A loud pounding jolts him awake, breaking him out of the heaviest sleep he's fallen under the spell of in a very long time. Once his head jumps off the pillow, he feels as if it just grew four sizes in five different places that his skull just can't contain a second longer.

"Uuuugh..." he groans loudly as he lets his head fall achingly back down to the pillow, sprawled out widely across the entire expanse of his bed on his stomach. "Not now..."

The pounding sound echos across his apartment again and he can tell that whoever it is, they're not going away.

"Fine..."

He grabs the single sheet left on the bed with his head still buried in the pillows, tosses it off his body and sloshes himself around onto his back, his head still trying to figure out which way is up and where exactly his brain belongs. His throat feels as if it's just seconds away from giving back everything it's taken in during his entire life, and his stomach is killing him. He drags his legs off the bed and slowly sits up right just as the pounding on the door sounds again.

Rick presses a palm to his head and closes his aching eyes. With only his boxers on, he pushes himself up onto his feet with as much strength as he can and starts to waddle through the door. He can feel his equilibrium shift from side to side as he takes clumsy step after clumsy step toward the door until he feels his shoulder knock hard against the door jam. He keeps his palm pressed into his head as he steadies himself on the door jam he just ran into.

The alcohol still poisoning his system, he's too out of it to notice or to care that he's opening the door in only his boxers to who might as well be a complete stranger. Even so, he sloshes his way through his apartment and over to the door, stepping on the shirt from his tuxedo on his way and tripping on his cumberbun with the very next step. He's at the door with his eyes still closed, unwilling to adjust to the light of the room. It only takes a moment for him leaning against the wall next to the door to muster up the courage to turn the knob and open his door.

"I've gotta hand it to you, Rick." The thick accent of his agent says as she shoves his way into his apartment. "This is a big milestone for you. A rite of passage for ya almost."

"Paula?" He asks with his eyes still half closed.

"Here I am buying billboards in every subway platform this side of Lady Liberty and you get that pretty face of your's in the papers overnight, free of charge." She tells him as she continues into his apartment.

"Wha...?" He asks as he closes the door and turns around.

Once he turns to face her, he feels his shirt being tossed in his face. "Cover yourself, Rick, ya getting me flustered."

"Uh..." he groans as he pulls his tuxedo shirt from his face and slowly starts to pull the sleeves on. "Paula, what are you doing here?"

"Ya know, Rick, I don't even know why you need me." Paula says, pouting her lips out and crossing her arms at the entrance to his kitchen off his living room. "You should save yourself 10% and let me go, seeing as you're perfectly capable of getting articles in the papers all by your lonesome."

Rick stares at her with a knot in his brow. "I reiterate."

Paula looks over to him again with frustration simmering in her expression and slowly paces her way toward him, pulling the newspaper out from under her arm. "I told you," she starts slowly, "to smile at the cameras, not dance!" She says strongly and shoves the paper at him. "Ya know, the soul-sucking vultures that've been circling that pretty face of yours finally smelled blood, and now," she stops, takes the paper back from him, unfolds it a few pages, and shoves it back at him, "they put it on page six."

"Page s..." he trails off, his drunken brain slow to catch the details and fit them into place, "you mean the gossip column?" He asks, looking down at the paper.

"That's right, Hemmingway." Paula says and takes the paper from him again, shoving it in his face. "Recognize her?"

"U-uh..." Rick stutters as his eyes focus on the picture of him, blinking rapidly. "She uh..." he starts, seeing the familiar face but the unfamiliar photo of him with a bright, drunken smile on his face with that familiar looking redhead hanging draped over his arm as if he's dipping her while dancing. "She was at the fundraiser last night. Why?"

"Oh, really?" Paula shrugs her shoulders. "She was just at the fundraiser last night, was she? You have any idea who that is?!"

"Yeah, she said her name was uh... Meredith something."

"That's the Meredith Harper." Paula says pointedly. When Rick just stares at her, Paula windmills her hand in front of him to help him get the picture. "Channel Seven? She plays Lori on the Times Like Now soap opera?"

Rick's expression falls in impatience as he waves at his TV. "I watch cartoons and documentaries about aliens building the pyramids, Paula." He says just as pointedly as she sounds and hands her the paper back, pacing away from her and running a hand through his matted bed hair.

"Says here you two were seen acting pretty touchy-feely before leaving together just as the event was ending." Paula says when Rick is a few paces away from her.

Rick puts a hand on his waist and balls his fist up in his hair with a tight grip, wanting to rip it out. He can feel his eyes burn.

"What'd ya do, Rick?"

All Rick can answer with is turning around and giving her a stern glare, holding back as much emotion as he can. He swore he wouldn't go back to that life after Kyra left. Being so heartbroken by Kate's rejection, drunk, at an event that he didn't want to attend in the first place... it was all a perfect storm that makes giving into his weakness seem like the only way out. Paula can seemingly tell he's having a hard time dealing with it all from the look in his eye.

