A/N: Turns out 104+ degree heat daily for two weeks makes you want to do very little of... well, anything. But we got here in the end. As a little heads up: I'll be busy with dissertation work for the foreseeable future so updates may be a tad delayed since I unfortunately can't write both at once. But they will come, which is what's important, right?

That said, you are all wonderful. Thank you.

Rick takes a town car to the venue. When it pauses at the curb to let him out there are already an array of people setting up; camera crews, photographers, red carpet interviewers, other attendees. They're all ready to document the night, lenses poised and at the ready.

He considers sending a quick text to Kate to let her know that he's arrived, but he doubts that she has her phone on her right now. Instead, he follows the other attendees up the steps, waving briefly to the few photographers that flash in his direction. A couple of them call out his name and he offers a smile before disappearing through the building's front doors.

The other people he's following seem to know where they're going and he's just deciding that he'll follow them when a palm runs up his arm, slow. He jolts, nearly yelps in surprise.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Kate. She almost sounds apologetic, almost, but she's grinning and leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "Come."

Where the hell did she come from?

She tugs him down a different hallway, away from where the rest of the crowd is headed, her arm looped in his. Warm. Kate guides him down some stairs, through a middle-ground space that's covered in curtains and filled with people talking into headsets, until they arrive at what appears to be the backstage area.

Clothing racks line the walls, outfits with little tags on them adorning each. It takes him a moment to figure out each one likely has a model's name on it, labeling which outfit they're going to wear. He wonders which ones Kate'll be wearing, whether they'll be dresses or suits or something else entirely.

He realizes he has no idea what kind of show this is or who the designer is. Are there multiple designers or just one? He also realizes that, even given a designer's name, he'd have no idea what that meant style-wise. Rick thinks of himself as fashionable, sure, but he also has a stylist for all the events that necessitate fancy dress. All suits look the same, anyway, why's he got to know the specifics?

"This is where we get changed between walks," she's saying, and he hopes she hasn't been speaking this whole time. "I have three outfit changes for the show and I'll be closing."

Rick turns to her. "That's special, right?"

He knows very little about the fashion world (zero, actually, he knows roughly zero bits of information), but he thinks opening and closing are important. Maybe.

"It's more exciting in the beginning," she says on a shrug. "I've been closing shows for years now."

"That must mean you're really good."

Kate smirks. "I am really good." It should come off as cocky but it doesn't, not entirely. She's good at what she does and she knows it. "That's why I do it. I enjoy it, too, sure, but it's what I'm good at. Now, closing? In the beginning it was thrilling, I felt special; it's still a big deal, of course, but it doesn't hold that prestigious feeling anymore."

As she says it, another model walks by and shoots Kate what has to be one of the dirtiest looks he thinks he's ever seen. All steely, narrowed eyes and perfectly lipsticked lips pulled into a thin line. If looks could kill...

"Jesus," he says, his voice a hushed whisper into her side. "What was that about?"

Kate just rolls her eyes, waves a dismissive hand. "Being at the top means it's a long way down, and there are a lot of people below who want to cut the rope."

She says it as if it doesn't bother her, the fact that there are dozens of girls—in this room alone, he has to assume—that would love nothing more than to see her fall. Literally, he thinks.

"Doesn't it get exhausting?"

"It comes with the territory," she says easily. "I'm sure your job comes with its own occupational hazards."

"Yeah, sure, a lot of paper cuts. My competition don't generally wear six inch heels that could puncture very deep holes in my body if provoked."

Kate laughs. "I think you've been watching too much true crime."

"I don't think so," he counters. "Come on, you're telling me there aren't any instances of Models Gone Murderous?"

"There was one girl who tried to crush up pills and put them in my water so I'd pass out," she hums in remembrance, thoughtful, while Rick's eyes bug out of his head. She looks at him. "Oh, don't worry, it didn't work."

He blows out a relieved breath. "Well thank god you didn't drink the water."

