Author's Note: For those of you who didn't read Her Diamonds, skip this paragraph, it'll just confuse you. For those of you who did, a little timeline clarification. When you write a story over a fairly long period of time and the show is actually airing during that period, things can start to get clouded, and my original timeline doesn't really make sense anymore. I started writing Her Diamonds in December, well before Knockdown aired, and had no idea when Johanna was killed, so I guessed and made it early spring, March-ish. The way I had it lined up in my head, the date when Her Diamonds takes place and this story begins was the eleventh anniversary of her murder. But since now we know that she was killed in January, for this to make sense it has to be the twelfth anniversary, so this takes place somewhere around the early middle of season 3. In order to make that work, the only things (I'm pretty sure) that need to change in Her Diamonds are the number of years since Johanna was killed and the fact that I said it was spring. So just ignore those. I might go back and actually change it eventually. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, that's fine, just ignore me, but little details like that bug me, and it mattered for this chapter because I mention the Old Haunt and I wanted to make sure that worked... which it does, because Last Call aired in December, and this would be January.

Read, enjoy! I do have more to say, but I'll save it for the end. :) Hope you like!

Chapter 3

Writer's Block

Kate Beckett was very good at keeping things on the down low. Her business was her business, and no one else's. She shared little with anyone but the people closest to her, and becoming one of those people took considerable time and effort.

Richard Castle had done it. He'd spent the time and the effort, and he'd found his way in. He knew more about her than most, maybe more about her than anyone. He'd seen parts of her that she'd thought no one ever would, parts that she'd thought she'd hoped no one would ever see. But now that he had, she wasn't sorry. It scared her a little, but she wasn't sorry.

It was nice, comforting in the most basic way possible, to have someone she trusted to confide in, someone with whom she could share every part of herself. Castle was someone she trusted. And the depth of her trust for him was what scared her the most.

Attraction was one thing. It was what most, if not all, of her past relationships had been based on, and there was nothing frightening, or even intimidating, about it. It was shallow, maybe, but it was easy, it was fun, and it never gotten her hurt, not really. When a relationship based on attraction ended, it was disappointing, sure. When she was younger and less experienced, less callous, maybe, it had even upset her. But with Castle, it was different.

With Castle, there had always been attraction, right from the very beginning. But when she'd first met him, he was such a pompous asshole that she'd had absolutely no interest in giving him the satisfaction of letting him know. She'd used her wiles to torture him a little, dangled the carrot in front of his nose, but right as he was going for it, she'd yanked it back, always making sure to keep him at arm's length.

So much had changed since then. Whether he had actually changed or she had just gotten to know him better, she wasn't sure, but she suspected that it was a little of both.

She did know him, she knew him pretty well, and he knew her pretty well, not completely, but probably better, now, then any other person did. She'd allowed him into her little bubble of personal space, both literally and figuratively, and it was okay. Her world hadn't imploded, hadn't collapsed from the force or mass of another person's entrance.

Instead, it seemed like Castle's presence had the opposite effect. Since she'd met him, really, her bubble had been expanding very gradually, and when they'd kissed it had opened a good-sized air pocket. Suddenly she felt like she had more space to move, more air to breathe. Sharing bits of her life with Castle was becoming a fragile kind of addiction. The more she shared the more she wanted to share, but she knew that if she shared too much, or the wrong piece at the wrong time, the bubble would either burst or swallow her whole. She wasn't sure which would be worse, but she knew she needed to guard against both.

The part of her life she'd most recently chosen to share with him was one of the most fragile, dangerous topics she could've picked, but it was also one she held closest to her heart. Her mother. It was a part of her life that Castle knew very little about because her death had been so many years before she'd known him. Especially after all he'd done for her, how understanding he'd been on her mourning day, the anniversary of her mother's murder, she wished that Castle could've met her mother. When he'd suggested that she start writing things down, the tipping point for her decision to do it had hinged on something he'd said: "then maybe if you have kids one day… maybe they'd want to meet their grandmother." Thinking about his life and the way he thought, she understood why he'd said that. He had a daughter, and though he wasn't exactly the stereotypical responsible parent type, he tended to see things from a parent's perspective when she least expected it. But where she was in her life right now, children were the furthest thing from her mind. The idea that resonated with her was that, by reading what she'd write, someone who had never met Johanna might be able to get to know her a little. She wanted this. She wanted it for Castle.

