A/N: I'm overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter, not gonna lie. Thank you all for the warm welcome back; I love reading your comments and I hope I can get into the swing of things again with this story. I can't promise the upcoming chapters will all be a week apart, but I'm going to try to have at least one nearly-done chapter on deck for each one I post. Fingers crossed.

On the drive to Kate's Upper East Side apartment, the woman in question lists against the passenger side door. Rick glances over at her when they're stopped at a light, catching the way her eyelashes flutter and watching the glow of the city storefronts illuminate her face.

She's beautiful.

As the light turns green, Rick focuses his attention on the road. The streets are more or less deserted this time of night, an eerie emptiness covering the city that never sleeps. He's no stranger to New York at 2am; there's still a decent amount of foot traffic, people stumbling out of bars and down avenues, but there are few cars out.

He pulls into a spot across the street from her apartment building twenty minutes later, the fact that there's an opening a miracle in itself. Turning off the engine, he sits for a moment, peering over at his sleeping companion.

Or so he thinks.

"Staring's creepy," she murmurs, not opening her eyes.

Rick laughs. "We're here."

He expects her to open her eyes and sit up straight. She does neither of these things. Instead, she lets out a soft mmm from the back of her throat and sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slow. Just as he's about to ask if she's okay, Kate peels her eyes open carefully, rolling her shoulders into the seat. Blinking a few times, she pauses a moment before turning her head toward him.

Her eyes are glassy from the alcohol, a little clouded, but her lips twist at the corners, and before he realizes what's happening she's pushing the door open and slipping out onto the sidewalk. Rick climbs out, hastily making his way to her side of the car before she can lose her balance and land on the concrete.

"'m fine," she says when he reaches out for her. She slams the door closed, surprised by how loud it is and teetering a bit with the movement. Once she steadies herself, she looks up at him. "Thanks for the ride, Rick."

He blanches a little as she begins to turn away and into the street.

"I'll walk you up."

Kate's brows furrow and he wonders how she still has such control of her facial features while so intoxicated. It's hot.

Undeniably intimidating, but hot.

"Trying to get lucky now, are we?"

Rick's mouth drops open. "What? No, of course not," he rushes out. "I'd never—"

She's chuckling. "'m kidding," she says, patting his bicep a little sloppily. "Come on. Walk me up. Be chivalrous."

The doorman holds the tall, glass entryway door open for them and Rick hands him a bill from his pocket. As they make their way through the lobby, front desk security greets Kate and she tosses a wave, managing a tipsy smile as she greets the two men by name. He follows her into the elevator, watches as she hits the button for the top floor, and then pretends not to notice the way she leans against the bar for support.

When they reach her floor, they step out of the elevator and he follows Kate farther down the hall. After they've been standing outside of her door for over a minute with no signs of movement, he clears his throat.

"Do you have your keys?" he asks quietly.

Kate rolls her head toward him, eyes squinted and lips pulled into a thin line. "Yes," she says, rummaging around in her tiny crossbody bag. It takes a few seconds, which is surprising because it doesn't look like there's room for much of anything in that thing, but then he hears the distinct jingle of keys. "See?"

He pauses for a moment once she gets the door open and enters her apartment. She must sense that he hasn't followed her inside because she halts, turning (rather impressively) on her heel. She arches a brow.

"You coming in?"

Her voice is tired.

Rick hesitates, uncertain, unsure if he should. He wants to, wants to make sure that she gets into bed safely and has some water and Tylenol to help the pounding headache he's sure she's going to be feeling in the morning. Well, later in the morning.

"I'm not going to seduce you," she says, a smirk playing on her lips.

Rick huffs. "Wouldn't work even if you tried."

He finally breaches the threshold into her apartment, letting the door close softly behind him. It's a nice place; large, high ceilings, an expanse of windows across the far wall that no doubt overlook a stunning chunk of the city.

"Ouch."

Kate laughs though.

"You're stunning, you know that," Rick says easily, pleased by the hitch in her breath, the surprised widening of her hazy eyes. "I'd be insane to not want you."

She cocks her head, a challenge. "So?"

"So, you're not sober." Coming up beside her, he guides her toward her living room couch and presses gently against her shoulder until she sits down. When he bends to his knees her lips part, chest rising. He makes eye contact as he slowly pulls off her high heels, placing them side-by-side onto the floor beside him. "I don't take advantage, and your friend Lanie would break both of my legs if I tried."

