A/N: Long time no see, y'all. I've had two chapters of this story written for... a long time, and then I stalled. I usually never post a story without it being finished, but instead of letting this collect dust for another year I figured I'd post the first chapter and, if there's any interest in it being continued, I hope that will be motivation enough to do so.

A core theme in the story hits very close to home for me, so while it's very cathartic to write out, especially as I've been struggling personally, I think it also might have something to do with why it's been more difficult to work through. Putting more of myself into a story in such a way is scary. With that being said, I do have to note that there will be a trigger warning later on. I'm sure some might be able to deduce what for based on bits of this chapter, but I will be sure to put the proper warning in the appropriate chapter once it comes (if this is a story y'all would like to see continued).

Regardless, I hope this is... something, at least. A little snippet of something new, if nothing else. xx

a safe place to land

He knows who Kate Beckett is. Of course he does.

He knows who Kate Beckett is and he's always figured he'd run into her eventually, given the occasional intertwining of their circles, but he never expected that moment would come in the men's bathroom of a booked out club during Michael Connelly's "New York Times Best Seller" party.

She moves slowly from one of the stalls to the mirrors, resting what looks like all of her body weight on her arms as they prop her up. He thinks if she let go she'd collapse.

Richard Castle clears his throat.

Turning her head, her eyes find his. They narrow a bit, head tilted. "Hello?"

"This is the men's room."

She blinks at him, smirks as if he's the one out of place here. It makes him a bit uneasy. "Mm. It would appear so," Kate says then, voice a rasp. She appraises him, gaze traveling the length of his body. "Richard Castle, is it?"

Before he has a chance to answer the door swings open and another woman waltzes in. This is the most women he's seen in a men's restroom in… well, ever. She's not familiar, though she doesn't appear surprised to find Kate Beckett standing catty-corner from a wall of urinals.

"Kate."

She matches her tone. "Lanie."

The woman, Lanie apparently, stands with a raised brow and heaves out a sigh. She turns to him, then back to Kate. "Another one? Really?"

Another what?

Kate chuckles, turns on the tap and begins washing her hands. "That was a one-time thing, Lane."

A one-time what?

"You know, that doesn't make me feel better, sweetie," the woman drawls. This time when she turns toward Rick, she maintains a stare. Expectant. "She telling the truth?"

Is she?

"I—I don't know," he says, the statement escaping in the form of a question. How can he know if she's telling the truth if he doesn't know what's going on? "Maybe?"

"Maybe?" Lanie says at the same time Kate's rolling her eyes and letting out a bemused Lanie, come on, leave him alone. Lanie is undeterred. "She's either getting you off in here or she's not."

Rick's eyes widen, mouth open. "What?" he splutters, at a loss for words—which, for him, is near-impossible to accomplish. He'd be impressed if he wasn't in shock. "No, no, of course not."

Lanie just nods. She shifts her attention to the woman grabbing at some paper towel; he does the same.

"Told you," Kate says, not looking in their direction. She doesn't seem peeved at all, which is concerning for at least two reasons he can think of off the top of his head.

Lanie shakes her head. "I'll be waiting out there for you by the bar."

Kate meets her friend's gaze through the mirror, giving a mock-serious salute.

"For dinner, Kate. You need to eat something."

Something flashes across Kate's face, a shadow, and then it's gone so quickly Rick thinks maybe he's imagined the whole thing. The smile is back in a split second, as if it never faltered, and she turns to face them. She nods to the other woman.

"Perfect," she says after a beat, a practiced brightness in her smile, an over-exaggerated enthusiasm in the shake of her shoulders as she speaks. "I'm positively starved."

Lanie disappears back out of the restroom after another stare-down between the two women, a conversation—or maybe an argument, he's not sure—that he doesn't understand. As soon as she's out the door, Rick watches the slight slump of the shoulders of the woman in front of him.

He takes a moment to simply stare, standing in place. He has no idea what he's just witnessed or what he's walked into. All he wanted to do was go to the bathroom after one too many Jack Daniels.

"Your… agent?"

It's his best guess. He knows she's a model, acts sometimes too, or at least she used to, so where he has a publisher he assumes she has an agent. Or maybe a manager instead.

Kate flicks her gaze to his, chuckles a little. "No," she says. "Best friend. Manager's here somewhere, though."

"To the point, that one."

