I was planning on finishing this story before I started posting, but in light of recent events, I changed my mind. I'm almost done anyway.

I started writing this story last year and with a lot of help from the amazing Sanctuaria, this is the result.

Enjoy

The light that filters through his curtains stings his eyes and he suppresses a groan. Putting a hand over them, he tries to block out the sunlight that tries to burn its way into his pounding head. It's been a long time since he went this far and it cuts in deep.

As he tries to roll on his side to bury his face in his pillow he feels a weight on his chest. A weight that he hadn't noticed earlier. He cautiously opens his eyes and finds that the weight belongs to another person. A woman. The sight of her golden brown locks glinting in the morning sun causes his memories of the night before come rushing back.

He had gone to a bar to forget about the awful fight he'd just had with his second ex-wife about his next book. She had been there too, drinking her sorrows away. He couldn't believe that someone could hurt someone so beautiful, so he'd struck up a conversation. At first she was reluctant, only answering his questions with yes or no. But he stayed with her – it wasn't like she told him to get lost so he saw that as a good sign.

As the night went on, she had shared more of herself with him. He wasn't sure if it was because of the alcohol or not. It wasn't like she drank that much or seemed even remotely tipsy. Maybe it was just his charming self. He grins at the thought for a moment and then dismisses it. There's no way that this woman could fall for his drunken charm.

He sighs and watches her sleep. She really is beautiful, asleep and relaxed. He feels the overwhelming urge to find out more about her. She never told him why she was at that bar last night and for some reason he needs to know. He's scared that when she wakes up, she'll leave. That in her eyes last night was nothing more than a one night stand. Which it was, technically. But he can't stand the idea of her leaving. So he revels in the early morning quiet. Her slow and sleepy breaths. The way her mouth falls open just a bit when she exhales. The way the sun plays over her bare back.

The way she yawns before slowly lifting her head is extremely cute. The way she cracks open one eye is adorable. The way she squints in the sharp morning light is endearing. She has already turned him into a sap. Though he reckons he always was one, and all she needed was one night to lure him out of his self-protecting-playboy-shell. She just doesn't know it yet. To her, he still is that playboy and she is just one woman he can add to his reputation.

"Staring's creepy," she mutters and pushes up and away from him. He immediately misses her warmth on his chest. She looks around the room and then back at him. He can't read her face, but he desperately needs to know what she is thinking. Who she is. What drives her. It's not even about why she was at that bar anymore. It's completely about her. She fascinates him, makes his fingers tingle with the desire to write her story. That sensation surprises him; he hasn't felt the urge to write in so long.

"I should go," she says and he realizes that he's still staring at her and that he still hasn't said anything.

"Do you want any breakfast?" he asks, and immediately he feels stupid. It sounds too desperate in his ears.

"No, thanks," she says with a small smile, "I should get to work." She gets up and scrambles around the room in search of her clothes.

"At least let me make you some coffee," he says and he jumps out of bed. He was right, he thinks as he makes his way to the kitchen without waiting for her answer. He really doesn't want her to go. He wants to talk to her. Like they did last night, after she opened up a bit.

A minute later she walks into the living room, now fully dressed in the clothes she had been wearing the night before. He holds up his hand to stop her from walking out the door, which doesn't help, obviously. She pretends that she doesn't see him and makes a beeline for the door.

"Hey, wait," he calls and he quickly grabs the coffee that has just finished, pours it into a travel mug and runs after her. Her step falters, but she doesn't turn around. "Here, take this," he says as he pushes the cup in her hand. She looks down at it and he would swear that he can see a little smile tug at the corner of her lips.

"Thanks," she murmurs. She looks down, her hair falling to hide her expression. Before she can make another move, he lifts his hand to push it away from her face and gives her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Good luck," he whispers against her skin and he doesn't know whether he means to wish her good luck for her job or for her life. He hopes that it won't be the latter because that would mean that he will probably never see her again. It reminds him that he doesn't know anything about her. If he'd had to guess by the way she carries herself, he'd say she's a lawyer, but he isn't sure. Not with the haunted look in her eyes.

She sneaks a quick peek at him and then she's gone. He sighs and rakes a hand over his face and through his hair. He slowly closes the door, wondering if he'll ever see her again. When he turns around, his loft seems empty. It doesn't take him long to figure out what's missing…

"Hey, Dad!" Alexis calls as she tiptoes down the stairs, causing him to jump.