Kate regains her composure, lets out an amused puff of air. "Y'really are a gentleman," she muses. "Damn."

"Kate…"

"S'okay," she cuts him off, shaking her head. "Not used to it, that's all. I—thank you, Rick."

Something about the admission, one he's not sure she'd have voiced completely sober, chips away at his heart. He can only imagine the things she's been subjected to, a woman in this business, so often viewed only as a body and not a person at all. Child star and model? Double whammy. He hurts for her.

"No thanks necessary," he says seriously, settling back onto his haunches.

When he looks up, her head's resting back against the cushion, eyes closed. She's especially beautiful like this. Standing, he takes a look around as he decides on his course of action. He wanders into her kitchen, quietly fumbling around in her massive cabinets until he finds a glass, and then fills it with water from the filter attached to her refrigerator. He worries at first that the noise will disturb Kate, but he figures her kitchen isn't close enough for her to hear it. With the room at least a (very long) hallway away, he's sure the rumbling of the machine and the clash of ice against the glass is nothing more than white noise.

She's still on the couch when he returns a few minutes later; she's curled up now, legs tucked beneath her as she angles herself sideways, cheek pressed against the couch cushion. Rick grins at the sight.

He considers leaving her there, but he doesn't think that's comfortable and, given the hangover she's likely to have, waking up in her own bed would be preferable. The problem is, of course, that he has no idea where her bedroom is. Doesn't even know if it's on this floor or up the stairs he caught a peek of as he wandered in behind her.

Rick holds the water in one hand, shaking her gently with the other. "Kate."

She shifts a bit, scrunches her nose, but doesn't acknowledge him.

"Kate," he tries again, shakes a little harder. "Come on, gotta get you into bed."

"Knew you'd come around," she says, and he's about to rebuff her comment when her eyes peel open and her lips curl. "I know, I know."

Shaking his head, he chuckles. She lets him grab her wrist and gently tug her to her feet. She's not nearly as unsteady as he'd have assumed, not as unsteady as a woman her size should be after all she's had to drink.

"Which way?"

She points off in the distance and, once he has his free arm wrapped around her shoulder for support, just in case, he allows her to guide them through her apartment. Her room does appear to be upstairs; he walks beside her, careful not to spill the sloshing liquid in his grip or let her fall backwards.

"Second door on the left," she says then, and he steers them toward the room in question.

When she flips on the light, he takes a second to glance around. He's not entirely sure what he was expecting of her bedroom, but it's nice. It's not all that fancy, not at all what he'd have assumed lived in the same penthouse with wall-to-wall windows downstairs and perfectly pristine décor throughout the space.

No, her room is almost the complete opposite; it has a cozy, lived-in feel to it. It almost doesn't match the downstairs at all and he kind of likes that she doesn't mind it, doesn't need each room in the house to match a theme. He imagines in the daytime the natural light reflects beautifully against the pale colored walls.

She's collapsed onto the bed before he even has a chance to help her over and he has to stifle a laugh. He does smile, though. It's... well, adorable.

"Kate," he says, inching forward, unsure if she's already fallen asleep or if she's simply laying with her eyes closed. When he gets no reply, he shakes gently at her shoulder. "Hey, Kate."

"Mm."

Not asleep, just resting. But she doesn't open her eyes, just lets out a long breath.

"You would probably be more comfortable in pajamas, not your dress."

Eyes still closed, one corner of her lips quirk. "Trying to get me out of my dress, Rick?"

He chuckles, knows already that she says it in jest, and it turns into a full-bellied laugh when one eye opens to match her lopsided grin.

"You're something else, you know that?"

Kate laughs, opening her eyes fully and propping herself up on her elbows. "So I'm told," she says. "Mostly from Lanie."

"Lanie seems… aggressively protective."

"Yeah." Her smile turns soft. "She means well. Always does."

"I like her."

Huffing as she hauls herself into a standing position, she lifts her chin to look at him. "She'll like you once she realizes I'm still alive tomorrow and not being held captive in some famous author's torture dungeon."

"Well, I'm thrilled to be doing the absolute bare minimum by not kidnapping you while you're drunk."

"Not drunk," she says pointedly, a finger stretched in his direction.

The way she wobbles slightly on her bare feet and the waver of her body when she's not holding onto a piece of furniture for stability tells him otherwise, but he doesn't dare voice it. Again, she's really not looking all that rough right now, not nearly the worst drunk he's taken care of. Himself included.