"Come on, Rick." Paula says, taking a step forward and tapping his arm with the newspaper and giving him a friendly smile. "So you had one night. What's the big deal? You lay low for a while, cancel a few singings, keep under the radar, I'll get you through this. The fact that this Harper-harpie got her crosshairs set on you won't be a problem."

"It's easy for you to say. But I'm not supposed to be like this, okay?" He tries weakly to defend himself with an arched brow.

"Who says you're like that?" Paula asks him.

"Oh, gee, I don't know," Rick starts sarcastically and lifts the paper up to her face, "maybe every single literate person in Manhattan?"

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better," Paula starts and tips her hand to him, "Harper is known in certain circles to have a knack for getting her claws in men that leave themselves open for a swoop-in. And I hate to tell you this, Rick, but last night... you might as well have been a fresh fish washed up on shore."

"You say that like it makes everything better." He says back in a dark voice and moves passed her and into his kitchen, moving around the peninsula and over to his espresso machine, pulling the portafilter out with a firm twist.

"So," Paula starts, sounding as if she's meandering toward the kitchen after him, "any way you want me to handle this?"

"Handle what?" He asks her, turning to look at her over his shoulder.

"If I were you," Paula says and takes a seat on one of the stools on the other side of the peninsula of his kitchen, "the golden approach might be best."

"The what?" Rick asks as he stamps down the grounds into the filter and carefully rounds it off.

"Silence is golden, just pretend it never happened. Harper isn't the type to have any public shame about these kinds of things. "

Rick pushes out a sigh as he twists the portafilter back into place. "Might work for the papers, Paula. But not on her."

"If that's what you-"

"Paula?" Rick says softly, leaning against the counter with his head down. When she doesn't respond, he continues. "I just need some time alone, okay?"

There's a pause before he hears the leather of the cushion on the stool crinkle when she slides off. "Call me if you need me, alright?"

"I'll try not to this time."

Not another word is exchanged as Paula exits the apartment, leaving him to hang his head limply. His lungs straining, he lets out a shaky breath and shoves off the counter and turns around, hardening his spine as much as he can, seeing Paula had left the paper behind on the counter she was sitting at, turned open to page six. He takes a few steps forward and reaches for the paper, seeing his humiliation on display.

He's better than this. He knows he is.

Her parents expected this kind of thing out of him. That's why they hated him so much. They always thought he was incapable of taking himself seriously. They always thought that he could never dedicate himself to anything real, always thought he was destined to wake up with a fogged memory, always thought he would forever be running away from responsibility. And for a while, they were right. He gave them exactly what they wanted, a self-fulfilling prophecy that drove him to the edge of madness for a while until he managed to straighten himself out.

The best revenge he ever got for poisoning Kyra against him is proving them wrong and surviving. He thought he taught himself a long time ago that survival is the best revenge he could ever hope for, was not being like that at all.

Rick draws in a few very long breaths, solidifying his straining lungs before he takes the newspaper in both hands and tears it in two. He has to know who he truly is. He has to learn to stop doubting himself so much. She said she had a great time. She seemed like she had a great time. She gave him a seal of proof with that soft kiss she brushed onto his jaw just before she went inside. Rick closes his eyes and keeps his breathing as slow and stead as he can.

He was so caught up in trying to pinpoint ways to get her attention, approaching it by means of just tossing out ideas hoping one would stick like he would in writing a new book, he forgot one of the most important tools in writing, the thing that separates great writers from the rest; the ability to see the world through another person's eyes.

And right now, she has a thick cloud of negative capability surrounding her that he has to understand will make her actions and her approach to things seem entirely different.

Rick lets out a hard sigh and tosses the torn paper into the trash, then turning around and starting the espresso machine, reaching for the phone on the other side of the counter as he does.

Kate feels herself slowly wake up and turns over onto her back with a stretch. The first night in a long time she hasn't had another nightmare. The last ones can still haunt her, but now that they've stopped, the images will start to fade again... hopefully.

She hated doing what she did. And if she had remembered herself during their first outing, she wouldn't have allowed herself to get so sucked in by him. He just makes it so easy to forget herself, forget her problems. But he also takes away her ambitions. With him around, there seems to be nothing else but him. Whether it's him just being that all-encompassing, his personality just being that large, or his just being that distracting, she can't have that in her life.

Kate can still feel her cold, lifeless eyes bore into her as she whips off the covers and pads her way out of her bedroom and into the bathroom for the morning. She's never let her mother down before. She can't afford to do it now just because someone like him shows up... or maybe just him, if there's anyone else like him out there. She has too much riding on her staying on this path. Justice for her mother, for all the other families she knows the cops like that detective from that night just write off like they mean nothing to no one, for her father. She can't think of any other way to get him out of this and she can't back down now.

And as far as she has to go, and as much as it may hurt, she can't afford to stop.