"I didn't say that."

"You said it didn't work."

Kate lifts one thin shoulder. "She underestimated my tolerance."

And then she's walking away, leaving him with that as if it doesn't warrant some kind of follow-up. He trails behind her as she leads him further into the room and doesn't press, even though a million questions are buzzing around his brain. Who did it? Were there any consequences? Tolerance to what?

Kate continues showing him around the rest of the area. There's really not much to it, a lot of space cramped with garments, models, and stressed out looking professionals, but there's an adjoining room she tugs him into.

"Craft services is over there," she says, pointing with a flick of her dainty little wrist. "We don't ever use it, but you're welcome to grab whatever you'd like."

He pauses, confused. "Who's it for if not for you?"

"The crew, the designers."

"Seriously?"

A brow raises when she says, "let me tell you something," and leans in toward him. "Most of the stereotypes you hear about the modeling industry are rooted in truth."

It makes him uneasy, terribly so, to think of all of the rumblings about what goes on behind the curtain and to imagine which whispers are based on reality. She's vague about it but he can read between the lines. The very small, very unsettling lines.

His skin prickles with it, but he isn't a part of this world; he's really in no position to judge.

(Except that he does, and all at once he cycles back to Camila's words to Kate, to the look on her face, and the judgement solidifies.)

"Hold on," she says, veering off to the side where there's a bag settled against a far wall. Reaching into her purse, he watches as she pulls out a plastic baggie. She unzips it and rolls out two little white pills, pops them into her mouth, and dry swallows them with a slight tilt of her head.

Rick blinks, eyes widening. "Kate…"

She tucks the baggie back into her purse and turns on her heel. She eyes him, catches the look on his face, and laughs. "It's Tylenol, Rick," she muses. "Aspartame headache."

"Aspartame?"

"Sugar substitute," she says. "Does the job but it also does a number on the head."

Rick gets choppy flashbacks to his ex-wife, Meredith, going on about zero calorie sweeteners and wonders idly if that's the same thing as aspartame. He doesn't know what to say in response, primarily because it feels like "this doesn't seem healthy" wouldn't go over all that well in this very moment, but he tucks it away for later. In the present, however, he's saved from having to say anything by a man calling out for Kate.

They duck back into the main room and, looking toward the other end of the hall, find a tall man in a designer suit beckoning her. "Darling, come here."

Kate nods in his direction and then turns back toward Rick. "Excuse me," she whispers into his ear, fingers leaving a trail down his bicep as she steps away. "I'll be right back."

Richard Castle has never been one to shy away from social situations. As a child he was an entertainer, not content unless his peers—and the adults, much to the dismay of his teachers—were paying attention to him. As an adult he's much the same way, though he's figured out along the way how to strike a delicate balance with the whole there's a time and place premise.

He has a way with words and he's comfortable engaging with people; his job depends on it. Standing backstage at a fashion show in Kate's absence, however, leaves him feeling terribly out of place. Probably because he is out of place. He's gone home with models in the past, entertained some at a party or two over the years, but being surrounded by them in their element like this is different. Slightly unnerving, even.

"You Kate's new toy?"

The woman sneaks up on him and he nearly jumps out of his skin. These models are so damn tiny they make no noise as they move, light on their feet despite the heels. Kate's the same way, he's noticed. She walks, glides almost, feather-light.

The blonde looks at him expectantly, one perfectly plucked brow arched. "So?"

"I'm Rick."

"That's great. So, Rick, are you Kate's new toy?" she asks again, completely undeterred by his obvious discomfort. "It's been about three weeks." She pauses, looks off to the side a bit as if she's deep in thought. When she looks back at him, she's nodding to herself. "Timeline fits for a new side-guy."

He bristles but covers it well. "I'm a friend."

She smiles at him, a dangerous twist of her lips. "Well, friend, best of luck to you. Perhaps you'll outlast all the others. Bye, now!"