When she has hold of a pair of shorts and a matching top, she makes it clear she's going to begin stripping and changing into pajamas whether he's in the room or not. She begins hastily unzipping the back of her dress before he even comprehends what's happening, the motions a little sloppy but determined, and he spins on his heels. He stares at the wall closest to him, left foot tapping lightly against the plush carpet.

While he waits, he makes note of the frames adorning the space. They look to be family photos; one of a younger Kate Beckett, her smile wide as she's hugged from behind by an older woman who could be her spitting image, just thirty years older. Her mother, he has to assume.

Now that he thinks of it, there's never really been much about her parents written in the papers or online. He supposes that's not actually all too out of the ordinary for the normal person, though, the one whose mother isn't an over-the-top, show-stopping theater star in her own right.

"You're safe."

Spinning back around, he can't help but grin when he's met with a sleepy-looking Kate, now fully dressed in her matching black pajama set.

"Do you think you can make it into bed?"

Heaving out a dramatic sigh, she nods, "I think I can manage."

Once she's safely beneath her comforter, pressed comfortably against a mountain of pillows (he really never has understood how women can sleep with a dozen pillows propped behind them), he backs away from the bed. Her eyes droop and he'd love nothing more than to let her get the sleep her body clearly so desperately craves, but something hits him that cannot wait.

"Hey, Kate," he says. She sighs. "Before you fall asleep, do me a favor and text Lanie that you made it home safely so she doesn't find my address and murder me in the night, yeah?"

Both eyes still closed, she smirks. "You wouldn't stand a chance."

"Of that I have no doubt, and I'd very much like to avoid becoming a victim of felony homicide." Chuckling, Kate just holds out her hand, palm up. "Where's your phone?"

Kate hums. "In my bag. On the chair in the corner, next to my dresser."

Rick backs away from the bed and makes his way toward the dresser she'd taken her pajamas out of. There's a chair in the corner that he hadn't even noticed before, but her cross-body bag is propped in the middle on top of a rather fluffy pillow. He grabs it and tries to pretend he doesn't feel weird rifling around in her purse—she did ask him to—and he really is surprised how much she manages to fit in this little thing.

He finds the phone easily, ignoring anything else his fingers brush (is that mace?), and brings it over, placing it into her still-outstretched palm.

Her fingers wrap around the phone and she tugs it closer. She opens her eyes long enough to unlock the screen and scroll to Lanie's contact. "'Help, being kidnapped'," she dictates as she types out a message. Plopping the phone onto her blanket-covered chest, she grins. "There, all done."

"You didn't."

Picking her phone up again, her fingers tap, tap, tap. "'Just kidding'," she says. "'Alive and in bed.'"

Rick's eyes widen, unsure if she's fucking with him. "Did you actually say that?"

Wordlessly, she hands over her phone, still open on Lanie's contact messages:

Help, being kidnapped!

Just kidding.

Alive and in bed.

Tongue out emoji. Kissy face emoji.

"Kate," Rick gapes. "Seriously?"

She just laughs, eyes already slipping closed again. "Lanie expects this from me, it's fine."

She really is something else. Damn.

At least Lanie knows she's alive and he didn't, in fact, kidnap her.

"Okay," he chuckles, off-center. She does something to him, to his balance. "Final order of business, where do you keep your Tylenol?"

"Bathroom cabinet, above the sink," she tells him, left hand gesturing lazily in the general direction of her en-suite bathroom.

He nods even though she can't see him and makes his way across her room and toward his destination. Flipping the switch, his eyes take a second to adjust to the brightness of the white overhead lights.

Her bathroom is huge, even larger than his.

It's all white with black accent tiles along the walls, and the space is incredibly… open. There's a stretch of open space between the long sink and the opposing wall, and then there's a raised bathtub in a style he didn't think they produced anymore further down. Across the far wall is a walk-in shower with clouded glass doors, two perfectly folded black and white towels draped over the towel rack.

Now, the bathroom matches the downstairs.

Shaking his head, he returns to the task at hand and rummages around in the cabinet. He opens the left side first but there are no painkillers; this appears to be her prescription medicine cabinet, and while he notices that there are more than a few bottles, he doesn't keep the door open long enough to see what they are. It's none of his business.

In the right cabinet he finds what he's looking for, and a smile forms when he realizes she's incredibly well-stocked. It's an impressive array of painkillers and remedies for fevers, nausea, insomnia, sore throat—the works.

He shakes the Tylenol bottle until two pills pop into his palm, caps and puts it back, and closes the cabinet.