She just lets out an amused, agreeable puff of air. "She means well," Kate tells him, stalking past to toss the paper towel into the trash. "Lanie's protective."

The way she says it makes him think these moments are not few and far between. She blinks a little, listing into the wall to her right.

Rick takes a step, hand twitching at his side where he forces it to stay. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes find his again, questions swirling, as if she doesn't understand why he's a bit concerned for the woman who's very much a few drinks in and occupying the wrong bathroom. Kate pushes herself easily off of the wall and suddenly she looks fine.

Anything he saw a moment ago, the struggle to keep upright, the exhaustion, it's wiped clean. Like this is a practiced routine.

"Never better," she says brightly, though the light in her eyes doesn't match the cheeriness of her tone. Patting his bicep with a playful grin tossed over her shoulder, she makes her way toward the door. "See you around, Rick."

And then she's gone, her presence feeling all at once like an illusion.

He continues to stand there for a few seconds just staring at where she'd disappeared, nearly forgetting his bathroom needs as he replays the whole scene in his head.

How bizarre, really.

As he finally moves toward the urinals, he realizes he forgot to ask how she knows the man of the hour, and, even more importantly, how she knows him.

A few hours later, after spending the majority of the time wrapped up in conversations with Patterson and King, Rick finds himself sitting at the open bar. He's been on his feet the whole night and doesn't realize how tired it's made him until the relief of plopping himself onto the stool hits him.

He orders a whiskey and swirls the drink around before him, ice clinking against the side of the glass. The brush of a hand on his shoulder and caressing down his arm startles him. He twists to his left and finds Kate Beckett sliding easily into the empty seat beside him.

"Vodka tonic," she says to the bartender, nodding her thanks. Then she swivels on the chair, faces him. "Rick Castle."

"Kate Beckett," he volleys back. "Funny finding you here."

One shoulder lifts and she laughs, an airy thing. "Not really," she counters, gratefully accepting her glass from the man on the other side of the bar. "Figured I'd be seeing you again."

"And why is that?"

"Because I wanted to."

Oh.

Rick smirks, fingers wrapped around his drink. "Is that so?"

"Mm," she hums. She brings her lips to the rim of her glass. He can't take his eyes off of her and she knows it. "Just said it was."

"I must say, Ms. Beckett, I'm a little surprised you know who I am."

"Oh, Mr. Castle, don't tell me you're one of those 'models can't read' men," she teases, though he detects the smallest hint of actual offense.

"No, of course not," he says easily. "Just didn't think you'd be a fan of the genre."

Her lips flatten into a thin line but she doesn't say anything to that, simply props an elbow onto the bar and leans into it. "Kate."

"I'm sorry?"

"Call me Kate," she says. In one quick shot she downs the rest of her vodka. "Ms. Beckett makes me feel old, and I'm younger than you."

Rick laughs then. "Ouch."

She shrugs. "Nothing wrong with it. I'm partial to older men."

Not for the first time tonight, he finds himself awed as he glances over at her. He wasn't expecting her to out-blunt her best friend, but she's getting there. When she gestures to the bartender for another one, Rick swivels on his stool.

"Have you eaten?"

Slowly turning her head, she meets him with one perfectly arched brow. "You sound like Lanie."

"Lanie must be a smart woman." Kate rolls her eyes. "I'm hungry, just figured you might be too. I'm sure Connelly's got some kind of catering service back there in the club's kitchen."

Kate's shoulders relax a bit as she shakes her head. "I'm good."

"You sure?"

Kate breathes deeply through her nostrils, holds it. Releases. "Thank you," she says, turning to the bartender for a moment before looking back. "But I'm fine. Believe it or not, this is not my first rodeo."

He's heard that before. Many times, actually, from his own, very not fine mouth.

"Here's a tip," she continues, leaning dangerously close, her nose nearly knocking into his ear as she whispers, "The less you eat, the quicker you get drunk, the less drinks you buy, the more money you save."

His throat bobs, but then she's leaning back, unfazed. "Please," he recovers. "As if you ever buy your own drinks."

Kate smirks, pleased, but says nothing.

"So, that's a definite no on the dinner?"

She takes a big, deliberate sip of her refilled drink as she stares at him. "That's a: my food and alcohol intake is none of your business."

Raising both hands in surrender, he lets it go. He doesn't know this woman beyond his two interactions with her tonight and while he's heard about her, seen her shoots and watched one or two of her movies, he knows nothing about Kate Beckett.

