Disclaimer: Not owning any part of Castle.

A/N: Update: my life is still a mess. BUT I got to go on a mini vacation for three days. My best friend bought concert tickets and we'd been planning the trip for months. Recently her grandfather died and we both just needed to get away so we decided to just go.

She woke with a gasp, eyes blinking in confusion and sweat coating her skin. A heaviness in her limbs and a fire in her belly. It took a minute, for the fog to clear, for Kate to realize she'd been dreaming. That she was alone, in her room, in her bed. Sunlight peeked through the curtains and she groaned in pure frustration. She wasn't enveloped by bare skin, wasn't tugging at soft hair and pulling his mouth to hers.

Richard Castle wasn't kissing her, he wasn't touching her like he had been moments ago. His hands weren't against her skin. But when she kicked at the blanket in disgust, she felt the arousal spike as the fabric slid across her body. Her thighs shifted, her hips rocked and she hated that she was so worked up, that a dream had left her wanting.

A dream about him. About how warm he was to the touch, how it felt when his mouth closed over her nipple and his fingers slid between her legs to explore her folds. She closed her eyes again, tried to think of something else but it was there. The flash of bare flesh and the way he'd said her name was still echoing in her ears. It hadn't been real but she'd swear she could still feel the push of his fingers, the way they curled inside her. His.

It wasn't the first time she'd dreamt of a hand between her legs, wasn't the first time she'd woke sweating and still feeling fingers inside her but it was the first time she was aroused and not terrified. The first time it was him and not a man with soulless eyes and fists that marred her skin. It was the first time, she'd moaned and sighed instead of grunted and screamed in pain.

Even now, with her chest heaving and her body aching in need, she could still feel the heat. Her breathing was still rapid, her skin flushed. She could feel it. She could still feel him, Richard fucking Castle. And it wasn't dissipating, the dampness between her thighs, and the twisting in her abdomen. She pushed the heels of her palms against her eyes, pressed until lines and squiggles appeared. Until it hurt to keep pressing. That didn't help either.

With a growl, she let her hands fall to her stomach and stared down at the batman emblem across her chest, the way her nipples peaked beneath the fabric. Yeah, they were traitors too. The shirt smelled of him, maybe that was why she slid one hand down, teased the edge of her panties with the tips of her fingers as the other went up, rubbed over her breast. She shivered hard.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't as hot, as needy, as desperate as her dream had been. But she still arched into it, rocked her hips and threw her head back when her fingers slipped inside her panties. She needed touch, hard pressure. She didn't tease herself, not much. She let her thumb rub over the ink in her skin. Her subconscious had done enough teasing. She was thinking of him, imagining it was his hand rubbing through her soaked folds. Imagined it was his thumb tracing the lines of her tattoo. She lost herself in the fantasy, telling him faster, harder, biting her lip to stifle a moan when she thought of the way he'd been kissing her stomach, leaving a trail until his face disappeared and she'd woke frustrated.

She wanted it. She wanted him. All of it, everything from his mouth on hers to the way her thighs had lazily fallen open when he'd nudged them apart. It all felt too real. And she'd wanted him, begged him to taste her. She didn't know what that felt like, had never had a guy do that to her. But she'd wanted him to in her dream.

And now with her fingers slick and dancing, gliding, rubbing and her breath coming out in short pants, she pictured it. Imagined his face. Her back arched off the mattress, her muscles tightened and she came with his name on her tongue.

She laid there trying to catch her breath, her bones liquid. Slowly her eyes opened and when Kate saw the clock, she scrambled. She jerked her hand out of her panties, pulled her shirt down to cover her thighs.

"Shit, shit, shit. Fuck." It was late. She was late. She wiped her fingers on the sheet, told herself she'd change it later and stumbled out of bed. And proceeded to trip over her shoe, her hip caught the bedside table and she didn't even look to see what she'd grabbed from her dresser before she darted across the hall to the bathroom.

It wasn't until after she'd used the restroom, discarded her embarrassingly damp panties to her hamper, that she looked to see what she'd brought with her. Clean underwear – appropriate. She didn't bite back her smile, too amused at this point. She was going to be late and it was technically his fault. He'd invaded her dreams.

She didn't have time to fuss. Didn't do anything more than brush her teeth, slide into the black lace cheekies and a pair of jeans. Her hair was a lost cause, she didn't even look at it or she would've been even later than late. She had to leave. Now.

