This weird idea popped into my head, thought I'd give it a whirl. With massive thanks to my lovely friends for encouraging my madness and Kat especially, for the image.

He stands off to the side and a long way in the back where no one can notice him yet. He likes to take these few seconds, before he slips out and joins the masses, just to soak it all in.

The crowd, the atmosphere, the really inane and cheesy praise spilling from Gina's lips as she talks him up. With every word she proves to him over and over again that making her his wife was a huge mistake, but keeping her as his publicist was a stroke of genius.

All work and no play Gina, with her pinched smile that never quite reaches her eyes and slightly too puffy blonde hair. She was perfect for this and everything else they had played at being, once upon a time, was now firmly firmly in his past.

Hence the black sharpie she had forced into his hands barely half an hour ago.

Ducking his head a little further into the room he cringes, slides his shades higher, presses them over the bridge of his nose and uses them as covert cover when he rolls his eyes.

Twinkle lights. Really?

What about his latest, and last, Derrick Storm screams orange twinkle lights? Because, whatever it is, he needs to fix that crap right now.

They are in the trees, these little orange blinking things. Strung from the lights that hang across the rooftop in great, sweeping garlands, bundled into vases on tables and draped, festooned absolutely everywhere. It's too much and wholly out of place in his mind, not that he's sure he's ever really pictured this night coming to fruition.

But if he had and he did, it's not and would never be, this.

He's written a novel bidding farewell to his most iconic character, a complete and utter annihilation of a death, from which he can never return - probably never, never say never- and twinkle lights are the image they want to project?

He rolls his eyes again, folds his arms across his chest and leans back into the wall.

His pen glides over the skin of her chest as he signs his name and chuckles, adds an extra flourish to the C of Castle and grins up at her.

"Call me when you're ready to wash that off." He drawls, handing back her pen and preening when her skin flushes pink and she smiles widely. She slides the strap of her dress back into place, recaps the lid and turns to her friend with a lascivious grin.

He hasn't given her his number, wouldn't even think of it, but that thought doesn't even enter her head as she gloats to the women behind her. He's keeping up the act, as instructed, and he pretends not to hear Gina's voice falter through her introduction, knowing she's seen exactly how he's been working the crowd.

He is newly single after all, even if their divorce is long since finalized and their split amicable personally long before they made it public.

He smirks when he hears the laugh in her voice, the indulgence and annoyance in equal mix, and he resumes his steady path. He works his way through the crowd, turning at the call of his name, the flash of a camera. He signs another chest, shakes a few hands and laughs as he makes his way towards Gina, to center stage as she planned it.

He hears her approach the end of her speech with perfect timing. The speech she refused to let him help write, -"Really Rick, how much of a narcissist are you?" - and he sucks in a breath, not nervous -maybe the smallest bit nervous- but more applying the persona.

Then he hears her voice, loud and clear, ringing through the crowds.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the master of the macabre, Rick Castle."

She pulls the sunglasses from his face, and he hates when she does that. The fake smile back in play as she loops her arm around his waist and turns into the flash of camera light.

"What kind of idiot kills off his best selling main character?" She grimace-smiles, pats his chest, plays up to the cameras and he can't help it, he plays along.

"Are you asking as my blood sucking publisher, or my blood sucking ex-wife?"

HA!

That gets to her and she turns into him, her eyes narrowing. "Oh, is that what you're doing, punishing me by killing the golden goose?"

He smirks, "Oh come on, I may be petty and short sighted, but I'm not that petty and short sighted."

"Then why?" She asks, again, for perhaps the millionth time, he's officially lost both count and the ability to care. She turns on the spot and strides away from him, leaving him no choice but to follow, holding his glasses up and over her shoulder, making him reach for them like a little kid earning his reward.

"Writing Derrick used to be fun." He answers honestly, pocketing the shades and matching her stride, but the narrow hall keeps him from walking at her side. "Now it's like work."

"God forbid you should work." Her head bounces and even from behind he knows when she's mocking him. "I mean you could've retired him, you could've crippled him. You could have had him join the friggin circus."

He sighs, drops back a little sensing this is going to go on for a while and he snags a glass of champagne from a tray as they glide past it, he winks at the waitress for good measure and hurries on. He makes a face behind Gina as she continues to berate him, not caring if it's childish.

When she treats him like a child he always feels like he's doing her a disservice if he doesn't respond in the appropriate inappropriate manner.

"But no." She stops and turns and he schools his face, smiling serenely and sweetly at her. "You had to put a bullet in his head."

"Yeah." He laughs, because even though he shouldn't have, he really enjoyed writing that. "Real messy too, big exit wound." Her eyes dart over his shoulder and he turns sensing a presence. Another fan holds out her book for him to sign and he indulges happily, sort of, watching as Gina's fake publishing smile slides right back into place.