She disappears much the same way she appeared, quietly, and it's as if she was never here to begin with. A perfectly polished ghost.

Kate returns twenty minutes later, makeup done and hair curled, a few rogue tendrils framing her face beautifully. Her eyes are smokey, cheekbones sharp and bright with some kind of highlighter, lips a deep red. She's stunning.

"I didn't realize I was being called away for hair and makeup," she says in apology, eyes bright as she slides easily back up to his side. "Everything okay?"

"Are you seeing someone?"

Her mouth opens. "I'm sorry?"

"At the bar you asked if I was married, but never said that you were single."

"I asked because I wouldn't have been comfortable had you been married, so do you think I'd have continued if I wasn't single?" He hesitates and it's enough to have her scoffing, lips pursed. "Wow, okay."

"Kate, I didn't mean..."

"No, you did," she interrupts. "I'm single, Rick. I don't cheat."

Feeling like an ass, he sighs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "I'm sorry," he says, noting the display of genuine upset on her face. "One of the other girls came over and—"

She groans, a frustrated noise at the back of her throat. "God," she hisses. "They're insufferable."

It hits him all at once, what Kate said about everyone wanting to cut your rope when you're on top. This girl saw him with Kate, assumed he was with her in a more intimate capacity than he is, and sought out to ruin it for her. Out of jealousy, probably, on the off-chance that whatever was stirred in this pot would knock Kate off her game and leave her vulnerable for another model to swoop in and upstage her.

And he walked right into it.

"Shit," he murmurs under his breath. "It was a play."

Kate shakes her head, biting at her bottom lip. "It's not your fault. They're vultures, but you don't know that. And you barely know me; how could you have known otherwise, right?"

It might be true, he doesn't really know much of anything about her yet, but he still feels like a dick for letting the other model plant that little bit of doubt in his mind so quickly.

"Still, I should have given you the benefit of the doubt."

"You should have," she says, a glint in her eye. "Let's just say you owe me then."

He nods, immediately turned on by the way she quirks her lips. "I think I can agree to those terms."

"Good," she smiles, a wide, pleased curl of her mouth. "Now, come, I'll show you where you'll be watching from."

Rick lets her usher him away, her body pressed against his side and the smell of her perfume invading his senses. It's a floral note, not too overbearing but just enough to make him want to lean in closer, nudge his nose into the dip of her collarbone.

"Oh," she says a moment later, the two walking side-by-side down the hall. "Lanie might show up, so there's a seat beside you for her."

He feels two primary emotions about this: first, relieved to potentially have a fairly familiar face out there with him; and second, terrified because that woman is deceptively scary. "Lanie seems like a really good friend," Rick says, side-stepping and only narrowly avoiding a collision with a suited man, clearly on a mission, who's speeding past in the opposite direction. "She come to all of your shows?"

"As many as she can." She leads him back toward the same flight of stairs they'd gone down earlier. "She's graduating med school this year so it keeps her busy, but when I have a show in the city that doesn't conflict with her schedule she always shows up."

"Wow, impressive."

"I know. I may have the more glamorous job in the eyes of the people, but Lanie's the smart one," Kate grins. "The model and the doctor, we make quite the pair."

Rick smiles watching Kate's face brighten as she praises her best friend. He wants to ask how the two met—because the model and the med student is an intriguing pair—but then he's being steered into the main hall, the chatter of the audience drowning out his own thoughts.

One hand wrapped around his forearm now, Kate points to a few open seats in the second row and tells him that's where he'll be sitting. "I gotta go," she says then, leaning in so close her breath is hot on his cheek. "If Lanie shows up she'll direct you after the show to find me; if not, I'll come find you once I'm changed."

She disappears, palm traipsing along his arm and over his back as she goes.

Rick stands in that spot for a few beats, blinking and trying to regain his thoughts. It's only as he's making his way to the seats Kate had gestured toward that he realizes people are staring. A few of them look to where Kate just exited and then trail their gaze back to him. Curious, judgmental. They do not look away when he makes eye contact; instead, they stare harder and whisper to their seat-mate.