She skidded into the kitchen, stole a piece of bacon from her father's plate. And smacked a kiss to his cheek, ignored the stink of alcohol. Another day, another battle she didn't want to have yet again. Not when he could still so easily point out the bruising she still battled to hide.

"Bye, Dad." She didn't stick around to hear what he had to say. She didn't want the excuses, or the slurred words, didn't need to see his bloodshot eyes or smell the whiskey on his breath. Not today. She ran out the door and pretended she didn't hear him call her name.

She knew he loved her. She did but he disappointed her and some days, it was better to just not say anything to him. And she was late. She didn't have time. She didn't have time to think about how he didn't quite love her enough to put down the bottle. She didn't have time to mope about how much that stung and chafed at her heart.

It was more than just a disappointment. It was a full frontal assault on her psyche. But she shoved it down, put it in a box and locked it away. Not today.

It wasn't until she was in the elevator up to the loft that she realized in her haste to get out the door, she'd forgotten to change shirts. She hadn't even put on a bra. She was a fucking mess, no doubt looking like some college level walk of shame. And that was the kicker, wasn't it? The fact that her walk of shame was actually nearly an every night event on her way home from 'work'.

That shame almost had her pushing the button for the lobby but she was already late and she didn't want to just ditch him. The thought made her stomach twist in knots. Even if she didn't belong in his world, he had hired her. He was giving her a chance to make honest money instead of the sleazy dollar bills she pressed between book pages to straighten out. And he was a good man. She knew that now. He'd taken care of her, made her feel safe. Without demanding an explanation. She still owed him that.

She stepped out when the elevator doors opened and continued on the path that led to his home. She couldn't just leave. Even though her legs still felt a little wobbly and the heat still lingered between her thighs, she stayed. She knocked on the door and waited.

And waited. It was silent, no footsteps. She let her knuckles slap against the door again, a little harder this time. She jumped back from the door when she heard a crash, a loud thump and a few colorful words from the man on the other side. Nothing prepared her for the moment he appeared in front of her. Not a goddamn thing.

Her smile fell, her eyes dropped and every lick of heat she thought she'd tamped down, rose with a ferocity that had her shifting her thighs. He was wet. Her gaze followed a droplet of water that slid enticingly down his chest and she bit her lip hard, resisting the urge to touch him. She didn't notice anything but his skin, the muscles of his arms that clenched and the heat that raged in her blood.

"Hey." His voice made her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Of course. Of course he was clutching a towel low on his hips when not even two hours ago she'd dreamt of him, got herself off just thinking of him.

"Uh..hi." Barely more than a squeak and she berated herself for being so affected, for feeling her nipples tighten and her muscles quiver when she found his gaze. Bright blue, playful. She didn't hold back her chuckle when she noticed the patch of soap on his neck or the shampoo holding his hair in a slick Elvis style.

"I thought you weren't coming. I was -" he gestured over his shoulder and she assumed his hand swirling back and forth was his way of telling her something she already knew.

"Sorry, I overslept." Not true but she didn't exactly feel like telling him the truth. The 'oh, sorry I'm late, I was too busy masturbating because of you to notice the time.' But he was watching her like he knew it was more, almost like he could read her thoughts and she dropped her eyes to the floor. His bare toes and the puddle he'd created had her smiling again. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, right. Please do." He stepped aside and she did her best to slide by without staring at his chest again.

He shouldn't have been so aesthetically pleasing and she wouldn't have had this problem. She waited awkwardly near the couch, no longer feeling as comfortable as she had in the past. Not when the fact that she liked him – really liked him – caused her to have erotic dreams.

And then it all vanished. The awkwardness gone when he yelped and pressed his hand to his eye. Mumbling about shampoo, leaving her alone in the living room as he stumbled off to finish his shower. He was adorable.

She dropped her bag and wandered over to peruse his shelves. She knew where things were, she'd put them there but he'd added things. Slipped a few more books here and there and she couldn't stop herself from touching, from skimming the tips of her fingers down the spines. There was something about it that tugged at her heart. The fact that he didn't move things when she put them somewhere.

