A/N: This story comes from a list of AU prompts from anonymoussong on tumblr. "I can literally hear you sneezing through the walls and I brought some chicken noodle soup over for you because I have exams to study for and your sneezing is seriously distracting me." I changed it up a little bit, so they are not in college, but otherwise that's the gist. Also, side note, I know that Alexis would probably be 7 or 8 in the real universe timeline, but it's AU, and I liked it this way.

(I also apologize for the soup pun. AND I figured out how to put those line-y things. Turns out it was really easy...)

Enjoy!

He moved into this building a few months ago because it was quiet. Not that he needs quiet to write per se, but his old apartment just wasn't doing it. Horns honking, sirens blaring, upstairs neighbors doing who knows what at any given time of day. And he has a fussy two year old who does not enjoy waking up from her nap to Celine Dion and what sounds like river dancing in tin shoes. I mean seriously, what are they doing up there?

Needless to say, he needed to move. He wants to prove to everyone that he can do this single dad thing. He has some money and a job that allows him to spend all day with his daughter. He can do this. And now, with a quieter apartment, his daughter off with his mother, and a fresh brewed cup of coffee, he can sit down and finish his novel in peace.

The problem is, he's not sure what to say. It's not that he's blocked. No, he has plenty of ideas. He just feels like he needs to wow them over at Black Pawn. They raved about his first book, were ecstatic about his second, and now they're waiting on his third, and he wants to make sure they're equally as floored by this one.

Maybe he's putting too much pressure on himself. He just went through a divorce, a divorce brought about by his wife's cheating, and it's possible he just needs some time to get over it. But he can't let them think that his divorce is lessening his work. He won't let it. He sits for a moment, thoughts rolling around in his head like marbles in a jar. Should he reveal the blood under the couch now? No, save that plot point for later. Then what happens now? Now…

Like a flash of lightning, inspiration strikes him. The electricity shoots from his brain to his fingers, which fly over the keyboard at warp speed. Yes, this is good. This is perfect. This is-

The sound of a door slamming shakes him from his reverie, and he jumps at the intrusion of the sound in his thoughts. The landlord didn't mention any troublesome tenants, just an artist, a chef, an ER doc, and a cop. None of those seem like the incommodious type, but who knows. Maybe the chef can't take the heat.

He chuckles at his own joke.

"Achoo!" The sneeze he hears is almost louder than the slamming door. He tries to block the sound out of his mind and write.

Okay. Derrick Storm. He gets back into a groove again, fingers typing so fast that he's afraid they might fly off of his hands. He's just getting to an intricate fight scene, Derrick storm is kicking some ass until a bad guy drops from above and has him in a chokehold, when –

"AAACHOO!" He swears that one registered on the Richter scale. It's followed by a pitiful cough.

He shakes it off. Come on, Rick. You can do this. How does Derrick get out of this one? Before he can even start typing, two more sneezes echo through his apartment. He takes his hands and wipes them down his face. His fingers tap the combination to save his document twice before he stands and goes to his fridge. He swipes a clear plastic container from inside, pours the contents into a bowl, and pops it in the microwave. His anger rises a bit as he watches the bowl spin. The sneezing is almost incessant now, and it has his blood boiling like the liquid inside the microwave.

The beeping snaps him out of his musings, and he grabs the bowl with a huff. The liquid spills a bit, and he sucks his burned thumb into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue. The burn does nothing to stem the flow of anger running through his veins. He throws a spoon in the bowl and stalks out his front door.

She feels awful. Truly, horribly, awful. The worst she's ever felt in her life. Well, maybe that's hyperbolic, but her head is spinning, her body is aching, and her damn eyes and nose will not stop running. Her throat might actually be on fire, and her nostrils have been rubbed raw from tissues. Her body jolts with pain at every sneeze, and she's pretty sure she's dying.

It doesn't help that she was sent home from work.

She knows that it won't do to have the rest of the uniforms get sick, but she really needs to be there. Being a female cop is no picnic, especially when the other uniforms call her police Barbie. She knows she's on the higher end of the attractiveness scale, but it shouldn't affect how she or anyone else does their work. She's not there to play. She's there to get the job done.