When he crosses back into the bedroom, Kate is asleep. For real this time. Her left cheek is pressed into the pillow, lips parted slightly as she puffs out soft, even breaths, and her face highlighted by the glow of her bedside lamp. He doesn't want to wake her just to announce his departure, so he decides he'll find a piece of paper downstairs and leave a note instead.

But first: water. He grabs the glass he'd carried upstairs and deposited on her dresser earlier, walks it back across the room, and places it beside the two pills on the bedside table. She'll be grateful for them when she wakes, he's sure.

Downstairs, he manages to find a notepad on her coffee table and scribbles out a note.

Kate,

You looked too peaceful, I didn't want to wake you.

Drink lots of water and don't forget the Tylenol.

Hope this round at the rodeo isn't too painful for you.

Call me sometime,

Rick

He writes his number below his name and places the notepad on her kitchen island where she's most likely to see it.

Rick doesn't hear from Kate the following day, or the next, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed. After their time together at Connelly's party and driving her home, he was so sure there had been… something. A connection, some banter, a budding friendship, he can't quite put his finger on it, but he was captivated by every whip of her quick tongue.

He doesn't have much time to dwell on the disappointment, though, because his blood-sucking publicist, Paula, hounds him nonstop about the chapters he hasn't been getting to her. Unless he wants to deal with more of her constant bitching—because that's what it is at this point—he has to get something, anything, written and ready to send. Rick doesn't tell Paula that he's bored of Derrick Storm, that he finds no joy in writing the story anymore and he has half a mind to kill him off in the chapters she's begging for.

A few hours into writing, after finally managing to get into something maybe resembling a groove if you close one eye and squint with the other, his phone goes off.

Without taking his eyes off of the computer screen, he answers. "Y'ello."

"Rick?"

That voice.

He blinks, swiveling a bit in his chair. "Kate?"

"So you remember me? How endearing."

"As if I could forget."

"Good answer," she drawls, and he can feel his skin burning at the tone of her voice.

"How are you?"

Kate pauses, and then: "Perfect," she says, but her voice has that same practiced lilt to it he'd heard back in the club's bathroom. "I've been meaning to call, but things have piled up quickly on my end."

"Don't worry about it," he waves, actually waves her off, alone in his office. "I'm glad you called."

"Would've been a shame if I didn't, don't you think?"

Grinning a little to himself, he nods. "I'd have to agree." There's a brief silence. "What's been going on in the busy life of Kate Beckett?"

"Oh, you know, same old stuff. A handful of meetings; a bathing suit campaign, kneeling in freezing water for the shot, rinse and repeat for a couple of hours; a few other photoshoots and casting calls."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It's the job." He can almost see her gesturing with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "There is, however, a reason I called."

"It wasn't just to hear my charming voice?"

"Charming, huh? I'd say rugged, personally," she murmurs, low. "Now would you like to hear the reason or continue to flatter yourself?"

He laughs then; he appreciates her boldness, how blunt she is in the way she speaks to him. She flatters him but her words are quick-witted and come with some bite at the same time. It's different from many of the other women he's spoken to, the ones who see him as Richard Castle Famous Author and do nothing but flatter him, almost ad nauseam.

"Sorry, do go on."

"As I was saying. I want to see you again, Rick," she says, confidently. "There's a show on Tuesday I'm a part of. I'm on a strict schedule until then, but I was thinking you could come."

"To the show?"

"Of course to the show," she says. He can hear the noises of the streets in the background; cars honking, tires on pavement, fellow pedestrians talking off in the distance. She must be outside. "If you want to see me again, of course."

Her voice is teasing, a bit flirty, no doubt in it that he does want to see her again. She knows.

Rick hums for a moment, low in the back of his throat. "And what will I do at this show?"

"Well, you have eyes, which are generally helpful in watching a fashion show." He laughs. "You'll come backstage too, so you actually see me and don't just watch me walk."

"I'd love to watch you walk. I bet you have a great one."

She's all legs, he knows she has to have a stellar walk.

"Perhaps," she says, the sound almost a purr. Jesus. "You can see for yourself. See you Tuesday, Rick."

And then she hangs up and he's left standing in his office—when did he stand up?—completely dumbfounded by what's just happened. He's known this woman for less than 12 hours and he's fairly certain she's going to be the death of him.

His phone chimes a moment later: a text from Kate with an address, a time, and a wink emoji.

"Damn."