He'd also told her she should do it for herself, to help herself remember, and this wasn't the least of her reasons. The thought of being able to commit her memories to paper, a fairly permanent format, was empowering. In a way, it was like backing up computer files. If her memories should fail or begin to fade, she'd have somewhere she could go to find them. But as she began to write, she found that it did more than that. It not only preserved her memories, it clarified them. It brought back details she hadn't realized she'd noticed, much less remembered, and allowed her to put certain scenes and ideas in a kind of perspective that she never had before.

Besides that, it wasn't like her yearning for Castle to get to know her mother was completely, or even remotely, unselfish. It only seemed fair. She'd met his mother, and now it was time for him to get to know hers. Traditionally, "meeting the parents" was something that happened in a romantic relationship at a far more advanced stage than where her relationship with Castle was right now, but again, she couldn't help but feel that Castle was different. She didn't know what they were to one another. They weren't exactly friends and they weren't exactly dating. Rather, it seemed like their relationship was an exception to every rule, and somehow that seemed right. That was what he was. He was her exception.

At this point though, she was starting to feel guilty. It had been more than three days since she'd written a single sentence. She'd been busy with work and so exhausted by the time she got home that writing was the last thing she wanted to think about doing. It was rewarding in its own way, but it was emotionally draining.

She wasn't sure if it made her feel better or worse that Castle hadn't so much as mentioned it. He knew how tough the case they'd been working was, how much time and energy she'd had to pour into it, and he'd put in every bit as much himself, just as he always did. In fact, it seemed that everything had gone completely back to normal, as if nothing had changed between them. She'd never begun this little writing project. He'd never spent almost an entire day at her apartment. They'd never kissed.

She hadn't intended this. She hadn't even wanted for it to happen, it just… had. When she'd gotten busy, it had been easy, effortless, to slip back into her routine, and that was what she'd done. What surprised her was that Castle hadn't called her out on it. He hadn't tried to pull her aside and make her look at things differently. He was giving her the reins, allowing her to go wherever she chose. Given his impatience just the other day, this didn't compute. She wondered whether he'd actually said anything to Martha and Alexis, like he'd said he was going to do. She'd been avoiding her end of the bargain, and hadn't talked to Lanie at all. Her vic's body had been assigned to Perlmutter, so it hadn't really been an issue. Her friend had tried to call, and more than once, but the one time she'd been able to find the motivation to call her back it had gone to voicemail, and she'd left a very brief message.

She felt more than a little guilty about all of this, and knew that now, since she'd solved her most recent case the night before and didn't have to be at work until later, she should probably give either Castle or Lanie a call. But instead, she sat on the couch where she'd done all of her writing so far, staring at the inside of the gorgeous notebook that Castle had given her, her mind every bit as blank as the page.

She'd successfully written two—what? Chapters? Excerpts? Blurbs? Scenes? None of these words seemed quite right, but whatever they were she'd written two of them, about her mother, and they'd both just sort of come to her. Well, actually, the second one had just sort of come to her. The first had been Castle's suggestion. The problem was, she'd been staring at the blank page for twenty minutes now, and nothing was coming. It wasn't that she didn't have any other memories of her mother, she did. Of course she did. But she couldn't seem to think of any that seemed right. Right to bother committing to paper, right to share with Castle… everything she thought of seemed so trivial.

As much as she liked the idea of doing her writing ahead of time, without Castle watching her every move, asking her why every time she stopped, reading her expressions, and then reading her actual writing before she was sure it was ready, and when she was sure it wasn't, today it wasn't working. And as comfortable as it was to drift back to the time when she and Castle had had a working friendship and nothing more, it was no longer the case. So she went into the other room where she'd left her cell phone, closed the message that told her she had a missed call from Lanie, and called Castle.

"Beckett, hey," he answered after only two rings, sounding a little surprised.

She skipped the greeting entirely and got immediately to the reason for her call. "What do you do when you're writer's blocked? Besides spinning weird stories about fleas with guns, because I doubt that'll help me much."

"Ah, writer's block," he said with a satisfied, diagnosing tone. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been avoiding you, I've been busy. You know that as well as anyone."

"But now you're not."

"No, I'm not. Well, I kind of am, I'm trying to write, I'm just not really getting anywhere."

"Meet me at The Old Haunt."

She rolled her eyes. His advice would be to go to a bar. "Castle…"

"Hey, you don't seek the council of the master and then question him. Meet me there." He hung up.

She frowned at her phone, considered sticking her tongue out at it for a very juvenile second, but instead put it down and went to get ready to go out.

By the time she got to Castle's bar she wasn't surprised to find that he was already there, seated at the booth beneath his picture. She raised her eyebrows, but smiled, actually pleased to see him. "Why does it not surprise me that you're sitting with… you?"

