her private parts. Finally, a couple of sunflowers had been used to cover her eyes. Kate Beckett was the first one to put the two scenes together. She had mentally pictured them before; and she knew exactly where the source was to be found. Again, it was Castle's work entitled Flowers for Your Grave. The homicide team was sure they had a copy-cat killer, if not a serial killer, on their hands. Castle had written lots of murder scenes; that meant plenty of material to keep the killer going. He or she had to be stopped quickly. The precinct captain, upon hearing Detective Beckett's analysis, decided it wouldn't hurt to find the author and see if he could lend some insight as to where and how the alleged serial killer might strike next. They had contacted Richard Castle's publisher and learned the location of the book launch party. Since it had been Kate's theory, she had been dispatched to find Richard Castle and bring him back to the precinct to answer a few questions and possibly lend a hand on the cases.

Back at the book launch party Richard was still talking with Alexis after his mother's exit from the bar area.

"Maybe you should have me committed," he remarked in an offhand way.

"For what? . . . Letting her move in? . . . I think it's sweet," she replied thoughtfully.

"It won't be when I strangle her," he growled, passing his daughter a glass of champagne on the sly.

"You know I'm only fourteen going on fifteen, right?" she reminded him.

"Well . . . You're an old soul," he said, trying to convince her to take a sip.

"Yeah, well, me and my soul can wait," she replied in defense.

Her father looked at her quizzically. "When I was your age . . .," he began, "I can't tell that story, it's wildly inappropriate, which oddly, is my point. Don't you want to have wildly inappropriate stories that you can't tell your children?"

Alexis replied that she thought her father had had enough of those for the both of them. Richard continued:

"Life should be an adventure. You want to know why I killed Derrick? There were no more surprises. I knew exactly what was going to happen every moment of every scene. It's just like these parties . . . they've become so predictable. All I ever hear is 'I'm your biggest fan!' or 'Where do you get your ideas?'"

Alexis reminded him of the ever popular: 'Will you sign my chest?'

"Well that one I don't mind so much," replied her father.

"Well for the record, I mind it!" she had informed him.

Castle changed the subject back to the mundane portion of the job.

"Just for once I'd like to have someone come up to me and say something completely new," he lamented.

What he hadn't known at the time was that someone had been on their way to do just that because just a few minutes later, Detective Kate Beckett came up behind him and said

"Richard Castle, I'm Kate Beckett with the NYPD . . . I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Castle was only paying attention to about half of what she had said. He turned around with a sharpie marker in hand and asked:

"Where do you want it?"

All the while assuming she was just another fan finding a way to request an autographed copy of the book. He was momentarily stunned as he took in the sight. The NYPD shield, which she had thrust forward, certainly got his attention. He let his hand drop, still holding the sharpie. Next, he turned his attention to the woman holding the shield. She was a rather tall brunette with chin length hair that curved nicely around her soft facial features. He looked again, she had to be five feet eight inches tall at least, maybe more; and those three-inch spike high heels she was wearing added another two inches he figured. She was young. Castle guessed she was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Her hazel eyes were fixed on him, and behind those eyes, she exuded an intensity of being like nothing he had ever felt. He had grown slightly uncomfortable; even unsure of himself now that one hundred percent of that presence seemed to be focused on him alone. He managed to note that she was also quite beautiful; she certainly stood out from the rest; and Castle had seen a rather large collection of women that very afternoon. Her commanding presence slowed his normally quick wit. While he stood there speechless, his daughter leaned into the scene.

"That was new," she quipped.

Richard Castle had let the quip sink in as Alexis extracted the marker from his hand. In one way it was very new; and yet déjà vu at the same time. What made it déjà vu were the end results of some of those wildly inappropriate antics Castle had pulled some years back. He recalled asking meekly if he were in some kind of trouble. . .

The phone on the credenza interrupted his daydream and pulled him back into the present. Much to his delight, Kate Beckett's caller ID was showing. He picked it up.

"Richard Castle," he answered cheerfully.

Martha, still in the living room, overheard this greeting and poked her head through the office door.

"Remember, you've got a novel to write," she whispered loudly.

Her son looked at her and shrugged, with the phone still placed over his ear. Kate informed him of a murder. She was getting ready to head out to the scene and wanted to know if he was interested in coming along. He noted the rest of the details; hung up the phone; made a few last-minute preparations; and informed his mother and daughter that he was on his way out and would be back later that afternoon. The new development was definitely the kind of procrastination he had been hoping to find.

"Don't forget you have a novel to write." Martha yelled down the stairs as he headed for the door.

On the elevator ride down to the subterranean parking area Castle began to realize his life was again in a state of flux. He tried to face all of the inevitable scenarios and mental pictures his mind kept churning out, swirling around the central realization that his daughter was pretty much grown up. He tried to face that. There would be driving lessons; high school dances and most likely the big prom night; boyfriends of course; and the Princeton trip would be the start of all of that. Up to this point Alexis had been a model child and student and her father hoped she wouldn't break out of her shell all at once and just go wild. Some of Detective Beckett's accounts of her own teenage experiences did not comfort him at all and Kate's poker face rendered him unable to tell if she was embellishing them just to tease and worry him. He brought this mental image of his daughter into focus. She was now a slender, small-built young woman, five feet three inches in height, with the bright red hair of both Meredith and Martha. She had a cute round face, high cheek bones, subtle but alluring blue eyes and that flaming red hair had grown to an enviable length, falling to the small of her back. No doubt about boys paying attention to her. At any rate Richard keenly remembered what life had been like for the sixteen through twenty-year-old slice of the population, convincing himself that things had only become crazier than when he was that age; and of course, more dangerous in some respects. His recent exposure to the workings of the NYPD certainly made it seem that way. As he reached his assigned parking space he took a moment to admire his other pride and joy; a red Ferrari convertible, which he had acquired not long after he had separated from Gina. It was not a wise financial move amidst the costs of a divorce, but it brought him comfort to know she couldn't get her hands on it. It had been a new toy for a man in crisis, but now it brought a new concern to his conscience. He was definitely going to have to consider an additional means of transportation when Alexis started driving; this baby was out of the question. Martha had never really driven much, usually preferring transportation via taxi whenever possible. When she had really been down on her luck in the past, even the subway was perfectly acceptable to her. Castle figured one of the new assignments for Alexis would be to drive Martha where she needed to be in those short years that remained. He sat in the car a moment before starting the engine. That had been enough to think about for the time being. He started the engine, pulled the car out of the space, and headed up to street level. He donned a pair of sunglasses the moment he met the sunny street and actually became the ruggedly handsome playboy image that he liked to imagine himself to be. The mode of dress, the shades, and the car sure made him look the part as he cruised down the avenue toward the crime scene. He wondered how he was going to spend the Memorial Day weekend now that both family members had other things to do. As he continued his journey he began to hatch a plan.

A/N: I'm leaving the uncorrected chapters in place since I don't know if anyone's currently reading them. From here on out, I've corrected the formatting for the dialogs and have found it gives the work a whole new dynamic. (I'll comment more on what stood out to me when we get to chapter 4) If you're visiting for a first or second reading, I'd sure like to hear from you regarding to narrative and plot development. It will help me plan for my next narrative. I should be able to post updates every few days or so since I'm about 80% done.