Like the little glass figurine she'd stuck in the corner of one shelf. It was still there. He hadn't moved it even though she's sure that was not where he'd intended it to go. He also hadn't touched the radio she'd plugged in and left in the floor beneath the window. For some reason that made her happy, she felt as though he valued her in some way.

That was better than the fact that he'd almost kissed her once, a few days ago. Better than the way he'd hugged her close in an alley that reminded her all too much of the one her mother had died in.

Kate shoved that away too. Another thing she couldn't deal with today. So she leaned down, turned on the stereo and smiled. He hadn't changed the station either. She knew without looking because the smooth sound of guitar filled her ears. She knew the song, knew every word. Santana made her want to dance, made her want to just forget everything and enjoy dancing instead of loathing every second of it.

She made herself find something else to do. But she hummed along, singing a few words here and there as she puttered around the bookshelves, trying to wipe the image of him in nothing more than a towel out of her head. She had bigger problems than lusting after a bestselling author, she couldn't add him to the list of mistakes she was making.


Stupid. He was a moron. But at least he was now a fully dressed moron who didn't have shampoo in his eye. He'd thought she wasn't coming, he'd thought maybe something had come up. At one point he'd thought maybe she was fighting for her life...again...and he'd let himself think the worst. Which is why he'd forced himself to do something. To take his mind off of her when he knew he was probably overreacting.

He didn't know why he'd decided a shower would be best, he'd piddled, spent more time in there than usual and the whole time he'd pictured her bruised and broken. Bloody and gasping for air. He'd barely heard the knock. Barely made it to the door without breaking something. And she'd looked...perfect. Sleepy and rumpled which was something he didn't expect but perfect. No more bruises. Well not any new ones, she still had the fading coloration on her face and he'd bet her ribs too but he hadn't sneaked any peeks lately.

Not since the night at the club. When he'd held her and admitted to himself that she was more than a friend, more than just someone he wanted to help. He cared. He cared way too damn much and that was only solidified by a twist in his chest when he stepped into the living room.

She was in his shirt. Something he'd noticed as soon as he'd seen her but he hadn't taken the time to appreciate it. He did now. With her back to him and her hips swaying to the beat of Santeria drifting from the radio she'd unpacked days ago. He'd ask later if she was a fan of Sublime.

His eyes raked over her, from the messy hair down to those enticing hips that were hidden beneath the length of his shirt. His. She was fussing over books, rearranging a few that had already been exactly where he wanted them but he knew he wouldn't move them back. She was touching his things as if they were her own and he wouldn't ruin her comfort by moving them again.

He almost groaned when she twisted her hips in a move that was all too close to the dirty taunting ones she used when she stripped, and again when his shirt stretched tight over her ass as she stopped mid dance to bend over and grab something from the bottom shelf. Then she resumed her slow sultry sway almost as if she didn't even notice she was dancing. Maybe she didn't.

But she'd sure noticed him in nothing but a towel. He'd seen her eyes drift, watched them widen and the pupils dilate. He wouldn't mention that, wouldn't embarrass her anymore than she'd already been. She looked good with flushed skin. And didn't that set off a whole new array of thoughts about ways to get the pink back in her cheeks.

She let out a squeak and he thought he'd been caught, but no, she pivoted and almost tripped in her hurry to get back to the radio. That noise she made slid down his spine, coiled low like a caress of fingers wrapping around his shaft. He wanted to know what erotic little sounds she made when she was begging to come. He was completely infatuated. And in so much trouble. Kate Beckett would ruin him.

She noticed him then, he saw it but she didn't stop until she dropped to her knees and twisted the volume knob. He knew in that split second as her face lit up that Kate was irresistible and he was nothing but a fool to even try. Maybe it was time to stop trying. Maybe it was time he let her in, further than she'd already burrowed. And it was definitely time to stop waiting, he needed to push her for more than the tiny tidbits she occasionally told him.

He shoved away his less than pure thoughts about her being in his shirt and the fact that he knew she wasn't wearing a bra. He'd seen her in less. Okay, that didn't help. That just had him thinking of what he hadn't seen yet or the hint of a tattoo he'd noticed peeking out of her panties the last time he'd been at the club. He forced it all down, stepped closer and spoke just an octave above the song she seemed childishly excited about.

"Savage Garden fan?" Oh the things that surprised him. With Break Me, Shake Me flowing from the speakers and her smile, he knew she would always surprise him.

