A/N: I'd like to thank every single person who has reviewed, followed and favorited this story so far.

Most of you don't know this (trust me, I didn't think of this before I started writing either), but it means a lot to a fanfic author to know that people are reading and, hopefully, enjoying their small "work of art". So, don't be shy and let me know what you think (it doesn't matter if it's just one word on a long rant, or even if it's a criticism – with any luck, a constructive one).

Off to the next chapter. This one is even a bit longer than the previous one. Hope you like it!

Later in the evening, Kate had left the precinct and headed straight to her apartment, determined to have some alone time for herself. Since Will had left the city a few days ago to attend an FBI conference in DC, his girlfriend was determined to enjoy herself without him, alternating quiet nights at home and fun companionable outings with her colleagues and friends. And even though Kevin and Javi had invited her to have a few beers with them, all she really wanted tonight was to treat herself to a long bath, a glass of wine and a few more chapters of Storm's Last Stand. She was a bit bothered that she had bought that book over a month before and still hadn't gotten around to finishing.

After she had been in the bathtub long enough to read four chapters, finish two glasses of wine and feel her toes turn to prunes, Kate ended her bath and leisurely readied herself to bed, going over her thirty-minute long beauty ritual reserved for the evenings she had enough time for herself. She then set her alarm for the next morning, turned out the lights and got settled in her bed, just as she heard her phone ring on the bedside table. Picking up the mobile, she answered with a smile when she identified the caller. "Hey."

"Hey. Did I wake you?" Her boyfriend asked.

"No. I was just getting ready to sleep, though. How is your conference going?"

"Mostly boring," Will snorted. "But some things are going well."

"That's nice." Kate answered with a tired smile. "You're still coming back on Friday?"

"Actually, tomorrow. And I was thinking, maybe we could go to dinner then?"

"Sure." She grinned. "What's the occasion?"

"Well, there's something I'd like to talk to you about, and I want to do it somewhere more special than on the couch in my living room."

Her breath caught in her throat a bit. "Can you give me a hint?"

"You'll find out tomorrow."

She could hear him smirking over the phone line. "You know how I feel about surprises, Will."

He then chuckled. "Hopefully, you'll see it as a good surprise. I'll make reservations for us somewhere nice. Pick you up at the precinct at eight? Don't forget to bring a pretty dress to work."

"I won't," She rolled her eyes. "And I'll be ready for you at eight."

"Great! It's a date." Will smiled before continuing. "Well, I'll let you sleep then. Love you."

"You too," She replied. "Good night."

Needless to say, she wasn't ready at eight the next evening.

She had gotten to the precinct that morning hoping that Castle's fan mail (which hadn't been there yet when she had walked in) could provide them with a lead – any lead – to who was responsible for the two murders under investigation. Unfortunately, she hadn't even managed to fill her mug with some of the coffee available in the Homicide floor's break room before Esposito had hollered from his desk informing her of yet another murder, which had taken place a few miles away from the second victim's crime scene. And then, not even ten minutes past eight a.m., she had already been picking up her things again and walking towards the elevator.

As soon as the elevator doors had opened, she had come face to face with Richard Castle and a couple of uniforms, all carrying some heavy-looking boxes (although the single one in Castle's hands looked the lightest of them all), stuffed with correspondence addressed to the 'master of the macabre', as the author himself had announced. Of course, when he had learned of the third murder, Rick hadn't even blinked before handing the box he had been carrying to the officer to his right and stating that he would love to shadow the female detective to this crime scene. Nonetheless, Ryan and Esposito, who had been standing behind Becket, had noticed that the smile which had already been adorning the writer's face since the elevator doors had opened and presented Beckett to his eyes had somehow grew wider.

At first, Beckett had believed that spending time with her favorite author would make it difficult for her to resist the seductive pull his presence held. Nevertheless, as the morning had gone by, it had seemed all Beckett would be trying to resist this time was her instincts to yank Castle's ear off his head. The novelist had been extra childish today, and even if the detective had been trying her best to ignore him, she had soon learned that overlooking Richard Castle was not an easy feature.

First, during the car ride, the writer had not been able to stay still – he had touched the radio, asked her about her evening, cracked jokes and pretty much done anything in his power to entertain himself, which had also had the effect of annoying Beckett out of her mind. Then, at the crime scene, Castle had disrespected her orders by walking around the place, talking to the medical examiner – actually, she had thought about mauling Lanie as well for indulging the author – and pretty much disrupting the peace she had required to work the scene. After that, the novelist had joined Beckett, Esposito and Ryan in a small Italian restaurant a couple of blocks away from the precinct for an early lunch and, by then, the female detective had thought she couldn't stand anymore of Castle's disturbance. The more he had talked and jested with the boys, the more Beckett had retreated from the conversation. She had believed that, despite his silly behavior the day before and at the book signing, the writer was a man who deserved her admiration; but all the time she had spent with him so far had only served to make her feel somewhat disappointed in him.

It hadn't mattered to her that he apparently was an immature spoiled man who had been trying really hard to get under her skin; of course that irritated her to no end, but, oddly enough, she had also been a little amused by this (not that he would ever find out that she apparently was a bit of a masochist). No, his manners towards her hadn't been the real issue. What had actually bothered was the way he had shown no respect for the victims or their families.

She had felt betrayed, somehow. Betrayed by this man, who had been writing those mystery novels which had contributed to the little peace of mind she felt over her mother's murder. Betrayed that he was the same man who apparently did not care one bit for justice and closure – things he actually wrote about in his own books.

By the time they had gone back to precinct after lunch and had been going over the novelist's fan mail for more than three hours straight, Beckett had been tired of his making jokes and surreptitiously glancing at her while she had been doing her job. So, when she had caught him hurriedly looking away from her face for the eleventh time that afternoon, she had slammed the letter in her hand on the table and addressed him warningly. "What?"

He had put his best innocent look on his face. "Nothing." After the detective had continued staring at his face, Castle had broken – albeit with an unapologetic smile. "No, it's just… the way your brow furrows when you're thinking, it's cute." His smile had turned to a full grin before he had carried on. "I mean, not if you're playing poker, then it'd be deadly, but otherwise -"

"Can I ask you a question?" She had interrupted him then. "Why are you here?" At his surprised look, she had continued. "You don't care about the victims, so you aren't here for justice. You don't care that the guy's aping your books, so you aren't here because you're outraged. So what is it, Rick? Are you here to annoy me?"

The way she had said his given name somehow had almost made him wish she would revert to calling him 'Mr. Castle'. Trying to ignore it, he had told her the truth. "I'm here for the story."

"The story?"

He had nodded. "Why those people? Why those murders?" And after her cynical reply that sometimes the guy was a just a psychopath, he had tried to prove her wrong by using her as his case at hand. "Take you for example. Under normal circumstances, you should not be here. Most smart, good-looking women become lawyers, not cops. And, yet, here you are." He had made a funny face then to get his point across. "Why?"

"I don't know, Rick." This time, the sound of his name on her lips sounded less tainted, although her voice had still carried some mockery in it. "You're the novelist. You tell me." And then the young detective had settled back in her chair to hear him spin his tale on her, which she had thought would be as inaccurate as the next one.

Beckett had had no idea that it would bring all the hurt and sorrow she had buried deep inside in her heart back to the surface.

But Castle hadn't known when he had started this what he would find in her eyes either, so he had simply started his analysis of her. And by the time the author had realized something bad had happened in her life, it had been too late to stop talking. "It was someone you cared about. It was someone you loved." He had noticed the anguish pooling in her eyes as he narrated her pain in his own words. "And you probably could have lived with that, but the person responsible was never caught." For once in his life, there had been no satisfaction in showing off his talent for reading people. The writer had simply felt awful for her. "And, that Detective Beckett, is why you're here."

She had felt like crying. He at least had had the decency to look remorseful.

Beckett had taken a deep breath, stared down back to the letter she had been reading before he had decided to momentarily destroy her heart with his guessing game and spoken without glancing at him. "Cute trick. But don't think you know me."

He had thought about apologizing to her, but the look in her eyes had already changed from hurtful to professional.

She had found something in the correspondence he had brought over.

Beckett had then discussed the matter with her Captain, bagged the letter she had found – which had some drawings in it, including of the crime scenes – and delivered them to the crime scene unit. And then she probably would have been able to restore her appreciation for Rick Castle if he hadn't broken protocol and called the Mayor's Office to get the lab to rush the fingerprint identification she had requested, a test that would have taken a week to be conducted due to the usual backlog.

It hadn't been a problem because she was a control freak (as Esposito had once told her, nonchalantly), but in fact because she deemed all victims to be just as important – in her book, the only scenario for jumping the line and paying special attention to any case would be if the perpetrator in that particular case was considered a grave risk to society. That had not been the case at hand. This time, protocol had been broken just because a playboy novelist had not been feeling like waiting for the results he wanted.

So, when the fingerprinting results had come back identifying their suspect as a Kyle Cabot, Beckett had tried once again to ignore him as he followed her around to her car, doing all the annoying things he had done that morning. Once again, when they had reached their destination, she had asked Castle to stay out of the way – this time in the car. Once again, he had failed to follow her orders, going up to the suspect's apartment after her and her fellow NYPD crowd. Fortunately for him (and unfortunately for the investigation), the suspect was not home; but the apartment had tons of incriminating evidence. The detectives had decided then to have a patrol car stationed outside this Cabot's building to monitor the suspect's place and, if he came home at some point tonight, they would return in the morning to pick him up.

Beckett had been so frustrated with Castle's attitude all day long that she hadn't even realized that it had been close to 7:45 p.m. by the time they had reached the precinct. So, she had quickly texted her boyfriend, telling him that she would meet him by 8:40 p.m. at the restaurant he had chosen, if only he would tell her which restaurant that was.

"So, what time should I be here tomorrow?" Castle had asked her, so excited that it had irritated her even more.

She had taken a deep breath, trying to temper down her desire to maim her favorite author. "Just go home, Castle. I'll call you tomorrow once we've picked up the suspect."

"Oh, come on! I don't even get to tag along for the arrest?"

Exasperated, she had replied, "No. Just go home, Castle. It's been a long day."

Noticing the tiredness and dissatisfaction in her features, he had decided to follow her request for the first time this day. "Okay. Do you have my number?" Before she even had a chance to reply, he had already picked up a pen and started scribbling his numbers on a block of paper pad that had been sitting on her desk. "Here you go – cell phone and home number." Handing her the piece of paper, he had then tried to cheer her up with a soft smile. "Until tomorrow, Detective."

It hadn't worked. "Night, Castle."

And then Beckett had gone straight to the locker room, taken a shower and started getting dressed. Only then her phone chimed, signaling that she had received a text message - from Will, finally. Reading it, she noticed he had texted her with the restaurant name and nothing more.

She was glad that Castle had already left for the day. She would have killed him, otherwise.

Before leaving the precinct, Castle had stopped by the boys desks, chatted amicably with them for a few moments before actually touching on the subject that had been on his mind since earlier in the day.

"Guys… can I ask you something?"

Esposito and Ryan were still recovering from their laughing fit caused by a joke Rick had just told them when they replied, in unison, "Sure, bro." "Shoot."

Castle looked over his shoulders before quietly speaking, "Why is Beckett a detective?"

Even if he hadn't asked them anything directly, the implication in Castle's voice had enough of a sobering effect for the male detectives. Neither said a word for a few seconds, before Ryan spoke up, "What do you mean?"

"Well," He maintained the low tone in his voice, "I got this feeling earlier today that something might have happened to her that caused her to become a detective. So, I got curious and –"

"If you're curious," Esposito interrupted him, "you should really ask Beckett."

"Well, I would, but I don't think she would tell me." The writer replied sheepishly.

"Then it's really not our place to say anything, now is it?" The Hispanic detective countered, getting up from his seat and walking into the break room.

The Irish detective looked sorry for the novelist as he rose from his seat as well. Before he got a chance to leave, though, Castle stepped in front of him with pleading eyes. "Can you at least give me her number? I'd like to talk to her and I'd rather not wait until I meet her here again tomorrow."

Ryan thought for a moment, before replying. "Okay, but if you tell her I'm the one who gave it to you, you're a dead man."

"I'm sorry I'm late," Kate said before lightly kissing her boyfriends lips. "I had to take care of something at work before I could leave."

"You look nice." He complimented her, before taking a guess at the reason for her delay. "Paperwork?"

She loudly exhaled as she took a seat, voicing her single worded reply in annoyance. "Castle."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly in confusion. "Huh?"

"He's just…" She actually puffed, exasperated at the mere memory of him. "Argh!"

Watching his girlfriend rub her eyes with her hands, Will gently touched her forearms, trying to calm her down. "Kate, let's take a step back here, maybe? What are you talking about?"

"Castle." She replied again, not really getting the puzzled look on the agent's face. "Richard Castle."

"The author? How did he get you so worked up?"

Only then did Kate realize Will had no idea that Castle had been assisting her on her current murder case. Somehow, she had failed to update her boyfriend on the latest news involving her favorite author and the precinct. "Well, Castle's assisting the NYPD with this case I'm working on." Before he got a chance to interject, she carried on. "The victims have been murdered in the same way as in some of his earlier books."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" He hoped the jealousy he was feeling did not show in his voice.

But something did, or Kate wouldn't have taken her hands out of his grasp and sat up a little defensively. "It probably just slipped my mind. It's not a big deal."

From then on, dinner went downhill. And even if Castle had been at fault for the first signs of discomfort during the couple's date – although he wasn't even aware of it this time –, there was no way Kate could have blamed him for the main reason their dinner was anything but pleasant. No one, not even herself, could have predicted that her boyfriend had decided on this romantic setting in order to tell her he had been offered a position in Boston. And that he was thinking of accepting it. And that he wanted her to go with him.

And that she had to give him her answer by this weekend.

When Kate had walked in her apartment later that evening, she was feeling worse than she had felt at the precinct. She could not believe that her boyfriend would just spring this news on her and expect her to just drop her life and follow him around. She couldn't do that; Will shouldn't even ask that of her. And to make matters worse, he had actually accused her of not thinking of him and his career.

They had said their goodbyes at the restaurant after dinner, with her promising him she would give some serious thought to his proposal before giving him an answer on Sunday.

She felt lost. Changing out of her dress, she held the ring she wore on a chain around her neck in her left hand for a while, hoping maybe that the inanimate object would provide her with the answers she needed. Realizing that her mother's ring did not work as an Ouija board (and chuckling quietly to herself at that fact that not even the Ouija board did actually work for communicating with the dead), she removed the chain from around her neck and placed it gently in her jewelry box. Slipping into her pajamas, she felt more than heard her cell phone vibrating in her purse, and immediately strode off in its direction to answer the call.

Expecting it to be Will (hopefully with an apology for the words he had directed at her tonight), she was surprised to see that she had received two text messages from the same unknown number. She was even more surprised once she started reading the first one, "A little bird (actually, a violent one, if their promise to murder me should I let you know their identity is any indication) gave me your number. I wanted to apologize. I don't actually know what happened in your life that made you become a detective, but I had no idea I would find so much pain in your eyes today. And I'm sorry for bringing it up. I know it's useless, but I'm also sorry that you went through something that left you this wounded. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you. Rick C."

Motionless, she stared at the message for a whole minute trying to understand this man who aggravated her to no end all day long only to have her heart fluttering a couple of hours later with a few words. Before she lost her courage, she opened the second message. "And I realized that we have in fact met before. I can recall your dazzling smile combined with that look of pain – a book signing, right? No wonder you refrained from admitting to meeting me before. You were hoping I would never find out you're a fan! Too late now."

She actually laughed, despite everything. Without texting him any reply, she simply dropped her phone on her nightstand and settled in her bed. She still had a lot on her mind, between her job and her boyfriend, and even the author himself, but Kate was hoping to get a few hours of restful sleep before she had to think about any of these things.

At least one thought did not leave her mind until she had drifted off: she still couldn't understand Richard Castle, but maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

TBC

(All characters, the homicide case plotline and even some of the quotes in this fanfic don't belong to me. This is made available for entertainment only and not for profit. No copyright infringement is intended.)