He's heard the stories, of course, though everything he's learned about her has been against his will, his exes telling the tales of Kate Beckett's misfortunes with giddy glints in their eyes, eager to sink their teeth into something as sensational as Hollywood's brightest starlet's apparent downfall. He's never sought out the information, but he's well-versed in the public scandals she's been involved in throughout the years.

Growing up in the public eye, Kate started out as a child star, moved onto being a teenage starlet, and eventually landed a modeling contract. It isn't all it's cracked up to be, not from where he's sitting. According to one of his ex wives, she was photographed clubbing by the age of fifteen, dating men ten years her senior at the age of sixteen (he uses the term men loosely; groomers or predators feels more appropriate) and struggling through a rumored drug problem by nineteen. Rick's almost surprised she's sitting beside him right now not completely in shambles.

As far as he's aware, she finally went to rehab at twenty. The tabloids all said she was getting away, but he's been in this business long enough to know what that means. She stopped working on film sets as frequently as time went on, sticking with predominantly modeling, and he's fairly certain there's been nothing untoward written about her since.

So, yeah, he's heard plenty of second-hand accounts of the Kate Beckett of the past, the teenage girl whose story was likely exaggerated by the media and a public that preyed on gossip and half-truths. He wonders about it, the real story, the other half of the half-truths that were published and devoured by a scandal-hungry society. It's what the press omitted, the facts they were never privy to to begin with, that interests him.

It's also none of his business.

It's an occupational hazard, he supposes, poking and prodding at people's stories.

Present-day, 26 year old Kate Beckett, on the other hand? Her he knows very little about. All things considered, she seems to be doing fairly well. She's confident and successful in what she does, even if a few things catch his eye and settle a bit uneasily in his stomach.

But, again, it's none of his business. She's none of his business.

"Didn't mean to offend you, Kate."

She quirks a brow, amused. "Honey, I'm in the public eye every day of my life whether I want to be or not," she says, raising the glass to her lips. "Takes a lot more than some mild concern about my drinking habits to offend me."

Spunk. He likes it. Likes her.

"So, how do you know Connelly?" he asks, aiming for a change of subject.

"Met him on the set of one of my movies a few years ago," she tells him, and he vaguely remembers Connelly boasting about making a cameo in a film. He thinks, idly, that it was the last movie she filmed. "Guess I made an impression."

Rick doesn't doubt this for a moment. Kate Beckett makes an impression wherever she goes, he's damn sure of that.

He opens his mouth to say something else when he notices a crowd gathering in a far corner. A few people disperse and he's able to see what's going on—there's a three tier cake. Based on Connelly's laugher and the amused shake of his head, Rick figures he was not in on this part of the evening.

Kate follows his gaze. "Ah."

"I'll go get some if you watch my drink."

She turns back toward the bar, back facing the excitement. "I can't break my streak of drinking on an empty stomach now, Rick," she tuts.

"You said you ate."

"I said to mind your own business."

Rick just shakes his head. "It's not a celebration without cake," he says matter-of-factly, already sliding from his stool. "Don't poison my drink."

He's gone before she has a chance to refuse, and when he returns with a small plate in each hand, he places one of them in front of her with a smile.

"It's chocolate," he says. Unnecessarily, really, since the sponge's coloring makes that quite obvious. The icing is vanilla, he thinks. "Looks good."

Kate gives him a tight-lipped smile. "Mm, yeah." She shoves at it a little, immediately leaving it in favor of sliding his drink back in front of him. "Poison free."

"That's much appreciated, thank you," he laughs, taking a sip.

He's halfway through his cake when Kate finally touches hers, bringing a small piece to her mouth instead of picking at it with the fork.

"Figures I'd find you at the bar," he hears, and when he turns Lanie is stalking her way toward them. "Oh, hello, again."

Rick clears his throat. "Hi."

"Kate, why did you disappear?"

"One too many roaming hands," is all she says, and Rick immediately bristles beside her.

He has to bite his tongue, to force himself not to ask who it was, where they were, and wander off to pick a fight that isn't his own.

Lanie's jaw tenses. "I'll go punch his lights out for you," she offers, and Rick can tell she means it. He likes Lanie. "Which one was it? How didn't I notice?"

But Kate's shaking her head. "It's fine," she says. It's not. "I made sure to elbow his ribs on my way out of the room."

