Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Castle nor do I claim to.

Author's Note: Okay guys so I'm new at this. This idea would not leave me alone though and I felt the need to type it out.

I did play with the timeline some as you'll see below.

It was for research - that's what he told himself as he grabbed at a handful of art supplies. A brush ended up in his hand and he slid that one back into place. The last time he painted, Alexis had giggled about his rabbit for three days. Perhaps it had resembled a rabid weasel. Paintbrush was definitely not for him. The pencils he could manage.

He wanted the experience of this class and as he pulled a sketchpad out from under his arm, he sat in a chair that let out a groan of protest. For a split second he let himself believe the chair somehow knew. An inanimate object had called him out and exposed his lack of artistic skill. But that was ridiculous; a chair couldn't know and when he quickly scanned the room no one seemed to notice.

This wasn't the class he wanted; not the research he hoped to conduct but he needed the research yesterday. He didn't have time to be picky. But maybe this would make for a better story.

He wasn't exactly looking forward to a nude model. Not really wanting to see another man's junk hanging around but of course the class was a study in the art of anatomy. So instead of complaining too much or skipping out, he chose to stay and deal with it. He'd learn what he could; study his surroundings and the artists and students. Maybe he'd sketch something more than a little stick man. He wasn't incapable. He used to be pretty good with a pencil but he never got into art. He never used more than a No.2 and a basic pink eraser. His last sketch was of the Disney Princesses for his daughter. The lines were clean, the faces easily identifiable and one little redhead had been extremely pleased.

The window caught his attention as more students shuffled in, an old Victorian looking thing, which seemed appropriate for an art class. It wasn't one he'd expect outside of a college campus with its arch. It wasn't something he imagined when he signed up for a class at a hole-in-the-wall studio.

He kept tracing the lines of it with his eyes, avoided looking at the girl next to him who kept kicking at the side of his chair. He was seated on the frontline; girl with annoying habit on one side and a guy with a bright buttoned up teal shirt on the other. With one last sweep of the architecture, he turned to watch the crowd.

There were about twenty people waiting, a few still straggled in. Rick Castle waited, watched, and let himself get carried away with making up stories for each individual. There was a woman in the back who caught his attention immediately. Long dark tresses fell freely down the side of her neck; bold eyes scanned the room as she worried a plump bottom lip between her teeth.

Worried about something, he'd guess. Who are you? What troubles you? She was stunning. There was something simplistic and young. Pronounced cheekbones, full lips, soft feminine slope of her nose and those eyes – those eyes had him captivated. Simplistic features on their own but intricately captivating when studied as a whole.

Forget the class, he found the art and it wasn't on paper. It wasn't between strokes of pencil or paint. It was in the lines of her face, the soft curve of her forehead, the ridge of her brow. He wanted to talk to her, opened his mouth to say something but what was there to say? He didn't know her name.

Don't be creepy, Rick. Don't be creepy.

His gaze stayed on her as she moved around the room, pacing to and fro. Her legs were long, carrying her quickly as she backtracked. He didn't want to startle her, didn't want her to see that he was openly staring at her but then she turned and oh, oh, she was staring right back and those features he was so caught up in formed a frown. He offered a little wave of his fingers, hoped it didn't look as awkward as it felt. When she barely gave him more than a quirk of her eyebrow before walking out of the room, he knew it was definitely awkward.

Smooth. Real smooth, Rick.

Usually he'd charm, the woman would swoon, and he wouldn't be leaving alone but instead, she'd thrown him off his game without even trying. As a writer, it was sometimes a curse to be so inquisitive. He always chased after people, submerged himself in research, spent too many hours people watching, and sometimes he came across someone who sparked a deep interest without even saying a word.

The woman in a sweater two sizes too big had certainly managed and he'd waved. Idiot.

But where did she go? Wasn't she here for the class starting in – he glanced at his watch – one minute? Something in his brain begged his body to follow her…or maybe that was his body begging his brain. Just as he began to stand, the instructor spoke. He looked over at the door one final time to see if she'd come back and then he turned his attention to the front of the room.

Kate Beckett could handle spiders, heights; she used to laugh wildly on roller coasters. Insects were a nuisance but not necessarily a fear. Rodents weren't anything more than roommates in some areas of New York and she'd seen her share of them.

The idea of baring it all hadn't scared her a bit. She wasn't really a prude and it was an art class. No one would be lewd or inappropriate and if they were, she knew they'd be kicked out. She wasn't afraid of the people waiting inside. She wasn't wearing a path onto the hallway floor because of them.

Her restless legs carried her down the hall and back several times. She counted the tiles beneath her feet, aimlessly stepped on each crack. There was an old soda machine humming to keep her company and to taunt her with the reminder that she didn't have time to second guess.

But Richard fucking Castle was sitting inside that room and she would be naked. She paused mid step, dropped her foot back down to the floor. Shit. Her fingers met the material of her sweater, her heels clicked against the tile. Naked. She was supposed to be in a robe by now.

She checked her watch, muttered a curse and peeked around the corner. The hallway was bare and she made a decision. The heels were the first to go, and then she pushed her jeans down her legs – discreetly dragging her panties along with them.

When she found her way back to the room, she had her clothes in hand and only a sweater to ward off the chill. The fabric was warm against her thighs but soon it would be gone too. She didn't mind – she didn't. She just hadn't realized her favorite author would be front and center. Part of her hoped he'd switched seats or left because she's definitely a bit late.

She opened the door and her hopes were dashed. He was sketching something, eyes downcast, chin in hand and that stupid adorable cowlick mocked her.

Be cool, Kate. He's just an author. He has no idea who you are.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this lovely woman is our model for a few days."

That was her cue. She didn't want introductions, liked remaining nameless and without even a smile, she took her mark, lifted the sweater over her head and let it drop. Entirely unprofessional of her but she just wanted it over and done with. She could feel the gazes sweeping over her as she posed, could hear the strokes of pencil and squelch of paint already starting.

And then a clatter, a cup of pencils hit the floor and she looked. She couldn't help it. That's when she heard him, the low rumble of his voice skated over her bare skin, sinking in until she had to fight off a shiver. "Holy shit."

Every set of eyes landed on him, including her own. He wasn't distracted anymore. Those baby blues were trained on her, his mouth left hanging open and she hoped the look she gave him was a glare. That's what she was aiming for and his mumbled apology as he scrambled to pick up his pencil was mildly satisfying.

Richard Castle. She'd just glared at Richard Castle. Her lips tilted as she tried to remain still in the pose.