So, when Royce sent her home, it was humiliating. She vowed to never let the others see her blink, and this stupid cold or whatever it is forced her hand. It's so unfair. Jenkins was sick last week, and nobody thought he was weaker for it. Sometimes working in a "man's" profession really sucked.

She scoffs. Men.

She is starting to get hungry and is running out of tissues, but has no energy left to get up to grab another box much less make herself some food. Her stomach growls at her and she groans in response. Another particularly violent sneeze wracks her body and rattles through her head. She groans louder.

His hand is poised to knock when he hears a loud sneeze and a groan from the other side. It deflates his anger a bit, but doesn't deter him from knocking. At his knock, he hears another groan and a soft "Go 'way."

He laughs a bit at how pitiful the voice sounds. He raps his knuckles against the door again and hears shuffling from inside the apartment. He almost feels the presence behind the door, knowing that she must be looking at him through the peephole. Suddenly, it swings open and all of the wind rushes out of his sails.

Standing in the doorway in a robe and pajamas with mussed hair, red rimmed eyes, and a matching nose is the most gorgeous creature he has ever laid his eyes on. She must notice that he is staring, because she closes her robe around herself in protection.

"Can I help you?" She mumbles and he shakes himself out of his trance.

"Yes, uh – Yeah. Here." He holds out the bowl and spoon to her. She looks at him with bewilderment, and he realizes how insane he must look right now.

"I – uh, I live next door. Just moved in actually, and I was trying to write, but I heard you sneezing, and I thought I would just bring you some soup. It's from Quang's. Down the street?" The last sentence squeaks out like a question.

She looks at the bowl in his hands and then up at his face. He thinks he detects a hint of amusement, but he can't be sure. He must pass the test though, because she takes the bowl from his hands and opens the door wider to let him in.

She moves slowly back to the couch that, telling by the mountains of tissues, must have been her perch since she arrived home.

"Thank you. Quang's is my favorite." She motions for him to have a seat, and he sits in the eclectic but comfortable chair across from her. He doesn't want to be rude, but he's not really sure why he's here. She's obviously pretty sick, and yet he's sitting in her living room while she slowly sips his soup from his bowl with his spoon.

"How do you like it here?" His gaze snaps up to her eyes and something electric sizzles between them. At least he thinks so.

"Um, I like it so far. Only been here about two weeks, but it's much quieter than my last place. My daughter sleeps so much better here." The minute he says it, he regrets it. This woman is somehow beautiful, sexy, and incredibly adorable at the same time, and he might have just ruined any chance with her by mentioning his daughter. Not that he's embarrassed. He would never ever regret Alexis, but he understands that some women need a chance to get used to the idea of his kid, and he totally blew it.

"I didn't know you had a daughter," she responds with intrigue more than the disappointment he expected. Wait what?

"You know who I am?"

She blushes. Her cold must have scrambled her brain, because she definitely didn't mean to admit that.

"Yeah," she draws the word out awkwardly. "I've read your books." Her cheeks change color to match her nose, and her nearly her whole face is red.

"Really?" He's truly astonished. He's only written two books. One was a New York Times best seller, but still. Only two, and she recognized him by face. To say he's flattered is an understatement. "What did you think?"

She pauses, taking another sip of soup to buy her some time.

"You have a way with words, Mr. Castle." Is all she offers, but it's the best compliment he's ever received. Better than any professional review or a comment from one of his many busty fangirls.

"Thank you…" He trails off. Jeeze, he doesn't even know this woman's name.

"Beckett. Uh, Kate. Kate Beckett is my name." She stumbles. What is wrong with her? This cold is really messing with her. She puts her head in her hands and groans. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually this awkward. This cold is really messing with my head."

"You go by Beckett?"

"Yeah, sorry. Habit. I'm a cop." Ah so this is the police officer. The female police officer. He is disappointed in himself for not expecting that, although he is so rarely surprised these days.

"Really? That's so cool!" He gushes at her. She looks up at him with amusement.

"Well, you'd be the first and only guy I've met to think that."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Most men don't want to talk about the purse I found in the dumpster yesterday over dinner. Broke the case, though." She says the last sentence proudly, and he practically beams at her.

