[[Dedication
: a name and often a message prefixed to a literary, musical, or artistic production in tribute to a person or cause
: self-sacrificing devotion]]

There was really no reason for him to be nervous, but he was as he stood outside her apartment. He was always nervous in that second before he knocked on her door. He never let the nervousness stop him, though most of the time he was making an unannounced visit and she'd have every right to find his presence annoying. This time was different. She was expecting him; he was here to pick her up so they could share a ride to Ryan and Jenny's wedding. The thought allowed him to quell his nervousness as he raised his hand to rap three times on her apartment door.

It took her a little longer to open the door and when she did she looked a little flustered.

"Castle!" She opened the door wide enough for him to enter before she was heading towards the back of her apartment. "Come on it. I'm running a little behind – give me a few more minutes. I'm almost finished."

He smiled toward her retreating back. She was anything but high maintenance, and he liked catching her off guard.

"No problem. I'll just … be out here."

"Snooping, I'm sure," her voiced carried from her bedroom.

"Would I do that?" he called back.

His question was met with a laugh. "Of course you would."

"I promise not to snoop." She couldn't see the hand he held up.

"Just keep yourself occupied. I'll be out in a minute."

He looked around her living room. It was more bohemian feeling than her last apartment, but still homey. It was open and welcoming and somehow suited her. Her large collection of books caught his eye as he surveyed the room. For someone whose apartment was demolished recently, she sure had filled out her collection in a short period of time. He tried to remember the layout of her old apartment. Where had she kept most of her books? There was a bookshelf in the living room, he vaguely remembered, but those books were sure to have been destroyed in the explosion. She probably had more in her bedroom, a few of her favorite stories or the novels she had recently finished sitting on her bedside table or her dresser, but he honestly wasn't sure where a good majority of the books had come from.

He wandered over to the stairs to the roof that doubled as another bookshelf, letting himself survey the books she had piled on each step. Classics mingled with more contemporary works. She had a complete collection of his books, of course. He had gifted her with a new set the birthday after her apartment exploded. All 23 of his books, shiny and new in hardcover. He didn't tell her that they were all first editions, pulled from boxes he had stored away, instead of bought from the local Barnes and Noble. He had even included copies of Hell Hath No Fury and Flowers for Your Grave, even though he didn't consider them his best works. But they were his works and he wanted the set to be complete, so he had sucked up his pride and included them.

He knew she was a fan. She had known too much about his when they first met to be anything but. And though she tried to hide how much she knew about him and his writing, sometimes she slipped and it gave him a warm feeling to know that she enjoyed his books. He had wanted to do something to make the new set special but he hadn't been able to think of anything, short of signing all of them. He did, however, re-sign her new copy of Storm Fall the same way he did when her gave her the advance copy when they were working the Tisdale case. "To Kate – I couldn't think of a better partner in crime."

It looked like she had arranged his books in alphabetical order, except for the Derrick Storm books which looked to be in chronological order under 'Storm'. He smiled as he ran his finger across the spines of his books, somehow feeling closer to her simply because she had (and chose to display) his books. His eyes followed his fingers, skimming each title. … Storm Warning, Unholy Storm, Gathering Storm, Gathering Storm, Storm Rising –

He stopped and then his eyes backtracked. She had two copies of Gathering Storm. One was crisp and new. It was the copy he had given her, he was sure. The other was battered and not quite so glossy anymore, like it had been read and reread and carried around. It occurred to him that she had probably salvaged that book from the wreckage of her apartment. But why? Maybe it had been the only one she was able to save, the others charred from the blast or damaged from the water the fire department used to put out the lingering flames. She had a new copy now, but then again, she wasn't the type of person to throw away a book if she could help it.

He was intrigued by the battered book and he reached for it, pulling it off the shelf. It was like a look into Kate Beckett, and he couldn't help but want to know more. He wanted to know how she had read it the first time through – if she had made notes in the margins, or folded down the corner of the page to mark her spot. The novel was in worse shape than he originally thought and he was careful not to handle the fragile book too much. If she had gone out of her way to salvage it, it probably meant something. He noticed the cover was almost completely detached from the pages when he opened it, but that was the last thought to cross his mind when he saw the familiar script on the title page.

He had signed it.

She never told him they'd met before the Tisdale case. That she had apparently come to one of his signings and waited in line for his autograph. But more than that, he had apparently noticed her, too.

He tried to make the best of his signings, but even in the best conditions they were monotonous and tiring. Usually he signed the books presented to him with a 'Thanks' or a 'Best' and his name, but that wasn't the case here.

"to Kate –
a remarkable woman deserves a remarkable story
Richard Castle"

He couldn't place the inscription and for that he felt slightly bad. She had caught his attention enough that he felt compelled to personalize her book, but he didn't remember the details of their meeting. He thought the inscription oddly appropriate, though he never could have guessed how accurate it would turn out to be. Kate Beckett was a remarkable woman, creating her own remarkable story. And now she was inspiring his.

He didn't flip past the title page, instead staring down at his handwriting, trying to will his brain to recall the details of their first meeting. He was slightly ashamed that all he could conjure up were nameless faces in mobs and endless lines. He was still trying to fill in the blank when she came out of her room, rummaging through a bag.

"So I was thinking if we left now, we'd miss most of the traffic . What do you think?" She got no reply and she tried again, this time looking up. "Castle?"

"I wasn't snooping, I swear." He didn't shut the book in his hands, but he did turn to face her.

Her eyes left his face and fell to the book in his hands. It didn't take her long to recognize what he held. She met his eyes again but instead of yelling like he thought she might, she was silent.