Oh, this is so not his scene.

Lanie shows up a few minutes before the show begins, just as the inner-lights are beginning to dim and the runway before them is illuminated. She does a double-take when she squeezes through the crowd and her gaze lands on him.

"Writer boy," she says, surprised.

She briefly looks him up and down, as though considering his presence. He thinks he sees the slightest of smirks, but it could be a trick of the light.

"Also known as Rick," he chuckles, gesturing to her seat. "Hi."

"Hello." Lanie takes a seat and turns toward him. "Interesting running into you here."

"Kate invited me."

The woman eyes him, then breaks into a small smile. "You wouldn't be sitting next to me if she didn't invite you," Lanie says, pointing to the small reserved signs on their chairs.

"Ah, right." He pauses and then adds, "I just have to get it out there right off the bat: I meant what I said that night at the club. I have no ill-intentions here."

The murmurs of the crowd get quieter, indicating that the show is close to beginning. Lanie looks to the runway and then back at him.

"It's not personal," Lanie says then, maintaining eye contact. "Kate's my best friend and she's... there's a lot you don't know. I just want her happy and safe."

"So do I," he promises, and he realizes that he means it. He may not have known her long, and he doesn't know what they are or what they might be eventually, but even if all they ever have is friendship he only wants the best for her.

"I believe you when you say that," Lanie decides after a moment. "I can't say I'm not still wary. I know your reputation—and I know reputations don't always mean shit, Kate is case in point—but you also got my girl home safely, so that earns points in my book."

Perhaps he should be a bit perturbed by Lanie's comment about his reputation, but he's not. He does have a reputation; womanizer, arrogant, flippant with his money, party boy. Some of it's true or was true in the past; some of it's so far off-center it's not even on the target. Similar to how he only knows of Kate's reputation from second-hand sources, Lanie only knows of his through what she's read about him. At the end of the day, he knows her concern comes from a good place for her friend.

"Tell you what," he says, twisting a bit in his seat. An announcer comes out with a microphone, smiling at the crowd, and Rick lowers his voice as he leans into Lanie. "How about I continue to show you that I only have good intentions with Kate and, if I don't, you have full permission to kick my ass?"

"If you hurt her I won't be waiting for permission to kick your ass."

Rick laughs on a nod. "I respect that."

The murmurings of the crowd settle as the man with the microphone waltzes off stage and music begins to play, the name of the first designer displayed neatly on the back of the runway.

"Hey," Lanie whispers. He looks at her, finds one hand outstretched. "Don't fuck it up."

Smiling, he shakes.

Rick may know nothing about fashion shows but he's aware of enough to know Kate's good. Really good. She walks with grace, though there's a ferocity in her stride that's captivating. It's impossible to take your eyes off of her, even as other models fill the catwalk behind her, filtering in one after the other.

He watches her until she's gone behind the curtain after each wardrobe change. Throughout the show, she models a white pantsuit that has him squirming in his seat, a floor-length dress with triangle cut-outs around the ribs, and a trouser and vest look that catches him off-guard because the vest is low-cut and there's nothing underneath it.

When the show's over, he joins the rest of the hall in clapping as the models make their way down the runway one last time, single file, in their finale looks. Kate finds him as she passes, the mischievous glint in her eyes highlighted by the bright stage lights. Lanie turns toward him at that and he pretends he can't feel his eyes on him.

The crowd begins to shuffle out, to where he's got no clue, and he hovers by his seat for a bit longer until a path has cleared. He's glad that Lanie showed up, actually, because although he considers himself to be good with directions, the halls of this building are a maze.

Lanie notices his dazed expression as he stares off at the people exiting and seemingly takes pity. "Come on," she says, grabbing hold of his suit jacket and tugging him down the aisle.

