Hey.

Thank you so much for all of your support on the first chapter! Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Castle and For Lovers Only aren't mine :/

[Stuck In A Rut]

It was the same thing every day.

Rick had a set routine. Each morning he would wake up alone in his hotel room and lay in bed for hours on end, merely staring up at the ceiling unable to find anything else remarkably interesting.

He ate alone. He slept alone. He wandered around Paris alone.

Rick has been in Paris a grand total of two days now and he had nothing of significance to show for it. Well, except for the little random doodles in his notebook that he found himself drawing aimlessly. The notebook was supposed to be for writing, for brainstorming, for anything remotely close to his intended task, but with the lack of inspiration he couldn't seem to focus on or do anything else.

Lost.

That was the best word he could come up with that truly reflected what he felt. And the only way he could get out of the stump he was in was to start over, get a fresh start and outlook on his life.

Today was going to be a new day. He'd get his groove back. He'd find his inspiration. He had to.

Slowly sitting up, he ran a hand through his mussed up hair as a large yawn escaped his lips. With determination brewing in the back of his mind he set off to get ready for the day ahead.

Striding to the shower, he quickly stripped himself of his pajamas and turned the shower on before moving a hand under the water to test the temperature. Yanking his hand back, his hissed at the boiling hot liquid. It was either unbelievably hot or ungodly cold, never a happy medium. Turning the dial toward the cooler temperature, he raised his hand once more, fully prepared to feel the water's harsh steam but it never came. It was at the perfect temperature.

Content, he stepped inside and allowed the water to cascade over his body.

When he was finished, he dried himself off and tossed the wet towel into the hamper. Donning simple blue jeans, a black V-neck shirt, and a tan cargo jacket, he grabbed his notebook off the bedside and proceeded out of the small hotel room.

It was a new day.

This was useless.

What was the point? He wasn't getting anywhere- no plot, no characters, no anything!

Slamming his pen down on the small metal table, Rick let out a low and frustrated groan, a hand sliding down his face as he attempted to relax. Breathing in and out, he calmed himself down. With a tiny huff of surrender, he took another swig of his coffee, the luke warm liquid gliding down his throat with ease and settling his stomach.

He was at a small café close to his hotel, the cool air of the spring morning nipping at his skin. He'd come here with the mind set that it'd be a new day that he'd find his inspiration– his muse.

No such luck.

It was quite cold for this time of the year, a rarity to say the least, and the weather very much reflected how the struggling author was currently feeling.

Freezing. Miserable. Unfeeling. Withdrawn.

God, he'd never get out of this hole of his if he didn't start digging. He was stuck, in a rut as it were. And all he needed– all he desperately needed– was to find the shovel, the one, perfect thing or idea to dig him up out of that damned hole.

But what? What was he missing?

He didn't know. Didn't have a clue.

So, to see if he could get the rusty wheels in his head turning, Rick decided to take stroll and let the fresh air surround him, give him the encouragement to start writing again.

Placing the amount due for his small cup of coffee, he left the café and went searching for that shovel.

Hopefully, he'd find it.

Rick hadn't been paying attention to where he was going, he'd been in a daze, and ended up on the complete opposite side of the city from where he started. He had no idea how he ended up here. Racking his brain, he came up with nothing. No explanation as to how he arrived here without his knowledge. His feet apparently had a mind of their own.

Looking around and gazing at the sights before him, Rick discovered he'd meandered all the way over to Montmartre. That was at least two miles from the café.

He'd walked that far without even realizing it? He really was out of it.

Going down the cobblestone steps of Montmartre, he kept his gaze on the ground and watched his feet as he walked. He had a weird feeling pulsing through his veins, but he couldn't seem to figure out what.

That was until he saw a woman– the woman who'd gotten away– standing directly in front of him on the stairs.

This couldn't be happening, it had to be a dream. He was hallucinating. Yeah, that's it. She was just a figment of his imagination. He had been in a daze all day and his mind was merely playing tricks on him, she wasn't here. She wasn't standing on those steps staring up at him.

No, she was not here.

But the longer the two stood there, the more they realized that this was real. It was no dream or hallucination or figment of imagination.

"Castle?"

There you go!

Reviews are love. Next chapter will be posted as soon as possible. Until then!

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