"Morning, Pumpkin!" he says, trying to hide that she just made him jump. "Ready for breakfast?"

"Yeah," she says hesitantly. "Who was that?"

"I, uh… No one, just… no one," he answers, earning a doubtful look from his daughter, but she lets it drop. He hasn't brought any woman home in years – he handled his second divorce much better than his first one – but he knows that Alexis suspects something. "What do want for breakfast? Pancakes? Waffles?"

His picks his nine-year-old up and nuzzles his nose in her neck, making her giggle. "Daddy!" she scolds him. "Put me down!"

"Fine," he grumbles, "So… Waffles?" His daughter nods and rushes towards the kitchen to get the ingredients out of the fridge.

"Hurry up, Dad! I don't want to be late for school," she yells. At that, he checks his watch and notes that they have half an hour left before they need to leave.

"Okay, Pumpkin! Go pack your bag while I make breakfast, then you can eat and I'll change so I can drop you off," he says, jumping into their morning routine and momentarily pushing his mystery woman from his mind. He quickly whips up the batter for the waffles and pours some of it into the waffle iron. Alexis hops up onto one of the stools just as he scoops them out and puts them on a plate. After sprinkling some caster sugar on top of it, he sets it in front of her. He kisses her forehead and rushes into his bedroom, where he jumps into the first pair of jeans he can find and puts on a blue dress shirt that seems to go with it.

"Ready?" he says as he reappears in the living room ten minutes later. He managed to tame his wild bed head and he hopes that no one will notice the wrinkles in his shirt.

"Yep!" Alexis answers as she comes rushing to him from the kitchen, bag over her shoulder.

"Okay, then. Let's go."

The conversation in the car is about the science project Alexis has to do for school. She has to make a poster of the solar system. "Why a poster? We can make a model, so much more fun!" he says and Alexis' eyes light up at the idea.

"I should ask Ms. Ashley, but I think she'll be okay with it," she says enthusiastically.

"Great, I'll drop by the store later, so we can start when you get home," he grins, just as enthusiastic as his daughter.

"Okay, great! Bye, Daddy!" she yells as she jumps out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

"Bye, sweetie. Have fun at school," he says to the empty car. He watches his kid bounce through the school gates and greet her friends. He smiles at the picture, happy to see his kid so happy.

On his way home, he runs by the store to pick up some paint and Styrofoam balls for the model as promised. He also picks up a glue gun, hoping that he can finally use one, not that he'd let Alexis anywhere near the thing. He's never had the excuse to use a glue gun for anything, so he's pretty excited.

He tries to write, to give his vague book outline some substance, but his mind keeps wandering to the woman that left his loft this morning. He wants to see her again, but he doesn't even know her name. He figures that he could return to the bar where he met her, but he doubts that she'll return to that place if she doesn't want to see him again. He doesn't know what she does for a job; he has no idea where she lives. She might not even live in New York. He just knows that he wants to see her again.

He wants to see her smile, more of the little ones she showed him yesterday. He wants to hear her laugh, he wants to see her happy. He wants to know what her voice sounds like when she's mad and aroused. He wants to know how much he can annoy her until she bites back. He wants to see her anxious to get home to him. He wants to see her curiosity when he tells her that he has a surprise for her. He wants to see her bored and excited, indifferent and jealous, proud and filled with wonder, self-confident and shy, shocked and frustrated. He wants to see her in love. Maybe even with him.

He knows he's being insane. He'll probably never see her again. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest at the thought. There's no way he can be this affected after just one night, without even getting to know each other properly.

A knock on his door breaks him out of his reverie and he notices that his computer has gone into sleep mode. He didn't even notice his You Should Be Writing screensaver. He closes his laptop and groans as he gets up.

There's another impatient knock as he makes his way through the loft. He opens the door without looking through the peephole and is confronted with two men. Both of them smaller than him, though the muscles of the Hispanic man are very clear through his shirt. The other guy looks softer, but something in his eyes tells him that he shouldn't mess with him either.

The Hispanic man flashes a badge at him and he catches the NYPD logo.

"Mr. Castle?"