The Prophets

Richard Castle always had a very active imagination. Everyone who knew him would say as much – his mother, his teachers right from kindergarten up to more senior classes, his friends, his peers; everyone.

Martha Rodgers liked to think that her son, Richard Alexander Rodgers, had inherited his impressive imagination from her, but even she admitted that while the flare for dramatics had surely come from her chromosomes, his imagination was entirely his own. It surprised her just how his mind didn't merely blend in with surrounding thoughts and words, but it went beyond the invisible boundaries. To Richard Rodgers, all things were magical and fantastic. The world, the people in it were a mystery he wanted to solve. Not only did he create beautiful thoughts and stories, but he did not hesitate to share them with the world. He always did well in his English lessons. He always did well in any kind of group activities. Oh yes, little Rick Rodgers was the apple of everyone's eye. Sometimes he was the rotten apple – according to the more orthodox and close-minded teachers usually, but he definitely was the center of attraction.

Keeping these things in mind, it didn't surprise her very much when she was called to the principal's office one day for a matter pertaining to one of his well woven tales. When she got to the Mr. Schwartz's office she turned on her charm. He'd definitely inherited that from her, she thought. "Oh Mr. Schwartz, what has Ricky done this time?" she said with an expression that perhaps sought to gain sympathy.

Mr. Schwartz gave a sympathetic smile and said "Well Mrs. Rodgers - "

"Please dear, call me Martha. Mrs. Rodgers makes me feel old and married. Neither of which is the case." If her charm was working, she was definitely going to use it. She did have to get back to work. Granted it was a small role, but a role is a role and she would give it her all.

"Okay, Martha" the principal said with a smile while Richard sat on the chair besides Martha looking slightly horrified and slightly proud at his mother's evident attempts at flirtation. "Rick here has been telling a rather tediously concocted tale about two of our teachers" he said and then turned to Rick before adding, "rest assured son, that Mr. Philip and Ms. Thorne are not having secret romantic meetings in the gym after school hours and even if they were, it would not be your business to know of it, and definitely not to spread it around."

Rick lowered his head and mumbled an apology. "Richard Alexander Rodgers!" Martha croaked rather dramatically, "How could you? My son engaging in gossip and lies?" Richard thought that this was rather ironic statement coming from his mother and turned to her with a confused look adorning his face. Or at least, he was confused until he saw the tiny, infinitesimally quick wink. He fought hard not to chuckle and to continue looking ashamed instead. "Oh Mr. Schwartz, it's all my fault. I have failed him as a mother. It's so hard raising a young boy alone in today's world." She added a pretty convincing sniff or two.

"Now, now Mrs. – I mean Martha. Please don't say that. He is an exceptional young man. He does so well in most of his classes, in fact, in almost all but math. You've done a fantastic job, especially considering that you've done it alone." He turned again to Rick, "Richard, I'm sure this won't happen again. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir Mr. Schwartz. I sincerely regret it and I promise not to make up stories about our teachers again. I think – that is if you think it's okay, sir – that I should apologize to Mr. Philip and Ms. Thorne as well." Rick said looking at his principal, and then he turned to his mother. "Please don't cry, mother. I'm sorry. You're a fantastic mother."

"See Martha, it'll all be alright. And I think it's a very good idea to apologize to them, Richard. I think that the point has gotten through. Thank you for coming in, Martha."

"Oh, of course, Mr. Schwartz" Martha said with a hand shake. As Rick started to leave and make his way outside, he heard Mr. Schwartz say, "Please Martha, call me John. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to call me. I'd like to say that I hope not to ever see you in here again, but I'd be lying. Well, maybe not in here. I'd love to have a coffee with you sometime."

A well placed giggle and a few muffled words later, his mother joined him outside the principal's office. "Well dear, I think that went rather well", she said with a smile.

"Yes, mother. A stellar performance as usual."

"Thank you dear. Now, as much as I love your wonderful stories, I'd rather appreciate it if they didn't drag me all the way down here. Keep real people out of it, boy. Or at least change the names."

"Yes, something to keep in mind for the future, for sure. I do really wonder about them you know. The looks they share, it inspired me to think in that direction" he said seriously. "But you're not angry?"

She chuckled at his use of the word 'inspiration'. "No, I'm not angry. I'm proud of you Richard. Part of that was not an act. It is difficult to raise a person single handedly, but I do not regret it in the least. And you've turned out rather well, if I do say so myself."