There is no truth to her eyes whatsoever, it's one of the things he won't miss.

"Don't worry. Derrick Storm is not the golden goose here, I am." He reassures her, signing the book, before handing it back with what he can only hope is a flirtatious smile given the conversation he's currently engaged in, "I wrote half a dozen best sellers before him, what makes you think I'm going to stop now?"

She puffs out an all too knowing breath, "Oh I don't know Rick, could it be the fact you haven't written a word in months? Perhaps the unending supply of creepy death threats and suspicious fan mail that just keep rolling in and yet you refuse to do anything about?"

"I do not need a bodyguard." He growls firmly as they rehash it yet again, "And you can't rush genius."

"Genius Richard?" She scoffs, "Try blockage." Her lips curve up into the first real smile he's seen in months, that happy got you where I want you look that drives him crazy in the worst ways. "My sources are very reliable."

"Well they're wrong." He tries to be defiant, tries not to stutter, but he can see it in her eyes. She's been talking to his mother. He puffs his chest out but her smile only gets more intense, more delighted as she plays him, backs him into a corner.

"They better be, if I don't have a new manuscript on my desk in the next three weeks Black Pawn is prepared to demand the return of your advance." Her lips glisten and she moistens them again, grinning evilly.

"You wouldn't dare." He challenges, his smile finally as fake as hers was not ten minutes earlier.

She winks, long and slow, "Try me." She steps back, "Just try me." before she turns and walks away, shaking her head at him.

"You know I already returned that advance." He calls pettily, making her stop in her tracks and spin to face him. "I spent it divorcing you."

Gina nods, grins her acceptance and steps closer so only he can hear as she speaks, "Money well spent. Oh and you're getting that body guard. Black Pawn insist, while your life is in danger," She rolls her eyes, letting him know she thinks it's nonsense as much as he does but happily punishing him anyway. "And until you've re-discovered your ability to write. We couldn't possibly leave you wandering the streets without protection."

"Gina." He tries, his voice deeper and appeasing as he flirts.

She laughs, holds up a hand and stops him before he can go any further. "Save it. It's already arranged, the agency sent someone over today, they're already here, have been all night." She pats his chest, "It's a done deal."

He turns on the spot suddenly feeling like he's being watched, his eyes wide as they dart around the room, hopelessly trying to work out who it could possibly be.

When he turns back to question her further Gina has already disappeared into the throng of people. He grinds his teeth together, downs the remainder of his champagne in one and goes off in search of his mother.

He's not the only one who'll be in need of a body guard.

Martha drops her purse onto the bar top and eyes her granddaughter with sadness, "Really, doll-face, who does homework at a party?" She slinks closer and nudges the edge of her textbook.

Alexis glances up, for barely a second her pen darting over the paper in front of her, "I have a test next week." She replies, dipping her head closer to her books so the swathe of red hair falls in front of her.

Martha worms closer and rolls her eyes, "So do I. Liver function. You don't see me studying."

Alexis smiles at her but her head drops immediately back to the book and sighing Martha resumes her perusal of the bar. "Alright," She finally calls, "Give me a hit of the bubbly."

"Make that two." He calls over his mother's shoulder, sensing he's going to need it.

"Hey, kiddo." She turns and stage whispers dramatically, "Sales must be slipping they're only serving the soft stuff."

He sighs, brushes it aside and takes quick refuge in the presence of his daughter, leaning in to kiss her cheek as she smiles up at him.

"Hey Dad."

"Hey sweetie." Once more into the breech, he turns, "So! Mother..."

He moves to stand in front of her as she shushes him, waving her hand and glancing around with a smile, "Not so loud, I'm still hoping to get lucky."

Enough is enough.

"Did you tell Gina I was having trouble writing?" He tries not to grind his teeth, knows his mother well enough by now to expect nothing less, but her behavior still grates.

She knocks his cares aside like it means nothing, shaking her head, "Oh, I told her nothing of the sort." She scrunches, one of her tells and he knows if he stares at her long enough, intently enough - "I may have said something about spending your days moping in your underwear, waiting for post time at Belmont."

Bingo!

Over her shoulder he spots Alexis slowly lift her head to stare at her grandmother incredulously.

Martha's hands land on his chest and she pats him, seeking to soothe her misdemeanor, "But hey, you're an artist. It's expected."

"We had a deal." He reiterates, for his own benefit as much as his mothers because he still can't quite believe he agreed to it."I let you live with us but you don't talk about my work."

"What's to talk about?" She teases, missing that it's totally the wrong moment to do that, "You haven't done any since I moved in."

Alexis pokes the woman from behind with her pen, "Gram!" She admonishes, and he can see the hurt and shame his daughter feels for him all over her face.

"Well he hasn't." Martha smiles, laughing not quite sure hows she's backed herself into this corner or why he's taking it so personally.