"Little bit." It was obviously more than that but he let her downplay it and chose not to tease her when she hummed along.

"You know what I thought the first moment I saw you?" He didn't know why he brought it up but the adorably stunned expression on her face was enough to make him continue. "That it takes a special kind of woman to strip to AC/DC."

Her laugh was worth it. The way it rushed out of her on a breath, short and abrupt. Just enough to remind him that she had a beautiful laugh, a gorgeous smile that brightened her face and made it impossible not to smile back.

"Sometimes we can pick our own music. When Vincent's in a good mood and if we haven't done something to piss him off." The shadows smothered her smile, his too. "I'm not on his good side anymore so don't expect anything more than dirty trashy music next time I dance, okay?"

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" He lowered himself to the floor, sat down next to her and had to physically stop himself from touching the green and yellow marks on her face. She still winced if she moved a certain way, still favored her shoulder too and from spending the last few nights at Bottoms Up, he knew she still wasn't allowed to strip.

Not that he minded. He didn't want her up there anyway but it took a toll on her. It worried her, the money wasn't as good and he'd been slipping extra in her bag each day she came to work for him. Worse than that, she pretended not to notice which made him think she was desperate for it. Ashamed.

"I..." She let it drop, turned to stare at the window and chew on her lip. She'd have it bleeding again if she didn't stop it.

He pushed.

"Kate, I trust you and I respect you but you showed up at my door barely conscious. I just want to know you're safe." He wasn't expecting the scoff she let out or the way it burned like acid in his stomach.

"You wouldn't respect me anymore if I told you."

"You don't know that." He saw it flash in her eyes, the fact that she actually believed he wouldn't. The hurt clear in the green that turned to meet him. They'd change in a minute, always turned darker. A golden rich color like whiskey when she was upset.

"I thought I was doing something good. I thought I was helping Esmerelda but when I got there, it was Vincent who pulled me aside. He wanted me to do him a favor." Her voice dripped with disgust and he was already regretting that he'd asked.

His writer's imagination was already working double time. And each scenario left him sick to his stomach and had anger punching through his chest. A visceral assault on his body.

"Kate," he murmured, unsure of what to say next.

"Not that. Not him. You were right about the club being a front, about the drugs that get smuggled back and forth. I don't get involved, I don't. I show up and I strip, I take my money and that's it. Some of the other girls sell, or buy and use but I don't. Rick, I -"

"I know. I already know that, Kate." She was getting upset. Her hands had started to tremble. "You're not like them."

And then she made a strangled noise of disgust and he knew. He knew she'd done something monumentally stupid. His anger rose before she even rushed to explain.

"It was just once, he offered me six-hundred to take a box to an associate of his. Cocaine. Three hundred up front and I know what you're thinking, I do but I needed the money and I thought it was an easy drop. I would just get it over with, get paid and come here like I'd planned."

"Let me get this straight, you moved drugs for this guy because he offered you money?" He was failing at controlling his temper, letting it seep into his words and had to watch as she shifted away from him. The pang it caused in his chest was pushed aside; at that moment, he didn't care that she seemed wary of the tone of his voice. "That's what your life is worth to you? Six hundred dollars – that I'm sure you didn't get after taking a beating that could have killed you."

"I didn't know -"

"Jesus Christ, Kate. You did know! You're smarter than that so don't play dumb with me right now. You knew it could go south and you still did it." He shoved a hand through his hair, closed his eyes for a moment to calm himself. And when he opened them, she was back to the headstrong woman who didn't shy away from him.

"Yes! Yes, I knew that. Okay but I – I didn't know he'd traded me right along with the drugs. I didn't know that I was being set up, that I was supposed to let..." she paused but he already knew what she wouldn't say; he'd already guessed, "and when I realized, I tried to run. I fought back and I thought I was going to die in that room, is that what you want to hear?"

"No." It wasn't. He didn't want to know. He took it back because he didn't want to know anymore. He didn't want that image in his head, didn't want to know how someone had put their hands on her because she'd been part of an arrangement.

"Yeah, I fucked up. But it's not like I'm going to do it again. Lesson learned." He believed her. He saw it in her eyes, the way she was holding back tears. And when she spoke softly, with trepidation, he knew he hadn't handled it very well. "Do you want me to go?"

He didn't. He was upset, angry and confused but he didn't want her to leave.

