Hi, Thanks for checking out my first story for Castle. I thought I would take a break from my usual fandom and have a go at something else. (I am also working a story for Crossing Lines.) I have to confess that I haven't seen all of this series and I haven't read many other Castle fics on this site so I apologise in advance for any character/story errors, OOCness etc. I have tried to stay as close as possible to the series but they have only just finished showing S5 here so I have had to base some of this on spoilers. All errors are mine and I don't own anything. Full disclaimer in my profile.

PS. I take no responsibility for any Firefly references that may have inadvertently slipped into this fic. Mahala ;-)

Prologue

The sleek black car drew up outside the classic brownstone building and Richard Castle heaved himself wearily from the back door, his tired eyes shielded from the late evening sun by dark shades. The driver immediately jumped out popping the trunk.

"Would you like me to bring these up for you Sir?" he asked as he pulled the suit carrier and suitcase from the trunk.

Rick smiled and shook his head. "No thanks Barney, I can manage."

"Right you are." The young man handed him the suit-carrier which Rick flung over his shoulder with a grunt. "Bet you're glad to be home."

"I am." His words were heartfelt and he was grateful that Barney didn't hang around. He wanted nothing more than to get home. He felt some of the exhaustion and anxiety lift a little at that word. Home. He had always found publicity tours to be the least favourite part of his life as a writer. In the early days when his new found fame had projected him into the limelight he had revelled in the seemingly never-ending rounds of book-signings, adoring fans, interviews and parties. But in recent years the trips had become more burdensome and taken him away from the one place he truly wanted to be. He had tried to keep them to a minimum but he had had to agree to a European tour, a gruelling twenty days including five European capitals and culminating in the festival at Cannes where a small independent film for which he'd written the screenplay had been shown to much acclaim.

As he made his way to the loft all he could think about was getting home to his family. The suit-carrier dug hard into his shoulder as he jiggled his carry-on and his suitcase. He fumbled for the keys and inserted them into the lock. The minute he was inside he dropped the bag and abandoned the suitcase kicking the door closed behind him with his foot.

"Hey. I'm home! Anyone here?" His voice echoed cheerily around the living room as he strode into the room desperately hoping that she hadn't been called out onto a case on a Saturday evening. However he hadn't taken more than a half a dozen paces when his steps faltered. Neatly stacked next to one another in the centre of the floor were her cases, with her coat and bag neatly folded on the top. Rick frowned wondering what was going on. His faltering steps ground to a halt as he came face to face with the three most important people in his life. Martha and Alexis were sitting abjectly at the dining room table. Kate was stood stiffly to one side. It only took one look to see that something was very, very wrong. Rick felt his stomach clench as a thousand and one awful scenarios flew through his mind. "What is it? What's hap...?"

He wasn't able to finish his phrase as Kate immediately stepped forward and raised her hand. Her words stung more than the palm that hit his cheek. "You bastard!"

Rick staggered back automatically raising his hand to his cheek. "Wh … at?" he stammered utterly stunned by her action.

Martha stood up brusquely, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. "How could you Richard? How could you?" Her words conveyed anger, indignation and moreover disappointment.

Rick's eyes travelled between the three women: his daughter sitting unmoving at the table,tears pooling in her eyes; his mother, her hands clenched at her side quivering with fury and finally Kate, the woman he loved staring angrily at him, a myriad of emotions flitting across her face. Her eyes burned with an emotion he had never seen before and never wished to see again.

"I don't understand. What's going on?"

"Did you think your little secret was safe?" Kate spat. Rick flinched at the venom in her voice. Never had she spoken to him like that. "Did you think that you could get away with it?" Her voice broke slightly.

Rick stepped forward, his face a mask of confusion. "Kate?"

She recoiled immediately. "Don't you touch me. Don't you dare touch me."

"Kate, please I don't understand," he pleaded.

"Just don't Dad! Don't!" Alexis jumped up from her chair and slammed a magazine down on the table. She jabbed a finger towards the cover. "How could you do this? To us? To Kate?"