"Thanks mom" he beamed, as did she. She rarely got to hear him say 'mom'. He usually stuck with 'mother', not that she minded it, but 'mom' was good to hear.

"Don't allow anyone to try to shut your creativity in a box, Richard. It's what makes you different, special and I daresay, extraordinary. Now, I have to get back to work. Buh-bye darling." She parted after ruffling his hair and left him standing alone, trying to straighten it out.

'Extraordinary. What a quaint word.' Richard thought as he ran his hands through his hair and set off towards his next class.

He was too young then to understand the depths of what his mother meant. At the time he was invested in using his charm and knowledge for the boyish purposes of getting girlfriends and impressing his peers. As he grew older he focused his powers – as he liked to think of them – into more endearing acts like becoming the head of his college newspaper team, getting into as many special clubs and making as many useful contacts as he could; he still did not think of what his mother had told the younger version of himself. When he published his first novel, and yes he'd written many half stories before it; but when he published his first novel, it was a small success. Looking back on it, it wasn't his best and now it made him cringe sometimes. But still, he built on his little successes, grew as an author. He never tired of learning and acquiring more knowledge. He worked hard to keep things authentic; he partied harder to enjoy his well earned fame. He sobered his lifestyle when his daughter was born. Most certainly an angel in his life, he often thought. He worked even harder to give her the best life and more importantly to make her a better person than he thought he was. Alexis turned out far better and beyond what he'd ever dreamt. She often led him to wonder about what he had done so right, to have such an angel grace his life. But he did not look back very often on his school days. No, Richard Rodgers did not think back on his mother's words, but Richard Castle did.

Oh yes, Richard Castle finally understood what his mother meant when she called him extraordinary because so many years after that day in school, he thought of no better word to fit the bill. No better word to describe the girl – nay, the woman who seemed to be nothing short of an unsolvable mystery. She was unlike any of the other women in his life so far. She did nothing to win his heart rather she tried hard to push him away. Eventually she quit trying to push him away and just tried her best to keep him at an arm's length. He had had his doubts right from the start about her. She claimed that she was not a fan of his work, but he knew that none but the best of his fans had read some of his work that she had clearly read. She pretended to be immune to his charm and maybe she was immune to the overt show he put on for his fan base, but she was not immune to the charm he innately possessed. The charm he only used on her. He thought for long while that this particular charm, the real Richard Rodgers, was breaking down her immunity towards him, slowly but surely.

He was starting to doubt this very charm though. How could someone be so immune to it? The ridiculous woman. The ridiculous, frustrating, gorgeous, intelligent, woman with a heart of gold. What would he have to do to earn a simple hug? Apparently he had to diffuse bombs. It wasn't everyday they came across bombs though. He had to save the world to earn a nudge. The only redeeming fact was that she couldn't stop her eyes from baring the truth. She could deny it all she wanted through her words but not through her eyes. In the few years that he knew her, she was letting her guard down with the little things. He'd definitely seen some kind of weird progress – if you could call it that – after the shooting. She had this way about her. When she spoke to the families of the victims, she was one of them. When she spoke to her boys, she was one of the guys. When she spoke to Lanie, she was a best friend. When she spoke to him though, she was different. Sometimes she'd school her features exactly to fit her words, like she was in control of every single muscle on her face. At other times she would show him exactly how she felt without needing to say a word. He knew though, that whatever the case may be, he somehow had the unique ability of knowing how she felt and what she was thinking– whether she was baring her soul or using her best poker face. He also knew that she knew this too, though she might never admit it.

So yes, the doubt was creeping in but he was the extraordinary Richard Castle and she was the extraordinary Katherine Beckett. His extraordinary Kate Beckett. And he'd be damned if he'd let her get away. His mother had taught him well. He would not give up – not through the secrets, not through the heart break, not through the lies, nor for her walls, nor for her stubbornness, nor for his recklessness. He would not allow her to try to keep this extraordinary relationship in a box, not when it was so beautiful even before it was allowed to grow. He had written enough fictional stories but he had lived a stranger life. He'd written the most fantastic dangers for his characters, but he'd been through worse, fearing not only for himself but for the one's he loved. Now was the time, he decided, to write their story. But more importantly, now was the time he'd have to reel her in to write it along with him; to write it for the rest of their lives.

A/N: This is a one shot for now. It's only my second story, so I'd love to hear criticism or any kind of review that you'd like to leave. If anyone would like me to continue, I do have an idea of what to do with it. Let me know. : ). I sincerely hope you enjoyed this.