She leads him like Kate did, though more aggressively, back through the weaving hallways and down the staircases. She knows exactly where she's going so he has to assume this is a venue they've had previous shows at. There are girls everywhere, a flurry of color and fabric in every direction he looks, and he thinks back to Kate's finale look so he knows what to search for.

The red trouser and vest look, right. Unreal.

"She'll find us now," Lanie says, releasing him once they're in the back area.

Models twirl in and out, a cascade of flying fabric as they all shimmy out of their finale ensembles. Rick turns on instinct, feeling all at once like he shouldn't be back here while they're all disrobing. He stares at the wall and Lanie stares at him, curious.

"Rick, Lanie."

He hears her and spins around but he doesn't see her right away; his eyes scan the room until he catches her stalking toward them, a blur of ruby. She's still in the final look and it's even more stunning up close.

"You made it," Kate smiles as she wraps Lanie in a hug.

Pulling back, Lanie keeps one arm draped around her. "Gotta support my girl."

"Rick?" she asks, attention now entirely on him.

Two sets of eyes look over; one amused, one playful, both expectant.

"So that's a fashion show, huh?"

Kate laughs. "That's a fashion show," she nods. "What's the verdict?"

He pretends to mull it over, scrunching his forehead. "Mm, a lot of fabric."

"A lot of fabric," she repeats, deadpan, one brow raised.

"Can you tell me there wasn't a lot of fabric?" She bites at her bottom lip to hide a smirk. "Not sure I can comment on the show since I was watching you the whole time. You were beautiful."

She chews on the inside of her cheek as she peers up at him from beneath her lashes, bashful in a way he knows she isn't. "I'm glad you approve," she murmurs.

"I approve very much," he says. After a beat, he continues: "So, what do you say," he claps his hands together, "can I take you ladies out for dinner?"

"Ah, wish I could," Lanie says. It actually sounds like she means it, too. Maybe he's earning a few more points. "I have to get some work done and there's an early start tomorrow, unfortunately. You two go."

"Kate?" He turns toward her. "Watching you walk up an appetite made me hungry."

Laughing, Kate rolls her eyes. She doesn't respond, just leans in to press a kiss to Lanie's cheek as she disentangles herself from her friend. Before Lanie lets her go, she pulls her forward and murmurs something in her ear. He can't hear what she's saying but Kate smiles a little, soft.

"Let me go get changed," she says once she's released, swiveling around and disappearing into the sea of models in various degrees of undress.

They watch until she's turned a corner and out of sight.

"Writer boy," Lanie salutes in farewell, though she smirks around the nickname this time and he thinks that's a good sign. "Get her home safe."

He nods. "Of course."

And then he's alone, once again, standing backstage at a fashion show. A model whizzes by, whipping her top off mid-stride, and Rick lets out a surprised oh! before turning to face the exit.

He's safest here.

Kate finds him like that ten minutes later, sneaking around until she's standing in his line of sight.

"Any reason you're staring at the hallway?"

"Oh, they're—everyone was getting changed."

Pursing her lips, she tilts her head. "Thought you'd enjoy being in a room full of half-naked models," she quips.

If he was still in his early twenties she'd be entirely right; he'd be lapping this up, vibrating just from being in this room and flirting with any woman with a pulse. They're all beautiful, he's not blind, but he's no longer in that headspace and he's not interested in standing here ogling them while they're trying to get changed.

"I'm full of surprises," he drawls.

Her mouth opens like she's about to say something but then it closes, eyes narrowing as she looks in the distance past his shoulder. A scowl replaces her smirk, but when he moves to twist around Kate's hand reaches out, pulls on his bicep to keep him from looking.

"What—"

"It's nothing," she says, and he swears he hears a muffled whore from behind him, the word coughed like a high school student might to conceal an insult. "No one important enough to give attention."

He wonders if it's the same model from earlier, the blonde telling him about how he's Kate's newest toy. Before he has a chance to make a comment, though, she's slipping her arm into his and escorting him away from the chaos, into the outer hallway he's been staring at.