He laughed. "You found me, didn't you? That was the goal."

She nodded and sat down, making a face that showed him she wasn't convinced.

"Plus I think it's super cool that there's a picture of me here."

She nodded again. "That's more like it."

He gestured to the largish purse she was carrying. "I trust you brought your supplies?"

In answer, she got out the notebook and pen he'd given her. "Not that I've really used them yet."

"Well, one cure for writer's block is a change of scenery. It's even better if you can find a place that really inspires you. This was mine for awhile. Doesn't mean it's yours, and I haven't written here in years, not even since I bought it, but it's definitely a change of scenery."

She nodded. "It is. But I still don't think I'm feeling particularly inspired."

"My guess is you're thinking too much. Don't think. Just write."

"I can't write without thinking about what I'm writing."

"Sure you can. Just put pen to paper and write down the first thing that comes to mind." She started to protest again, but he interrupted her, pointing at himself. "Master." He pointed to her. "Student. Do it. I'll go get us some drinks."

She wanted to make some kind of comment about how he was getting entirely too much joy from the whole "master" thing, but he was already getting up and she didn't have time. "No, I can't," she told him quickly. "I have to work in a couple hours."

He nodded. "Right. Coke?"

"Fine."

"There'd better be words on that page by the time I get back. I don't care if they make sense, but they'd better be words. Write."

She sighed, but decided to take his advice. She put her pen to the page and began writing.

He's so frustrating. He just said "write." What the hell do I write? That was why I called him in the first place. I don't know. I'm supposed to be writing about my mom, but I can't think of anything. Not anything good enough. I want to do her memory justice, not just write "whatever comes to mind." And why hasn't he said anything about… well, at the risk of being cliché… "us"? If there even is an "us." Whatever we are right now. The last time we were alone together he was so anxious to keep moving, to start telling people about how our relationship was changing, to keep things headed for the "next level," whatever that means. Now he hasn't even mentioned it. I know I haven't exactly brought it up either, but I figured he would. I don't even know if he's said anything to Alexis or Martha yet… I wonder if he has?

She looked up from her page for half a second and saw him walking back toward the table with two Cokes, smiling to see that she actually was writing. She wrapped up her paragraph with one final thought:

Shit. He's going to want to read this, isn't he?

"Hey, looks like you got some writing done," he said as he sat down and slid one of the glasses to her.

"Um, sort of," she mumbled. She felt her face start to heat up.

"No, you did, I can see that." He looked at her awkward expression and frowned. "What?"

She looked at the offending page and flipped to the next one. "Nothing."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, come on. It can't be that bad. Let's see."

"No!" she said, too quickly. She wanted to rip out the page and throw it away, but the way it was bound a page wouldn't rip out cleanly, and she didn't want to destroy the beauty that was this notebook by having a torn, jagged edge at the beginning. Although, she'd already done that with what she'd chosen to write.

As she would've expected if she'd been thinking at all, her insistence that Castle not see what she'd written made him all the more eager. "Just let me see it. If it's really as bad as you say, I'll help you fix it."

"It's not that," she said, clutching the notebook tightly. "It's… you said to write whatever came to mind. I did. It's writing, but it's not exactly on topic. You don't need to see it."

He was smiling. "Maybe I wouldn't if it weren't for the fact that you're so determined I don't. Now I need to know what it is. You know me, I need to solve the mystery. It'll kill me otherwise."

"You'll live."

"Beckett!" He was whining now. "Come on, let me see it! Or, at least tell me what it's about."

She shook her head.

"Fine, then I'll guess. It has to be something embarrassing. Is it… how hunky you think the bartender is?" He glanced over at the man tending the bar, who was at least sixty and overweight. "Oh. That would be embarrassing." He grinned. "Or… the location of the mysterious tattoo? Or what the tattoo actually is? Why would that be embarrassing? Maybe it's… a cartoon character. Spongebob Squarepants. You have a tattoo of Spongebob Squarepants on your—"

"Oh for God's sake, you can read it, just shut up." She put her hand to her forehead as if his ramblings had caused her actual physical pain, which was far from the case. She was actually mildly amused, but it was annoying, and she knew he'd go on forever if she didn't stop him. She did find the idea that he was about to read what she'd written a little dizzying. She didn't actually give him the notebook but she did take her hands away, and he soon took it.