Rick's head spun to face his daughter shocked by her tone and the tears now falling openly down her face. Slowly he took a step forward and looked down at the cover. He didn't need to read the words on the glossy periodical to tell him which magazine it was, the layout and garish colours announcing it to be one of the more salubrious celebrity gossip rags. As his eyes fell on the slightly grainy picture bound by a white frame and the word exclusive, his world shattered around him. He closed his eyes as if to block out the awful image. His stomach lurched and he felt the bile rise in his throat. For a moment the room seemed to spin and it was almost as though he couldn't breathe. He forced himself to open his eyes and take in a deep ragged breath. He turned to look at Kate. "It's not what you think," he whispered

Her voice was as cold as ice. "Not what I think? How can that not be what I think Castle?" He flinched at the way she spat his name at him as though it pained her to even utter it. "Are you trying to tell me that's not you?"

Her eyes bore into his desperately searching for an answer, begging him to deny it or at least provide some form of explanation but he didn't have one to give her. Words were his life. They had given him more things than he could ever have hoped for, helped him out of many a difficult situation, and admittedly, got him into trouble a few times too but at that moment, the one thing he could always rely on failed him. He opened his mouth but no words would come. His silence spoke volumes.

"Just tell me why?" The heartbreak in her voice and the utter wretchedness on her face cut him to the core. "Why?"

"Kate. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The moment he uttered the word he knew it was the wrong one.

"Sorry?" she screamed. "Sorry?" Suddenly she broke eye contact and looked down at her hands. She yanked the ring off her finger and threw it at him. "I'm the one who's sorry. Sorry that I ever met you. Sorry that I ever fell for your filthy lies. I should have known better." Every word she flung at him hurt more than the stinging slap she had delivered earlier. Rick closed his eyes again no longer able to bear the pain he had caused her. It was only when he sensed movement that they sprang open and he realized that she had moved to grab her purse and coat and a suitcase.

"Kate?" He called after her. She looked back as though giving him one last chance but he knew there was nothing he could say. Kate Beckett then strode out of the loft, out of his home, out of his life.

He had no idea how long he had stood there just staring after her. He felt desolate, emptied as though with her departure the last ounce of his life-force had been drained from him. He was incapable of thought or movement.

"I'm going."

"Alexis? Wait!"

She turned to face him. "No Dad. I can't do this. I have to get back to college." The hurt in her face was too much for him to bear and he hung his head as his daughter scooped up a bag and left. He could feel his mother's eyes on him. He waited for her to leave too but she didn't move. Slowly he turned to face her.

"Were you drunk?" she asked in an acid tone. "On drugs?" He shook his head vehemently, his expression shocked that she could even think such a thing. "Then what? I thought you loved her."

"I do. I do love her. With all my heart!"

"Then why? For the love of God Richard why?" Martha Rodgers glared at him with an expression that he could only describe as desperation.

He so badly wanted to explain but he couldn't. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

Martha shrank visibly, her expression turning to one of shame in her only son. She turned away from him and slowly climbed the stairs, sorrow etched on her features and in every step. Rick waited until he heard the click of her door and he sank into the nearest chair, his legs no longer able to hold him. He leaned into the table and propped his head in his hands, his elbows either side of the magazine. He forced himself to look at it feeling sick to his stomach.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. The one before him could have been a cover for the worst kind of romantic fiction, a man and a woman in a passionate embrace framed by a window surrounded by lush foliage and clusters of fragrant bougainvillea. An intimate moment captured in an instant by the click of a shutter. The woman who had her back to the camera was reaching up to slip the shirt off his shoulders as the moonlight bathed them in a silvery hue. Her raven black hair hung in a single loose coil over his thick muscular arm wrapped tightly around her bare waist, her skin pale in comparison to his. His head was thrown back, his face raised to the full moon as though basking in it's glow. His eyes were closed as the woman's lips pressed against his chest. The picture in front of him would indeed speak a thousand words to anyone else but to her he knew it had only spoken one. Betrayal.

His hand clenched the picture crumpling it in his fist. "Oh God, what have I done? What have I done?"