"Stay. I'm angry, yes, but don't go."

"I don't even know why I'm still here. Everything's unpacked, I've mailed and emailed everything you asked this week and you haven't mentioned any errands since I got here."

"You need the money right? Didn't you just admit to being a drug mule because someone offered you money?" She flinched and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. But he didn't apologize because that was exactly what she'd done. She'd taken a beating and he was slapping her around with words because of it.

"I -" A giggle cut her off, had her swinging around to stare at the door and he followed her gaze. He heard the key slide in and under normal circumstances he wouldn't have cared but he was still stuck in their conversation. Stuck on the fact that something worse would have happened to her if she hadn't fought to get away.

He was sick to his stomach with it. And not even the door opening to his cherub faced four year old and her sweet laugh could make it better. Especially not when he could feel the panic roll off Kate in wave after wave.

"Oh, sorry darling, we're a little early. Alexis wanted to bring you ice cream." He didn't say anything as his mother swept in the room, he was too busy glancing at Kate and her wide eyed expression as she stared at the little girl with a purple bow in her vibrant red hair. "And who might this lovely young lady be?"

He ignored the way she stressed 'young' and knew this day had been coming. He'd wanted them to all meet. But not when he was still brimming with anger and Kate was still so guarded. Not while he was mad at her.

"This is Kate." As soon as he said her name, Alexis was smiling. He'd told her about his friend named Kate and how she helped him find the laser tag gear and wrestle it from the evil aliens. "Kate, this is my mother, Martha, and my daughter, Alexis."

"Hi. Uh I was just...I should go, my dad probably needs me." He would have let her retreat, would have taken her mumbled excuse but as soon as she'd stumbled to her feet, his little girl had started to pout.

His normally shy daughter was the one who stepped forward, with her hands twisting.

"There's enough ice cweam for ever'body." Her wide blue eyes were hard for anyone to resist and he saw Kate fight with it, try to think of a way to bow out without hurting her feelings.

He shouldn't have done it but he didn't want her to run so he pushed to his feet. And when he scooped up his daughter for a hug and a kiss, he did the one thing that would either scare her off for good, or make her stay.

"You can't say no to ice cream, Kate."

She didn't.


Alexis was asleep on the couch, her stuffed monkey tucked under her arm and mouth open against the pillow. He watched her from the chair, thought back to the last few hours and how well she'd warmed up to Kate. He should have known the woman would pull her in as well. There was something about her and clearly his daughter hadn't resisted. Or maybe she hadn't been able to. He'd tried and failed. What the hell was he going to do with Kate Beckett? He wanted to help, he wanted to be there for her. He'd also wanted to shake her for being so stupid or kiss her because it could have been worse.

He hadn't done either of those. Instead, he'd asked her to stay and spend time with his family. Something she hadn't been very comfortable doing but Alexis hadn't noticed. They'd chatted over ice cream, talked Disney movies and favorite books. With Kate acting cautious and eying the door the whole time. His mother had watched, spoke every so often, asked what Kate did for a living, how old she was. All things he'd hoped they'd avoid.

But of course not. His mother was nosy.

And Kate was Kate. She'd answered what she considered appropriate and hid away the rest like a dirty secret that didn't need to see the light of day. Except he'd already told his mother everything. Most of it. He'd shared how he was trying to help a troubled girl. And yet he'd kept things hidden too. Things like how much he was starting to care for that troubled girl.

He startled when a hand landed on his shoulder, looked up to see the worry etched into the lines of his mother's face.

"Richard,"

"She's a good person." And no one had questioned that but he felt the need to stand up for her, to protect her. Even if he was a little pissed at her.

"I didn't say otherwise. She's smart, well read, and despite how skittish she acted, I think she has a soft spot for Alexis. And you, but -"

"She needs help."

"I noticed the bruises. They were a little hard to miss." And Alexis had blatantly pointed them out with her natural curiosity. "I also noticed the way you look at her."

"She's my friend and someone hurt her. There's a lot I still don't know but she trusts me and for now, that's enough." But it wasn't. Not when he was angry, not when he'd wanted to demand every detail of where she'd been when she was beaten, not when he wanted to pay her boss a visit.

He would. He would do that for her.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Richard." And that was the kicker. Since Kate Beckett had come into his life – he didn't have a fucking clue.