"Atta girl." Lanie rubs at her friend's arm. "I get it," she says then, sympathetic. "You could've let me know, though. Texted, popped in and slapped me in the arm as you left, something. I've been looking for you for thirty minutes."

"Been here the whole time, Lane," Kate says easily around a mouthful of chocolate. She makes a show of shoving the fork into her mouth, nearly grins around it. "Nothing to worry about. Just getting to know Rick here better, that's all."

Lanie gives him a hard glance, considering him, and he does his best to look nonchalant. Non-threatening. Not completely uncomfortable with the study.

(He is.)

The woman in front of them lets her shoulders drop. "Well, that's nice, sweetie," she says, and it sounds like she means it. She lowers her voice, only just, but he hears her. "Be careful."

He'd be a little offended if he hadn't heard what Kate experienced earlier in the night. He'd be concerned for her too; he can't fault her friend's hesitance. Lanie's protective, she'd said earlier. He sees it.

Kate nods slowly. "I'll be okay, Lanie," she promises. "Besides, Rick got me a piece of cake and I didn't slip some drugs into his drink. We're going to be fast friends."

"Fast friends," he repeats, smiling up at the best friend.

Lanie's eyes narrow but she seems a little more harmless now. "Mhm." A beat later: "Are you ready to go?"

She probably should, but, "No, not yet," she says. "But you go. I know you'll probably have an early morning. I can catch a cab."

"What? No, it's—"

"Go," Kate repeats on a nod. "I promise I'm fine. I'm not even drunk, okay? I'll cut myself off after one more."

"Kate…"

She puts a palm over her heart. "Honest. One more," she says, and Rick can't really tell from the angle but he thinks there's a match of stares going on. "Go, get some sleep."

"I don't want you to have to hail a cab at god knows what time you crawl out of here."

He's speaking before he realizes it. "I can give her a ride." Kate's eyes fly to his. "I can give you a ride."

It takes a split second but then she's smirking, a tiny curl of her lips as she turns back to her friend. "See? Rick will give me a ride. No cab."

Now Lanie's attention is on him. "You been drinking too?"

"Only had one," he says, patting his pocket where his keys are. "Knew I was driving."

She levels him with a glare, eyes narrowed. "If you touch her I will break both of your legs, writer boy."

Rick blinks, can do nothing but nod. He swallows thickly. "You don't have to worry about me." He stares at her, willing her to see that he's not a threat. He holds up a hand: "Scout's honor."

Lanie seems to accept this after a long moment of indecision and then she sighs. Turning back to Kate, she places an open hand on the woman's forearm.

"Text me when you get back," she says, firm. For good measure, she says it loud enough for him to hear so he knows she'll be expecting to hear from her friend. "I don't care what time it is."

"Yes, Mom," Kate parrots back good-naturedly. Her friend's eyes narrow. "Go," she says again, softly this time.

And with one more glance between the two of them, she does.

"So," Kate begins, sipping on her new drink, now one over the one more she'd promised her friend. She's holding it surprisingly well for a woman her size, though. "Tell me something about yourself, Rick. I convinced my best friend you were fine to catch a ride from, so it's probably best I make sure you're not actually a serial killer."

Laughing, he shakes his head. "Do I look like a serial killer?"

She takes a moment, looks him over. "Suppose not," she decides. "But do they ever?"

It's a fair enough point, and so he concedes with a nod.

"Not much to tell. I write about killers but I am not one," he muses. "Though, you already know what I do. You a fan?"

"I've dabbled." It's not an answer, not directly, but he takes it as a yes. She rests her chin in her open palm, elbow propping her up. "You married?"

"Would I be sitting here with you if I was married?" At her raised brow, her incredulous look, he waves around his ring finger. Empty. "No. Not married."

Kate hums. "Good to know."

"And why would that be?" he prods, a smirk tossed in her direction. "Planning things that wouldn't be suitable for a married man?"

Her eyes darken and she leans forward, so close he thinks she's about to kiss him. His breath catches in his throat, and then she's whispering in his ear. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Adams apple bobbing, he exhales quickly and meets her eyes. She looks extremely proud of herself.

"Yeah, I would."

Kate leans back into her spot, twirling the ice in her glass. "Perhaps in time."

This woman is going to be the death of him, and now he wonders if Lanie's be careful was intended for him instead.

