Disclaimer: The wording is mine but the characters aren't

NB: Still writing this so, the updates won't be daily, sorry.

Collaboration

OOOO

"He isn't ambidextrous?"

"Apparently not."

"I trust you've learnt how to forge his signature, Detective?"

"Yes, Sir," she didn't even blink.

Gates nodded in apparent satisfaction, though the quirk of her lips was suspicious and turned to walk away.

"Captain?" Castle called. "I'd settle for just a signature?"

The retreating figure never slowed but her voice floated back to them. "We'll see."

OOOO

He didn't know why he had let her help. He had said himself that the dictation program was serviceable at least, and it was. At least , enough to tide him and Black Pawn over until he was able to write properly.

Maybe it had been the sound of her voice.

When his eyes had been closed, both against the glaring enamel of the bath and in relaxation as she ran her fingers through his hair, the tones in her voice couldn't be hidden. The vulnerability and want weren't off-put by bravado or a teasing smile.

She really meant it, and he never could deny her anything.

He both wanted to carefully hide her away from Nikki and Rook's world, keeping that as his own but also simultaneously wanted to draw her in as deep as she had penetrated all aspects of his life for years.

Despite these grounds for indecision, he didn't really see how dictating to her would be any different to dictating to a machine, other than the meals before and dessert after. But he was rarely right when it came to Beckett.

Dictating to her wasn't even remotely comparable to the computer program.

He certainly got sidetracked. Not by the sound of his voice and the words which would have been acceptable on paper but seemed tinny out loud.

No, he kept getting caught up in her expressions as she typed. Quirks of eyebrows and her mouth. Little frowns. Puffs of air as she tried not to chuckle. Even the speed of her typing, slow and rhythmic or fast and eager for him to continue.

And when he didn't get any reaction for more than a paragraph, no matter how tired they were, he knew he needed to lift his game.

Just another way to add to the growing list of ways he was sure Kate Beckett would kill him one day.

Being a very discerning, demanding reader.

And he had managed to get the information out of her. She had it easier getting confessions of murder and affairs than he did getting her to admit exactly how many of his books she had read.

He was quite proud of his achievement. More so that she hadn't seen through his attempts to gently shepherd the conversation until he already had the information he wanted. Obviously he had picked up some high level skills watching her interrogate and manipulate people in the box.

He had known for a long time she had read his work, but he didn't know how much of it, or how well she had read it. To that end, he had deliberately fallen back on lines, even the same characters as minors from his other novels.

And she frowned every time. He was delighted. She didn't miss a single reference, no matter how far back he went or how irrelevant.

She had read them all. Multiple times.

It was nearly as gratifying that it took her two days of these hints to say something about it. She was letting him lead. It surprised him though that even here, in his world, he didn't want her to follow. He wanted his partner. The way her mind worked…that would make a hell of a story. He had admitted that when they started planning this thing.

If he played his cards right, he might actually get her to help him write it rather than just critique it.

"Okay, what is that face for?" he demanded.

"What face?" he expected denial, but she looked genuinely perplexed.

"You keep getting this frown on your face."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," he insisted. "What's the matter, don't you like it?"

"Like what?"

He leaned over to where he could clearly see the screen, crowding her. "I believe you started frowning at 'Heat cursed aloud and chucked the useless half on the passenger-side floor mat'."

"Well then, that would make sense."
"What?" he schooled his face into indignation. "Why?"

"You used that line in Naked Heat."

"I'm sure you're just imagining it," he scoffed, inwardly poking her in the side to react.

"I thought you were the one with the imagination you can't control," she set aside the laptop and pulled herself away from him.

This is not where he saw this going. "Kate?"

She kept walking, though thankfully in the direction of the office rather than the front door. A nervous thirty seconds later, she reemerged with a copy of Naked Heat and was flipping to the front.

"Castle, that is quoting directly from the first page. Now if I knew that, you should too."

"You memorized the first page?" I knew it!
"No," she looked defensive.

"Yes, you did. One normal, short sentence like that, and you flipped right to the page and found it."

"Look, I haven't memorized anything. I've just read that page a few times."
He could have taken that victory and teased her about her admission, but decided to go all in. "Because it's Nikki Heat?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No."

"Because it's one of my novels?"

"What? No."

"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining why you recognized everything I've recycled so far?"

She closed the book with a muted snap. "You set me up?"

She was most dangerous when she was quiet.

"Just a little."

She continued to stare at him.

"I just wanted to know exactly how big a fan of mine you are."

Her eyes weren't nearly as hard as her face at his admission so he continued. "Now I know you've not only read almost every book I've ever read, but you've read them all multiple times. You're worse than Ryan."

Her chin came up. "So, by your logic, there is something wrong with being a fan of your work."

"No," he back pedaled. "You're trying to put words in my mouth."
"So there's no problem?"

"Problem, are you kidding?"

"Then I shouldn't hear about it ever again," she concluded smugly.

"Oh come on, Beckett," he protested.

"Castle," she sighed.

"If you don't tell me, I'll assume you're an embarrassing super fan. I know you subscribed to my website. "

"Assume away."
"Please, Kate."

"Fine. I have read all your books. I had read them before I met you."

"How long?"

"Over thirteen years."

He expected her to look sad at this, sad would have been a Wal-Mart way to sum up the way the news made him feel, but she said it without inflection and there was no trace of anything darker in her yes. On the contrary, they were warm, as if it didn't bother her to make the parallel between his works and the traumatic events that occurred that year.

He took her hand since she was still standing just off his side, as much for him as for her and more an apology than either.

"I don't mind," she offered. "I would have read them anyway. She would have insisted on that. As a lawyer, her idea of a break was to go and try and figure out what led the people she met to where they were in life. She always wanted to know why."

"Is that why you started reading them? For answers?"

"No," she slid back in next to him. "I read them for justice, and I read them for her. Still do."

He looked down at her hand which she hadn't removed and wondered again at her strength. That she was able to see his writing as a silver lining.

"So was there a reason behind your questioning, or was this just classic Castle curiosity?"

He shrugged and returned his attention to her face, relieved to see her eyes were still light and her head was tilted to one side with her own curiosity.

"You're a good reader."

"You knew I read," she smiled.

"I knew you read, but I didn't know you could write."

"What makes you think I can write?"

"Because you know what not to write. You have good instincts. High standards. "

"You better not be saying that just because you found out I read your books."

He couldn't restrain a grin. "No, I'm not. And don't worry, my mother has assured me my works are hardly Shakespeare," his face fell into seriousness and he cupped a hand around his mouth as if he was about to impart her with a secret. "It's her job to keep me grounded."

She couldn't help but let out a short laugh at his woebegone expression as he finished his confession.

"I'm sure she takes her job very seriously."

"Oh yes. Very seriously."

She shook her head in amusement.

"But seriously," he looked properly sober again. "You trust me with a gun, and I trust you with words. Any time you have an idea, let me know."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. If you're going to have to help me plan this and type it, you should get to write some of it." He took in her stunned expression. "If you want."