Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.

A/N: Thank you for reading, and reviewing. : ) I'm trying to avoid largely italicized chapters because it hurts to read. But I'll put a line in there or something so that it doesn't get too confusing. Let me know what ya'll think so that I can change it if need be. : )

Chapter 2

"This is the story of Kate Beckett". That's what the first sentence read. It made her breath hitch and her heart skip a beat. She read it over, trying to figure if she was seeing things. It didn't change. "This is the story of Kate Beckett. This is the story of the woman who found me."

She continued reading.

This is the story of Kate Beckett. This is the story of the woman who found me.

It was the thrill of the chase. She was the chase; and clearly I was thrilled. Derek Storm had finally fallen; taken his last stand. I was done with Storm, much to the dismay of the highly paid publicist, and the highly irate editor. But Storm was my creation, and it was time to close that chapter. I wasn't lost, I wasn't afraid about ending something that had become a habit, a comfort. They called it writer's block; didn't stop to think that maybe I was taking a vacation. They were right. It was writer's block, as my mother very frequently hastened to point out. It's a maternal thing. I think.

That's when she found me. I thought it was the first time, but as I found out later, I was wrong. She brought me in for questioning. My daughter asked me that night when I went home whether I was scared. But she knew and so did I, that no, I wasn't scared. I was ecstatic. A murder! Based on my books! Stuff like that doesn't happen in real life. It happens in – well, books! I was excited, and perversely honored. Obviously I was bored.

Beckett didn't think that a murder was something to be excited over. She chastised me. Despised me. Obviously I wasn't bored anymore.

Through this first case, I found that she really was something else. She was smart, cunning, and obviously skilled. She was confident, determined, and persistent. She was beautiful, graceful, and caring. She was hot. She was sexy. But the thing that positively enamored me was how tall she was. Not just her height. The mile long, slender things that were her legs surely belonged to a supermodel. But that wasn't it. It's the way she held herself. Head high, chin up, eyes forward. She was a woman who knew where she stood, and knew where she wanted to go.

I'd never known anyone like her until then. Still don't, all these years later.

I stayed on for that first case. How could I stay away? I was excited for the first time in months. Words were running a mile a minute in my head. Everyone who knows us says that I wormed my way into her life. It's entirely unfair. She infiltrated my mind before I had the chance to infiltrate her life. I stand by the fact that she has that effect on everyone, but not everyone can handle it. I deserve a medal. But don't tell her I said that.

She met me push for push, shove for shove. No, I never shoved her. I value my life. But the verbal sparring? That's always been our thing. She took me on, word for word; brought all the words out of me. She was – she is the perfect muse.

She challenged me, right from the start. I've never been one to back down from a challenge. I read her. I read her correctly. She told me then, not to think that I knew her. I didn't know her. I held my tongue, thinking that I would get to know her soon enough.

We solved the case. I found out later that she really thought she'd never see me again. Not in person. That I'd stay the handsome writer dude who wrote her favorite books (I may be paraphrasing a bit). Wrong!

She was the perfect muse, and I wasn't about to let her slip. I wasn't going to give up on a chase. Yeah, books weren't the only thing on my mind. She knew that too. I'm a blatantly open person, it would seem.

I had friends who were willing to help me. And so it began. I've written a number of best sellers. They've made it to the top of several lists. But I couldn't have possibly written a better beginning if I tried.

She was my muse, my inspiration and I hoped back then, that if my plan would have worked, she'd be a friend. Maybe more. She told me once that I had no idea.

I didn't know her. I had no idea. I resented that. I wanted to fix that. That was my goal. I was intrigued by the enigma that was Kate Beckett.

Kate stopped to wipe a tear off the second page she had just finished reading. When had she started crying? She didn't know why he was doing this; why he had written this. Again he surprised her. Some of the things she knew. Some of them she didn't. Rick was always open when it came to his feelings. Much more than she ever could be. But this -.

There were more pages hanging on the line. But she had to stop for a bit. Gather her senses. He wasn't even here, and he'd stolen her breath. A large, black leather binder had been kept on the sofa. That was probably him too. It was empty. Probably meant for these pages – which she just noticed had punched-out holes to fit into it - once she was done with them. Picking it up, she ran her hand across it once before opening it. She took in another ragged breath when on seeing the inside of the cover. Engraved in fancy, beautiful gold letters were the words, "Property of Katherine Beckett".

Sitting down on the couch, she put the pages that she had finished reading on the left in the binder. Closing her eyes and letting her lips curve into the smile that had wanted to escape her with every word that she read, she breathed out a deep sigh. What got her more than his words, was the fact that she knew they weren't just words meant to appease her. That was what he really thought. If this was what he had thought back then? She had no idea either.

A/N: Thoughts?