"Good for you! What division?"

"Homicide. I just got moved there from Vice actually."

"That is just… wow." He still can't get over it. She's a cop. She's a homicide officer.

So. Cool.

She smiles and nods at him before she's overcome by a coughing attack. When she can finally breathe again, she speaks.

"You should probably go. I don't want you to get sick."

"Oh, I'll be fine. Besides, I'm pretty sure you have mono."

"What? The kissing disease?"

"Well, you can get it lots of other ways, but yes, Officer, the kissing disease." He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she groans. "You're swallowing a lot, so I bet your throat is on fire, and every time you cough or sneeze you grab your left side. Your spleen is probably enlarged." She looks at him with a hint of awe. "So, unless you would like to exchange some saliva, I think I'm okay. I just need to stay out of the spray zone."

She grimaces and throws a pillow at him. "Jerk," she says, but there's no malice in it. In fact, she's really enjoying his company.

"Hey, don't strain yourself too hard. Your spleen can explode, you know."

"Yeah yeah yeah." She rolls her eyes at him. "I'll keep the movement to a minimum."

"Good. Wouldn't want you to die on my watch," he grins at her and her heart does a small flip. "Speaking of, you should probably call your boss and tell him you'll be out all week."

"What? All week?"

"You can't run or dig through dumpsters with mono, Beckett. Your spleen will explode. Have you not been listening?" She stares at him with her mouth open.

"Well, I didn't – I—I have to go back to work tomorrow!"

"No way, Jose. You're gonna go to the doctor, rest, and drink plenty of fluids, and go back to work next week. You probably won't be able to go on duty for at least four weeks anyway."

"Four weeks?! No, you don't understand. I have to go back. I can't be out for four weeks. I'm taking the Detectives exam soon." She looks truly distraught. He thinks he might see a hint of tears in her eyes, but they're more watery than usual, so it's hard to tell.

"They're going to make so much fun of me," she adds quietly.

"Who? The other officers?" She nods sadly, and he gets the impression that she's not like this around everyone. Whether it's because she's sick or truly wants to be opening up to him is anyone's guess, but he vows not to take it for granted. "Who cares about them? It's probably one of two things. Either they have a crush on you, or they feel emasculated because you're super badass, and they are not."

She shakes her head. "I don't think that's true."

"Believe what you want, but I'm a guy." She raises an eyebrow at him for that. "Hey, okay. I may not be the most masculine, but I'm a guy, and I know how they think. I guarantee it's one of those reasons."

She is still looking down, but her lips tilt up and he even thinks he sees a hint of her pearly whites. He decides, in this moment, he could live every day of his life just trying to get her to smile again. He can tell she doesn't do it often, but when she does, man is it brilliant.

"Thanks, Castle." Huh, Castle. He likes that. Makes him sound like one of the boys.

"You think, once you're better of course, that you would maybe want to come have dinner with me?"

"You mean like a date?" She says with both eyebrows raised.

"N- No, not like a date. Unless you want it to be a date. I mean, my daughter will be there, and probably my mother." He stops his rambling and lets out a large breath through his nose. "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to be friends with me?"

She smiles again, teeth and all, and part of him is afraid if he opens his mouth that all of the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach will come pouring out.

"That sounds nice, Castle. I could use a friend," she says, and he can tell she's sincere. If he didn't hear it in her voice, her eyes would be a dead giveaway. Gratitude is seeping out of them, and he doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop gazing at her. Eventually, she breaks the connection to go back for more soup.

They talk for a few hours about nothing and everything. Eventually, he notices that she's waning, and he scoots over onto the couch with her. The pillow she threw at him earlier ends up in his lap, and he gently guides her head down to rest on it.

"Castle, s'okay. Y'don't have t' stay." Her words slur as she drifts closer to the sweet call of sleep.

"It's no problem. Just rest." She makes a sound that sounds like "okay", and drifts off into sleep. He notices a book on her side table, and picks it up. It looks like an interesting enough read, and his mother won't be back with Alexis for hours.

He holds the book open with one hand and runs his fingers through her hair with the other. He didn't get as much writing done today as he had hoped, but he can't imagine a better use of his time.