A/N: I'm sure it's been done before, but I walked into the library the other day and the idea of Kate Beckett as a librarian was too good to pass up.

"Though we're tethered to the story we must tell
When I saw you, well I knew we'd tell it well"

-Turning Page, Sleeping At Last

Kate plucks the last book from the metal cart and slides it into the correct spot on the shelf, dusting her fingers over its spine like she's welcoming the recently returned novel home. Closing time is approaching and she's considering heading home an extra fifteen minutes early. The library unfortunately doesn't receive too much traffic throughout the nine to five hour days it remains open to the public, so it's not as if she would be doing anyone a disservice.

She sighs, wondering what her mother was thinking investing so much money into a tiny library when the infamous New York Public Library is only a short drive into the city and offers a far more expansive selection. Of course Kate couldn't let her mother's dream die with her though, and she had immediately taken over as head librarian after Johanna Beckett's death. She enjoys the work, the constant company of pages filled with stories she's read at least once, but she's barely making enough to keep the place going most days and she fears she may finally have to close the doors on it for good in the near future.

She rests her head against a Steinbeck novel, breathes in the familiar scent of old books and through the regular tightening of her chest at the mere thought of giving up the only thing she has left of her mom.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry if this is a bad time…"

Kate lifts her head to see a man watching her, a pen and notepad in his hands and an expression of concern and curiosity flickering along his features.

"Do you work here?"

Kate swallows, glad she hadn't allowed herself the rare opportunity to cry, and nods.

"I do, did you need some help?"

"Sort of," he hedges, glancing towards the small cluster of tables near one of the windows towards the back of the building. "Do I have to check out a book to write here?"

Kate's brow furrows, her gaze falling back to the moleskin notebook against his chest.

"Write here?" she repeats and he nods quickly, all too ready to elaborate.

"Yeah, I'm working on my first novel - well, my first real novel - and it helps to have the right atmosphere, you know? I've passed by this place plenty of times, but I've never come inside and I like it. It's…" His eyes rove around the room, up to the stairs and the second level. "It's cozy."

"Mm," she concurs. "Enjoy it while you can."

His eyes dart back to her, that strange burst of concern returning to the sharp blue of his irises. "What do you mean?"

Kate tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before crossing her arms over her chest, more to hold herself together rather than away from him.

"I'll probably be shut down in a matter of months," she confesses on a sigh. "Not enough business."

His frown deepens. "How about I make you a deal?"

She quirks her brow at him in interest, but solely to indulge whatever act of chivalry this wannabe writer is going to attempt to display because she already knows that no deal will do her or her library any good.

"If my book does well, which I have high hopes for this one, then I'll help you keep this place open. Since you're allowing me to use the space to help my writer's imagination thrive and all."

Her lips curve into a tired smile. He's sweet, which is a nice change. Usually the men that come inside her library take one look at her and forget about whatever original purpose they may have had in favor of flirting, usually the men that come inside her library make her want to use one of her books as a weapon, but this one, the writer… he's different and even though she knows he can't really help her, he wants to try and that means something to her.

"I'm Kate," she says finally, holding her hand out to him, grinning when he accepts it eagerly.

"Rick Rodg- Castle," he decides with a resolute nod. "Rick Castle."

"Well, Mr. Castle," she echoes with a grin, squeezing his hand once before letting go. "You've got yourself a deal."