She forced herself to watch him as he read, part of her hoping he'd be as unresponsive as he was the last time he'd read her writing. But this wasn't the case. As soon as he began, he smiled broadly. "So it's about me," he said, meeting her eyes. "That's why you didn't want me to see it." He went back to reading before she could respond, and continued to smile his way through the paragraph. Before he picked up his head, he actually laughed. "I especially like the ending."

Her face had to have been a deep red close to the color of the leather booth they were sitting in. "Well, you did."

He nodded. "I did. And… I did. By the way. I told both of them."

"Oh." She realized he was talking about Martha and Alexis. "What did they say?"

"They're excited. They want to have you over for dinner sometime. And my mom wants to cook, which means I'll have a huge mess to clean up after you leave, and you should eat before you come just in case. If you want to come, that is."

"Yeah." She nodded slowly. "Yeah, that could be fun. When?"

"I don't know. I'll keep you posted."

"Good. Do that."

"Lanie?"

She shook her head. "She keeps calling me, but I haven't talked to her yet. I will though, soon."

"What are you going to tell her?"

She thought about this for a second before arriving at her answer. "Everything."

He met her eyes. "Everything everything?"

She shrugged. "Everything," she repeated.

"I thought you didn't really want anyone to know yet? Remember? You were afraid that if you told Lanie she'd tell Esposito, and then he'd tell Ryan—"

"I know," she interrupted him. "I know what I said. I'm just… not sure I agree anymore."

"You're not sure you agree… with yourself?"

"Right."

He raised an eyebrow. "You wanna fill in the blanks for me?"

"One, I trust Lanie. If I tell her not to say anything, she won't. And two, even if she does… so what? They're going to find out eventually anyway, right?"

He smiled. "That was always my view. But I'm glad you agree."

As she looked at the smiling man across the table from her, she flashed back to everything he'd done for her in the last week, how he'd taken care of her (Yes, that was exactly right, he'd taken care of her. The last time she'd really let someone do that… she couldn't even remember), how he hadn't pushed her, how he'd suggested the writing project and was helping her so much with it… granted, this particular instance had turned into a bit of a failure, but for the most part his advice had been helpful… But when she saw him there, actually looked at his face, she couldn't figure out why she'd been hesitating. Why she'd been so afraid. It was just Castle. Her Castle. Her writer. She was his muse and he was her… well, "master" was a bit strong, but mentor would work. She taught him about her career, and now he was teaching her about his. She'd tell him none of this, of course. His ego really didn't need any extra fodder, it was certainly inflated enough without it. But that wasn't to say she wouldn't grant him anything.

"Still small steps," she reminded him, "but we'll keep taking them. Okay?"

He nodded. "Perfect."

She consulted her phone for the time. "I have to go get ready for work. I'll see you at the precinct?"

"Of course. I'm sorry we didn't really get much accomplished."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't say that." She let him interpret that however he liked, but she meant it in more than one way. One, it had been a conversation they'd needed to have. Two, although he didn't know it, it had actually helped her writer's block. She knew what she was going to write next.

I know I'm taking a long time with this story in general, and I'm sorry, but I do have a little bit of justification for that. One, these chapters are long! And two, I'm really attached to this story, and I'm taking my time and being all perfectionist-y with it, trying to make it come out as well as I can. This chapter seemed to have no problem with being written, but it didn't want to edit. I ended up changing less than I originally thought I was going to, but I think it worked, and finally it's done. :) So this chapter is a little different because you don't actually get to read one of Beckett's memories... but you do get some of her writing, so that's going to have to be good enough. There will be an actual memory in the next chapter, I promise.

Those of you who have noticed/guessed that a lot of Beckett and Castle's ideas about writing are actually mine... astute. :) You're not wrong, although I do still try to tailor it to the characters so it's not just literally me talking. As for this chapter, if you guessed that Beckett was writer's blocked because I was... yeah, true. :) I couldn't think of another memory for her to write about that seemed to fit, so I left it up to Beckett, and this is what "she" came up with. :) And anyway, when I think about it, it works. Especially as a first-time writer, she's not just going to be flooded with a ton of ideas out of nowhere. Hell, I've been writing for... six years? and that's not how it works for me. Sometimes you do get a lot of ideas, and sometimes there's a dry spell. So that's the essence of this chapter, basically, albeit probably WAY overthought. :) Also, although the writing is a major component of this story, it's not the only component, and I like that this chapter worked through some of the Casketty relationship issues as well.

Anyway, I'm done blabbering now, I swear. Have I mentioned lately that I love reviews? No? Well, I'm mentioning it now. You're awesome just for reading this. :) Thanks so much.