Somewhere around midnight, Connelly's celebration still going strong, they find themselves on the dance floor. Kate's a little more than tipsy now, probably encroaching on drunk, but she seems fairly in control of her faculties all things considered.

She's carefree, swaying to the music, and Rick can't take his eyes off of her. She's beautiful, all glowing skin and long legs, and none of this surprises him. He's seen her before, in photographs, on film, even in person a few times from afar. None of that does her justice, though; none of those other mediums capture just how stunning she is up close.

At first he stays off to the side and admires her movements, not really a dancer himself, but when she stalks toward him and tugs on his hand, pulling him out there with her, how can he say no?

Rick leads her back toward the bar sometime later, asking for a glass of water at the same time Kate tries to order another drink. He gently swats at the hand that continues to call over the bartender and ignores her protests that she doesn't need any water.

"You'll thank me in the morning," he promises, guiding her into one of the stools. There are less people now, most having disappeared within the last hour, and they're two of six people at the bar. "Trust me."

"Still barely know you," she retorts, long limbs crossing as she twists to watch him.

"Well, we'll have plenty of time to fix that."

Her brows waggle. "Will we now?"

"That's not... that's not what I meant," he says on a small huff. The bartender brings over a glass of water and he slides it in front of her. "Here, drink. I'll go grab our coats."

"I can do it," she argues, already trying to slide out of the chair. She loses her balance and Rick comes up to stabilize her until he sits her down again.

"I got it. Drink up. What color is your coat?"

Kate pauses for a moment, lips pursed in thought. "Black," she says then. "I think. Could've been the beige one, too, actually."

Chuckling, he nods. "Okay. I'll just give your name."

It takes him a while to grab their coats; the line to the small back room where everyone's things have been hung was much longer than he'd anticipated. By the time he makes his way back toward the main area of the club where the bar is, Kate's coat draped over his forearm, a burgundy color, actually, he does a double-take.

Kate's not in the spot where he'd left her. His forehead creases.

A few moments of searching later he sees her sitting in a small booth against a far wall. Her profile is facing him so she doesn't see him coming, but he's sure it's her; he'd recognize that bone structure anywhere now, he thinks. He smiles when he notices a piece of cake sitting in her lap instead of on the table top, but it falters in time with his steps seconds later when a woman he doesn't know sidles up to her, face twisted.

He's not close enough to hear what's being said, not really, but he watches on as the fork halts in Kate's mouth. He inches a bit closer while still keeping his distance, obscured by a few other guests lingering, and leans in, struggling to listen. He hears something about seeing and dinner and he thinks the woman calls her darling, but none of it really makes sense. Not until Kate lowers the fork from her mouth, slowly shoves the cake away, and the woman grins widely in response.

It whirls around in his little writer brain. See, dinner, darling. He tries to picture the woman's lips, the way they moved; he's never been wonderful at reading lips. See, dinner, darling. The shove. The smile. See, dinner, darling. The lips...

I can see your dinner, darling.

That was it.

He can see it clearly now. His skin warms with the anger, hot to the touch. He's not one for causing a scene but he thinks he'd make an exception, knuckles whiting out where his grip on both jackets tightens. What dinner is she seeing, exactly? Rick's been with Kate for a few hours now and he can say for certain that she hasn't even had dinner, unless cocktails count as a meal.

He moves closer still.

"Good girl," she praises, bright. "We'll talk tomorrow."

And then the woman with the too-enunciated, probably-fake English accent disappears in the other direction, taking her poorly tailored blazer and too-high heels with her.

Kate gets up then, plate in hand. She makes brief eye contact with him, a little startled at his presence, and then dips her head as she moves closer; he can't help but zero in on the set of her jaw, the cloudiness of her gaze.

"Who was that?"

She plucks her coat from his grasp. "Camila," she says, wavering slightly in balance. "My manager."

"Ah." Rick clears his throat. "She seems..."

Kate holds his gaze for a few beats, then steps to the right, tossing the cake into the trash. "The writer at a loss for words?" she muses as she steps back in front of him, a teasing grin on her face. She chuckles. "Come on."

And then she's stalking away from him, her coat dangling gracefully over her shoulders. When she stops a moment later and twists her head to look back, one brow arched, his breath catches. Her curls fall perfectly out of place, dangling in front of her face and cascading down her back.

"You coming?" she asks, and the coy little smirk on her face might just be his undoing. "You're kind of my ride."