Kate exits the bathroom and finds Lanie at the table with a cup of coffee sitting in her hand and the paper in front of her. "Morning, Lane." Kate says in a monotone voice as she goes into their kitchenette.

Lanie folds up the paper and stands up from the chair. Kate can tell by the sound of the squeaking wood underneath her weight and the rustling of the paper. "I hope you're happy."

Kate stops with a small bottle of orange juice in her hand. "Yes," She answers, "wait, no, not yet, yes... wha-um..." Kate shakes her head, getting her words straight. "What are you talking about?"

Lanie folds the paper over in one hand and shows it to her. The instant she sees his face in the black and white grainy picture in the paper, her heart gets lodges tightly in her throat. Her spine then tightens with spasming nerves when she sees him smiling goofily with a woman in a very skimpy dress hanging from his arm. She can tell there's an article below the picture, but can't tear her eyes away from the picture.

Why does she feel like this? This is what she wanted, right? Why does her stomach feel this nauseous over a guy she said she didn't have room in her life for in the first place? Kate shakes the thoughts away as best she can and cracks the plastic seal on the bottle of orange juice, looking away and taking a small sip. "So?"

"Oh, come on, girl." Lanie says and turns the paper back over. "Richard Castle, recently outed as the ruggedly handsome writer he is, and even more recently listed as one of New York's most eligible bachelors, took to a fundraiser last night for his hometown's struggling homeless shelters, where he ran into another attractive socialite." Lanie reads.

Kate tries her hardest not to let the word affect her inside, but it's all she can do to keep it from affecting her outside and maintain her steady demeanor as she pushes her way passed Lanie and into the living room.

"Meredith Harper, known least for her shyness and modesty, met up with the mystery novelist where the two of them seemed to hit it off. While the two of them arrived in separate cars, they left in just one. What happens next is a mystery that we'll have to read about in Mr. Castle's next novel." Lanie continues as Kate grits her teeth and ignores the anxious flex in the muscles of her back while sitting down in the couch. "Or will we see these two out together more often? In this reporters opinion, they seem to fit."

On the last sentence, Lanie refolds the paper and tosses it down to the coffee table in front of her. Kate takes another swig of her orange juice and shrugs her shoulders, trying to be as cool about the situation as she can. This is what she wanted. She wanted to go back to her own path. But yes, she does care about what he does.

Was he just fooling her and getting her to think in the back of her mind that he wasn't like this? Or was what she did that heartbreaking for him?

Kate blinks a few times and looks down to her lap as she pulls her legs up onto the couch. "I told you, Lanie. It wasn't a date. He can do whatever he wants."

"Kate, this woman is-"

"A nobody, Lane." Kate finishes for her. "And besides, look at the picture." She points to the paper. "Half that picture is of the bar, which is clearly open. He was clearly drunk and made a fool of himself. He does it every night at the Haunt. He probably needed a drink af-" Kate cuts herself off, keeping the part of her standing him up to herself, unwilling to make herself out to be the villain of the story. "Anyway, you really think she's his type?"

"Kate..." Lanie starts pointedly, "he... liked... you."

"And now he's on page six, so what's your-" Kate's cut off by a knock on the door, "your point." She finishes as she gets up to answer the door. Kate opens the door and finds a delivery guy standing on the other side with a large bouquet of tulips on one arm.

"Kate Beckett?" He asks, tipping the bill of his hat up.

"Uh... yeah."

"Sign here." He says, handing her a clipboard. She scrawls out her signature in one motion and sees the delivery guy give her a smile as he hands her the bouquet. "Enjoy."

"Uh..." she stammers again, looking at the large bouquet of tulips in her hands, "thanks?"

Kate closes the door with her foot and takes the notecard from the center of the flowers, handing the flowers to Lanie. "I told you he liked you."

Ignoring her, Kate tears open the envelope and pulls out the notecard.

Kate-

This will be the third time I've tried to give you flowers. I figured I couldn't chicken out if I had someone else do it for me. I can't help but feel you've seen the paper already. You said you wanted to talk, so if you're still willing to let me listen, I'll be at the coffee shop two blocks down from the Old Haunt. You're supposed to get the flowers at 9:30, so I'll be there until 11. Same as before, no pressure, no expectations other than we talk. If you don't show up, don't worry, I will understand this time. I promise.

P.S. I hope you like tulips -Rick

Kate looks up to Lanie, who has the flowers pressed into her nose with a pleasant smile. "How did..." she trails off, looking at the flowers in her roommate's hands.

"What's it say?" She asks.

Kate waves the notecard at the flowers before letting it fall limply to her side. "Tulips are my favorite."

A/N: Got a 33/33/33 hate response to the last chapter. Some were mad at Kate, some mad at Rick, most mad at Meredith. Anyway, Happy Memorial Day. Enjoy the new chapter... if you still enjoy the story, that is. :o