He reaches for her hand and squeezes her fingers trying to get through to her, "Whatever I have and haven't done, I would just appreciate it," he claims both of her hands in his and squeezes harder still, staring her down "if you wouldn't share it with my ex-wife."

"Oh what's the big deal?" She challenges, glancing over his shoulder already distracted, she opens her mouth to speak again but he holds tight to her hand.

"The big deal is they are threatening to take back my advance." He pulls her in a little closer, his eyes darting to Alexis as he whispers harshly, "They think the problem, " He emphasizes the word and Martha nods understanding, "Could be affecting my ability to write."

"You mean the threats?" Alexis asks, leaning her head into one hand and watching him intently. His daughter is far too wise for her own good sometimes. His mother slips past, finally free and heading out into the crowd looking for her latest conquest.

"How did you-?" He starts, focusing on his daughter, "You haven't been on the fan sites again have you?" He steps towards Alexis, "Because you know how I feel about -"

"Ew, no." She shakes her head, "I learnt my lesson the last time. Gina told me." She shrugs, and picks her pen back up, "She thought that might be why you weren't writing. Maybe you were worried?"

Her eyes hold his, the watery blue so familiar and tender as she watches him, wise beyond her years and far too knowing.

"Is it?"

He sighs and leans into the bar, catching sight of his mother flirting "You should have me committed." He grumbles.

Alexis follows his line of sight and laughs, "For what? Letting her move in? I think it's sweet. But don't change the subject." He pushes a glass of champagne towards her and she pushes it back towards him shaking her head. "Are you worried Dad? Should I be worried?"

"No," He shakes his head again, "Gina's already on it." He leans in towards her conspiratorially, "We are being guarded as we speak." He grins when her eyes open widely and she looks over his shoulder into the crowd.

"Seriously?" She's her father's daughter in that moment as she tips up onto the toes of her almost-flat heels and balances on the bar-stool getting a better view of the crowd. Her eyes dance as she assesses the people milling around them, the fangirls and servers, the taggers on and the actual fans.

Then the reality hits her and she sits back down on the stool heavily. "Gina must be worried Dad." Her voice is quiet and she's too clever for her own good, she really is.

"Pumpkin, it's a precaution." He reassures her, "Gina's way of playing it safe and annoying me all rolled into one." He smiles weakly and when she doesn't immediately respond he grins, forces himself to be jovial and make it look like he doesn't care what it means. Because the fact she has gone to the lengths of hiring someone (someones?) makes him wonder how seriously he should be taking this whole situation.

He changes direction, his fingers on the glass in front of him, "She wants me writing again." Her brow furrows as she listens, "You want to know why I killed Derrick?" He challenges, "There were no more surprises, I knew exactly what was going to happen every moment of every scene. Life shouldn't be like that." He nudges the champagne glass towards her again and quirks an eyebrow, "It should be wild and inappropriate," He grimaces when she pushes the glass back towards him shaking her head. "Don't you want to have wild and inappropriate stories that you can't tell your children?"

He pouts and she finally gives in and laughs, "I think you have enough of them for the both of us. That's probably what got you into all this trouble in the first place."

He rolls his eyes and pulls her glass next to his rather than see it go to waste. "I'm not in trouble, and you're missing the point." He pokes her arm.

"Okay, Dad, what's the point?"

"Writing Derrick, it became so predictable." His eyes wander briefly, nothing holding his interest. "I'm your biggest fan." He mocks, "Where do you get your ideas?"

Alexis nods, grimaces again, "And the ever popular 'will you sign my chest?"

He swigs from his champagne glass again, or maybe it's hers he's lost track, and smirks, "That one I don't mind so much."

She glares at him, his daughter the teenager, glares. It's cute. "Yeah, well, FYI I do."

Oh, not that cute.

He drops the glass to the table and tries to explain, "Just once, I'd like someone to come up to me and say something new."

"Mr. Castle?"

He turns at the woman's voice, a pleasant lilt to her tone he would normally enjoy if it wasn't for the fact he knows exactly what's coming next. He forces the playboy smile back onto his lips, forces his hand into his jacket pocket and removes his sharpie, brandishing it with a wicked grin.

"Where would you like it?" He flirts, faltering through the last word as the woman before him stares him down, one eyebrow arched high on her forehead.

"I'm Kate Beckett." She glances down at his pen and up to his face, giving him a look that warns him to keep the lid capped. "I've been assigned to protect you." She waits and when his mouth hangs open, she tries again, "I'm your bodyguard Mr. Castle." She scoffs as if she hates the word and falls silent.

There is a snort from behind him, his daughter's body suddenly draping over his shoulder as she grins into his cheek and snatches the pen from his hand. Her lips hover over his ear as she whispers loud enough for only him to hear, "That's new."