"It's signed," he said. She just nodded. "By me." He wasn't sure what he was trying to say, but he felt like he needed to fill the silence. "You came to a book signing?"

"I waited in line for over an hour," she offered.

They were silent for a minute, each processing this new development in their relationship.

He shook his head. "I can't believe I don't remember," he complained, looking at the book as if it would play back the scene for him. "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago," she supplied. "I'm sure you see countless women at all your book signings and parties."

"Yeah, but it was you, Kate. I wish I remembered," he said sincerely.

She took a breath and studied his face. Whatever she found allowed her to begin her version of the story. "I waited for over an hour," she said. "You were at the Fifth Avenue Barnes and Noble. I was a rookie, and I left work early to see you. When it was my turn you looked at me and smiled and asked me my name. I think I smiled back, but I'm not sure." She rolled her eyes in amusement at the memory. "I was so focused on not making a fool of myself."

"You didn't," he told her, his voice not holding any trace of teasing. He didn't want to interrupt her story, in case she stopped telling him what had happened, but he couldn't help but want to make her feel more comfortable with the situation. "You couldn't."

She laughed once, but it wasn't in humor. "Yeah well, have you ever waited in line like that to meet someone? It's kind of an awkward experience all around. I tried not to do anything stupid, but I'm not sure I said more than five words to you. You signed my book, I thanked you, and I left. I waited until I was outside you read what you wrote, though."

He smiled. "And you saved it. After your apartment exploded," he clarified off her confused look.

"It was on my nightstand that night," she told him. "It got pretty banged up, but it managed to survive. And after you gave me a complete set – I still couldn't bear to part with it. It was special."

Something fluttered in his chest at her admission. "I knew you were a fan." He meant it to be more joking than it came out, something to diffuse the serious air that had settled in her apartment, but it didn't work.

She looked down and shrugged.

Something was off and he took a chance, stepping closer to her. "Kate?" he pressed for more, if she was willing to tell him.

She managed to raise her eyes, her head following seconds later. "Your books … " she trailed off. "They're what I threw myself in after my mom died. They were my distraction. They were what helped me get through the Academy and the long days being a uniform," she shrugged again. "I just felt like I should meet the man that saved me from myself. And after that, I wanted to make your dedication true. I wanted my own remarkable story."

"Kate." Her story floored him. "I – I've heard a lot of things from people in my career, not all of them flattering. But that? Knowing that my books made a difference in someone's life? That's the best thing anyone's ever told me. And coming from you? I have no words."

A blush crossed her cheeks, but she didn't drop her gaze.

"I was right though, you know."

"Right?"

"Back then. About you. I might not remember the details, Kate, but I had you pegged even then. About how remarkable you are."

"Castle –"

"It's true." He held her gaze. "Here." He gently handed her the book in his hands and looked around. "Do you have a pen?"

"A pen?"

He patted his chest, checking to see if the pen he carried around was in his breast pocket. "Never mind. I've got one." He pulled the pen from his pocket and turned to again face the bookcase. His eyes roamed the shelf, finally settling on the book he wanted. Pulling Heat Wave off the shelf he opened it to the title page and began writing.

"Castle, what are you doing?"

"Shh –" he didn't look up as he wrote, only looking at her when he was finished. He held out the book to her. "I know it's dedicated to you and the precinct, but…" he trailed off, nodding at her to take the book.

She reached out and took the book from him, glancing down at his addition. He didn't stop watching her as she read.

"for Kate -
extraordinary doesn't do you justice.
my inspiration, my friend, and nothing less than perfect.
Rick"

She looked up at him. "Castle…"

He smiled at her, though it was more an attempt to sidestep an awkward silence than genuine smile.

"I'm not perfect," she continued. "I'm … I'm broken. Damaged."

He stepped even closer to her slowly, not wanting to push. "No. It's true. You're perfectly you. And that's enough."

She bit the side of her lip and he watched as she struggled not to drop her gaze from his. After a few seconds her teeth let go of her lip and her mouth turned up into a smile.

"That's sweet."

He returned her smile, not sure what he should say, though he wasn't given the chance. Before he could really comprehend her actions she had her arms around his waist and her head buried in his shoulder. His arms went automatically around her as he hugged her back.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

He wasn't sure what she was thanking him for, but it didn't matter. Kate Beckett was in his arms and the moment was as pretty near perfect as he could imagine it. He simply hugged her a little tighter, turning his face toward her hair.

They held each other for a long minute before she drew back, giving him a shy look. He took the opportunity to reach out and cup her cheek in his palm. She didn't drop her eyes from his and her smile again took over her face.

"Thank you for telling me this." It was the only thing running through his mind. How she had opened herself up to him. How she had surprised him, again.

She nodded, and though he didn't want to, he dropped his hand.

"So, you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," her answer was slow. She regarded him for a moment before a radiant smile overtook her face. "I think I am."

Something in the back of his mind made him think that she meant more than just being ready to head out to Ryan's wedding, but he didn't think now was the time to press that idea. If he'd learned anything in his time with Kate, it was when not to press her. And right now, he was happy with where they were. Everything else would fall in to place, he was sure.

So he held out an arm for her to take. "Then let's go."

So I'm not sure where this came from. And I realize it's been done before, so I'm sorry for the unoriginal idea, but I hope at least enough of it is original to be compelling. I wanted to get it up before the new episode Monday, so it's not completely AU with its references to Ryan's wedding (if it's not already).

Thanks for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts.