A/N: This chapter wraps up the events in the Pilot – I apologize for taking five chapters to deal with a lot of familiar (albeit slightly different) scenes. But hey, after this we'll start with the actual "what-if"! Finally, right?!

Once again, thank you for your reviews, follows and favorites. Please don't stop now!

And special thanks to BURN3 for helping with this one.

The following morning, Rick had woken up earlier than he was used to, hoping to get to precinct before the detectives had left to pick up their suspect without having to forego his morning routine at home and a quick pit stop by a coffee shop close to the Twelfth.

Of course, that didn't happen.

By the time the writer had made it to the Homicide floor at the police station, he had noticed Esposito and Ryan escorting a young man into Interrogation 2 and Beckett walking away from Captain Montgomery, cell phone in hand, back to her desk.

Jogging awkwardly towards the female detective with two coffee cups in his hands, he called out just as he approached her, "You promised you'd call me!"

Eyeing the coffee cups he was carrying warily, she replied slowly as she dropped her phone on her desk, "I just did the next best thing."

Right on cue, his mobile vibrated to indicate he had received a text message. Castle placed both coffee cups on the edge of the desk and retrieved the device, reading over the text – 'Picked up the suspect. We'll wait until you get here to question him.' Looking up at the woman in front of him, he placed his right hand over his heart teasingly. "You would wait for me? I'm touched."

Beckett rolled her eyes.

Before she had a chance to admonish him, though, Castle slid one of the coffee cups in her direction, telling her, "Got you something. Grande skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla."

The detective was so impressed she couldn't even move. "How did you know?"

He just shrugged. "I'm a novelist." After a beat, he added with a soft smile, "And I'm trying to make you smile."

Kate looked down at the desk and reached for the coffee cup, putting it to her lips and drinking the hot liquid carefully, all the while trying to hide the hint of a smile he had in fact been able to put upon her face.

Still, Castle noticed it and beamed.

"That's it?" Castle whined, standing with Beckett, Esposito, Ryan and Captain Montgomery as they watched the police officers escort Kyle Cabot towards the precinct's holding cells after the interrogation.

"Yeah," Esposito replied. "Once we arrest someone, the guy stays in holding until he's transferred to Central Booking downtown. By then his lawyer will probably have already arranged his arraignment."

Ryan cut in, mocking, "You know, for a crime writer, you know surprisingly little about procedure."

Castle let out a fake laugh while the others actually snickered. "Ha ha. That's not what I meant. I mean, that's it – you just found this guy with PDD, who happens to be a fan of my books, and he's so obsessed with them that he decides to murder three people, including his social worker?"

"Yep." Beckett replied easily. "Doesn't it just bother you that someone felt inspired by you to commit these murders?" She teased him in the most sarcastic tone she could muster, trying to annoy him for a change.

"I didn't exactly inspire these murders, Detective." The writer replied just as easily, but in a serious tone. "The killer may have set the crime scenes as in my books, but these people weren't killed because of me. They were killed because some psychotic finally snapped. If it wasn't me, it would've been Black Sabbath, Metallica or Marilyn Manson. Maybe even reruns of Full House..." Once he noticed the female detective rolling her eyes at his joke, he resumed. "I digress. The point is, finding this guy was too easy. All evidence point to him and he's actually responsible?"

At this, the group laughed again.

"That's usually how it goes, Mr. Castle." Captain Montgomery explained. "In our world, when a guy is standing over a dead body with a smoking gun, he's probably the one who shot the victim."

"But it doesn't make any sense," Castle said, frustrated. "Did you read the CSU report? The rose petals on Alison Tisdale's body were grandiflora, not hybrid teas. He's not the guy." The novelist looked around the group, expectant. Even more frustrated once he realized no one understood why he was making such a big deal out of that, he continued, "In Flowers for Your Grave, the killer uses hybrid tea roses."

"So what?" Asked Esposito.

"So, the kind of rose petal might not be important to you –" he told the group, "or to the actual murderer –" he jabbed, "but to someone with PDD and an obsessive fixation? It would've been impossible not to get the details right."

"So he was sloppy," Beckett tried. She would not admit that his point actually made some sense.

But the author didn't even flinch. "An obsessive's incapable of being sloppy about their obsession. The release comes from getting the details perfectly right." He didn't give anyone a chance to interrupt him. "Look, the M.E. report says Martin Fisk was strangled with a neck-tie, not suffocated by a plastic bag like in Hell Hath no Fury. And to be truthful to Death of a Prom Queen, Kendra Philip's dress should have been blue, not yellow. Come on, those two were easy!"

Ryan was confused. "What about the evidence all over his apartment or his knowledge of all three victims?"

Castle beamed. "I said he didn't do it. I didn't say he wasn't framed."

Beckett snorted. "And I suppose Elvis is still alive, and the CIA killed JFK, right?"

"Actually, Elvis killed JFK," The writer joked.

The group chuckled.

Montgomery spoke up again, "Well, Mr. Castle, we appreciate your help in this matter." He then offered his hand to the author, in a clear movement of dismissal.

Castle shook the Captain's hand, but looked towards the three detectives after he let go. "So, that's really it?"

Beckett nodded once. "That's it."

When Esposito and Ryan had returned from lunch and spotted Beckett staring at the murder board intently, they had known it hadn't been 'it' for her. She had then explained to them that in fact the details didn't make any sense, and that the killings had occurred out of order – no killer would commit a murder of convenience, escalate to the murder of someone he knew and then go back to a murder of convenience. So the three of them had studied the murder board together, looked over all the evidence again and realized that the murderer somehow must have had a connection with Alison Tisdale and must have been simply trying to cover up his tracks.

So, Beckett had left after that to visit the girl's father, attempting to learn anything useful to the investigation. As she had reached the lobby in the millionaire's offices building, though, the first thing she had learned was that Castle was also a persistent nosy guy – he had made an appointment to talk to Tisdale, Sr. because he couldn't let this case go.

Instead of annoying her, this strangely both amused and pleased her.

The two of them had then questioned Jonathan Tisdale together, realized that the older man had terminal cancer and that his son stood to inherit all of the man's fortune alone once he had passed away.

Since it had already been past regular business hours once they had returned to the precinct, Beckett decided to question Tisdale, Jr. the following morning. And after she had promised Castle she would pick him up in the morning to go talk to the new suspect together, the author had agreed to go home.

But not without leaning into the attractive detective and planting a soft kiss just above the corner of her mouth. "Until tomorrow, Detective."

Only once the writer had disappeared behind the elevator doors did Kate let out the breath she had been holding with a wistful smile.

The following morning, when Beckett had parked her Crown Vic outside Castle's building to pick him up as promised, the writer had already been waiting for her on the sidewalk, two lidded paper cups in hand. With a small smile and a simple nod in thanks – she knew better than to question him after his flirtatious reply the day before –, the detective had accepted the coffee cup he handed to her when he had entered the vehicle and taken a sip before driving off the streets in lower Manhattan. Castle had then been left to entertain himself, either by trying to find something good to listen to on the radio or by closely watching his intriguing female companion drive the car.

Once they had arrived at the apartment building where Alison Tisdale's brother, Harrison, lived, the writer had addressed the doorman in a no-nonsense but polite manner, questioning him about Tisdale's lifestyle and overall behavior and managing to learn everything that had to be learned from someone other than Harrison Tisdale himself while Beckett waited for him down the hall. As soon as the elevator doors closed on Castle and Beckett on their way up to the Tisdale's unit, the author had beamed, "Did you see that? I milked that doorman!"

And so it had been clear to Beckett at that point that Castle had decided to play 'real cop' this morning.

The two of them had spent less than half an hour conversing with Tisdale, Jr., but that time had been enough for the detective and the tag-along writer to decide that this man had probably been involved in the killings because of financial problems – and, ironically, the fact that he had readily provided alibis for all three murders under investigation had turned out to be the reason for the detective not to believe said alibis. So, after the dynamic duo had finished their questioning (Castle had even warned Mr. Tisdale to not leave town, which clearly showed Beckett that she shouldn't have let him learn some of the tricks the NYPD was at times entitled to), they had driven straight to the precinct, discussing their suspect's alibis for all murders during their car ride. And then, Beckett had had to endure Castle acting his usual arrogant self, bragging about 'knowing beforehand that the brother was the killer'.

"Oh, please! You fell for the alibis. He totally fooled you," Beckett had told him, trying to bring Castle's ego back down to Earth.

"I had a fleeting moment of self doubt," had been the author's reply.

Once at the precinct, Beckett had spent the remainder of the morning trying, alongside Ryan, Esposito and Castle, to poke holes at Harrison Tisdale's alibis. Finally, by 2 p.m. and with no lunch in their stomachs, they had managed to confirm that, although Junior had in fact traveled to foreign destinations at the time of each murder, he had suspiciously not returned to his hotel room at the night of which crime. Surmising that their suspect must have had a second passport, Beckett had decided to request a search warrant from Judge Markaway – one of Castle's golf buddies, she had learned.

The detective had no way of knowing, however, that by leaving to execute the search warrant, all hell would break loose.

It turned out that Harrison Tisdale did in fact have a second passport – one he had shredded before managing to leave his apartment through the fire escape.

And it turned out that Beckett had been right to handcuff Castle to her cruiser parked outside Tisdale's building before leaving to execute the search warrant – because of it, the writer had spotted the suspect coming down the fire escape in an attempt to evade the police.

But it also turned out that Castle was in fact a stubborn inconsiderate man-child – the novelist, who couldn't stand to be left out of action even if it was for his own protection, had managed to pick the locks in the police issued handcuffs (he had found himself glad to have thoroughly researched with burglars, safe-crackers and pick-lockers for one of his Derrick Storm novel at that) and followed the fugitive suspect into an alley.

And now Beckett was facing a cornered Tisdale, who had taken Castle hostage and was using the author as a human shield, because of all of this.

"Whoops," Castle said sheepishly the moment he got a first glimpse of Beckett.

If Harrison didn't kill the novelist, Beckett was sure she would.

"Stay back!" Shouted the suspect, holding Castle a little more tightly when he noticed Beckett, Ryan and Esposito all pointing their guns at him.

"Let him go, Harrison." Beckett tried in a soothing voice, with her gun still trained on Tisdale, though. Then, she addressed the writer. "Castle, you okay?"

"Yeah. Except psycho here needs a breath mint."

"Shut up." Tisdale warned him.

"No, you shut up," was Castle's juvenile retort.

"Just shut up!"

Great, Beckett thought. Now even the kidnapper was exasperated with Castle.

But Castle was on a roll. "You know what's bothering me, man? If you were that deep in debt, why didn't you just ask your father for the money?"

"Why are you still talking? Just shut up or I'll blow your head off!"

"Castle, you're not helping," Warned Beckett, before returning her attention to Tisdale. "Don't be stupid," She told him non-threateningly, never lowering her gun, though. "There's nowhere to go."

"It's not over." The man growled, backing away and pulling the novelist with him. "Now drop your guns or I blow his brains out."

Castle rolled his eyes. "Seriously? How more cliché can you get?"

"Castle!" The female detective scolded him.

Ignoring Beckett's admonition, the novelist addressed Harrison again. "You know what I think? I think you did ask. I think you asked and he said no. I bet he thought you were weak for asking."

This clearly struck a chord with Tisdale. "He was the one who was weak. I was trying to make something of my life and all he cared about was her."

Beckett saw this distraction as an opportunity to try again. "Harrison, let him go. It's over."

"It's not over! You all drop your guns or I swear to God, I'll –"

Castle elbowed the kidnapper's nose and immediately managed to snap the man's gun away before he fell to the ground, knocked out. High on adrenaline, the writer shouted, "Tell me you saw that!"

Beckett holstered her gun and kneeled over Tisdale's back while the two detectives who had been standing a few steps behind her still covered her. Once she had cuffed the suspect using the same cuffs that had been adorning Castle's wrists not ten minutes before – she hadn't missed the irony in that –, she shoved Castle against the wall angrily (to the quiet chuckles of Ryan and Esposito). "What the hell were you thinking? You could've gotten yourself killed!"

The writer actually smirked. "Well, the safety was on the whole time."

Annoyed and relieved at the same time, she let out a breath. "You know, you could've told me."

At this, he beamed. "Now, where's the fun in that?"

Esposito and Ryan chuckled again, this time not so quietly. Taking notice of them, Beckett kneeled over Tisdale's body again, lightly slapping his face a few times to wake him up, and then got herself off the ground, pulling the suspect along with her. After reading the man his Miranda rights, Beckett escorted a cuffed Harrison Tisdale towards the marked police cruiser, followed by the two male detectives.

As Rick stood there, watching entranced as Kate Beckett did her job, his phone rang. Checking the caller ID, Rick answered with a sigh. "Gina, now it's seriously not the best time for me."

"Oh, I'm sure you can send the bimbo home and finish the chapters you owe me," Gina promptly replied over the phone.

"Unfortunately, there are no bimbos involved." He retorted, trying to slip into the playboy persona that was expected of him. "And I've still got a few days before I have to deliver the manuscript."

"Yeah, a few days until your third deadline expires. I swear to God, Rick…"

As Rick took notice of Beckett standing a few steps away from Ryan and Esposito by the police line, the author knew he needed to cut this conversation with his ex-wife short. Turning away from them, he interrupted whatever Gina had been saying. "What, Gi… crsshhh... sorry... crsshhh… 'eaking up."

"Really, Rick? You're going with fake reception loss?" Was his publisher's perfectly clear come back. "Are you ten?"

"You're right. I'm sorry." The writer told her loud and clear, before simply hanging up the phone.

When he turned back in the direction the detectives had been standing a few moments before, he came face to face with Beckett, who was smirking at his antics. He shrugged shamefacedly.

Allowing her smirk to turn into a soft smile, Beckett spoke, "Well, I guess this is it."

"It doesn't have to be. We could, uh, go to dinner." He told her, with a voice that was at first endearingly shy. Then, growing confident, he wiggled his brows once. "Debrief each other."

She smirked again, albeit a bit tiredly. "Why, Castle? So I can be another one of your conquests?" Her reply was still laced with tease.

He smiled in return. "Or I could be one of yours."

Kate was a bit taken aback by his answer, both seductive and pleading at the same time, in a way she was starting to believe only Richard Castle could pull off. She felt flattered and somewhat temped, there was no denying that to herself, but she was in a relationship with someone else. Not even the promise of an unforgettable night with this charming famous writer could make her ignore her feelings for her boyfriend and, more importantly, her principles. Straightening herself, she spoke. "It was nice to meet you, Castle."

He had noticed her interest – the way she was softly pulling her lower lip into her mouth with her teeth before replying was every bit of an indication to the thoughts in her mind – and couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed she was letting him go. "You sure?"

The moment her cell phone chimed, interrupting them, Kate thought that someone (Murphy, perhaps) had been watching them from above and surely having a great time by making them long for each other only to then remind them that it shouldn't – couldn't – happen. And as she checked the caller ID, she realized that this someone above – certainly it must be Murphy! – had a weird sense of humor.

Watching the gorgeous detective in front of him with her lips pressed together in thought, weighing in her mind whether or not she should take the call, Rick suddenly understood. "Boyfriend?"

Immediately glancing up to his face, Kate looked just like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. She let her call go to voicemail (there was no way she would be able to talk to Will in front of Castle) and plastered her face with the best determined look she could muster. "Yes."

She hoped the fake conviction in her voice would be enough to fool Castle into believing she wasn't interested.

Rick was not entirely convinced by her act, though he admired her commitment to the man she was involved with. "It's too bad," He told her, with a resigned smile, before sticking out his right hand to her. "It would've been great."

She noticed his self-assuredness and couldn't help but try and outdo him. Taking his proffered hand, Kate gently touched her free hand to his waist, leaning into him with a sultry smile on her lips to whisper in his left ear, "You have no idea."

As if her words hadn't been enough to affect him, Rick then felt her pulling back an inch, removing her left hand from his body but letting her right one remain encased in his grip, and then he was able to look into her eyes and watch as she lasciviously raised right brow and pursed her lips.

He had been so lost in her that he had actually forgotten to breathe.

Letting go of his hand, Kate smirked at his reaction while she turned away from Castle and sauntered back to her car, not looking back. Rick, on the other hand, could not take his eyes off of her form, feeling hypnotized while he watched her start the engine in her Crown Vic and drive away.

The moment she had parked her cruiser outside the 12th Precinct, Kate's phone had started ringing again – just like the last time, it had been Will. Feeling levelheaded once she had distanced herself from Castle, the brunette had answered the call, sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere as they chatted politely for a few minutes before agreeing to meet at his place once she had finished the paperwork regarding her latest arrest and hanging up.

A little over two hours later, Kate had been standing outside Will's apartment in Murray Hill, feeling awkward again at the prospect of seeing her boyfriend for the first time since their argument two nights before. She still hadn't officially decided whether she would move to Boston with him or not – truth to be told, she already knew her answer would be no; the matter was how she could make Will see that he could be stay, that sooner or later he would be offered a better position in New York too. That they didn't have to part ways.

But all those thoughts had been in vain.

"I got the job." Will told her as soon as she walked into his living room.

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.)