"I think we should get out of here, yeah?"

She's looking up at him sweetly, but the fingers caressing his forearm feel anything but.

"I'm all yours," he says, gesturing before them. She tightens her hold on his arm, possessive almost. "Lead the way."

Seated in a quaint little restaurant on the Upper East Side, he watches quietly as Kate's eyes trail over the menu. She reaches with one hand, not looking up, and shakes out her hair, flipping it so the part falls on the left side of her head, long curls brushing against her arm.

She really is stunning, even when she's not trying. Especially when she's not trying, he thinks.

When the waitress comes by with their complimentary waters, ready to take their order, he asks for steak with a baked potato side. Kate surprises him by ordering a pasta dish.

"Can I get either of you any drinks tonight?"

"I'll have a whiskey neat, please," Rick decides.

Kate's eyes traipse over the drink options. "Vodka tonic, please," she says, closing the menu and placing it at the edge of the table to be taken away. "Thank you."

Rick nods his thanks to the waitress and turns back to his companion. "Pesto girl, huh?"

Kate smiles, whirling the straw in her water. "I'm full of surprises."

He thinks she's right.

When she dips her head, looking at what he thinks is the dessert menu now, he continues to observe as she chews on her bottom lip. She looks up then, catches him staring and quirks a brow.

"Like what you see?"

"I do."

"Good." The corner of her mouth curls in a pleased grin. "Likewise."

Kate twirls the pasta around her fork. "You seem to have made an impression on Lanie."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Well, she's no longer concerned that you're planning to Ted Bundy me."

Coughing on his sip of whiskey, Rick blinks at her. "I'm sorry, no longer concerned that I'm planning to..."

"Ted Bundy me."

"Ted Bundy you," he repeats. She hums an affirmative around a mouthful of pasta. "Ted Bundy as in the serial killer?"

"One and the same."

"She thought I was going to murder you?"

Kate smirks into the rim of her vodka. "Well, first he kidnapped and r—"

"I remember, thank you," he interrupts, holding up a hand.

"Don't worry," she laughs, "it was never a serious concern. If she really thought you were a threat she'd have never let you take me home that night. She's just wary of new men."

There's a lot you don't know. He hears Lanie's voice in his head and wonders just what's happened in the past to warrant such hesitance. The possibilities that his brain formulates are heartbreaking and as he looks across the table at Kate, eyes bright and mirth in her smile, his stomach clenches on her behalf.

Shaking it away, he grins. "Very pleased to have proven to her that I'm not interested in—I'm sorry, did you use Ted Bundy as a verb?"

Rick pays the check before she can protest.

"I'm rich too, you know," she muses, leaning forward on a propped elbow. "Probably richer than you, actually."

He merely laughs; considering she's been working since she was a child, she's probably right.

"You can get the next one then."

Twisting her mouth to the side, she hums. "Next one, huh? You're pretty sure of yourself."

"I am," he confirms easily, meeting her eyes. "And I think you want there to be a next one, too."

"I'll let you in on a little secret," she whispers, beckoning him closer with a curl of her index finger. Once he's close enough, she tugs on his lapel and pulls him in. "You're right."

Rick grins as he sits back, slowly remembering to breathe. Every time she's in his personal space—it seems invading it is her thing—he loses all coherent thought for a moment. It pleases him greatly when he leans in and he can hear her breath hitch, his presence affecting her too.

Kate finishes off her vodka tonic and together they stand, ready to go. Go where, he has no idea, but he decides he's going to follow her lead. He thinks he'd be content to do nothing but wander around the city for a few hours with her at his side.

"I have to run to the restroom before we leave," Kate says, hiking her purse onto her shoulder. "Wait for me?"

"I'll be right out front," he says, pointing toward the entrance. "Scout's honor."

"Were you a scout?"

"No, but I'm good for the promise."

Biting her bottom lip, Kate smirks over her shoulder as she disappears down the hall.