Blame the CastleFicStreamCon, a Tweeted picture, and the glasses…always blame the glasses.

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Chapter 1

Margin of Interest

Rick lifted his eyes from the screen: seven days, a handful of hours and not nearly adequate amounts of coffee before he'd be free. The deadline will have come and gone and he couldn't wait for a break. Well, not really free or a break per se, but less inundated with the procrastinators, the unorganized and the people who wanted him to cheat. He was very talented, creative even and second to none when providing his clients a way to circumvent one of the two inevitable events in life, although if you had asked him in college if he ever would need his accounting degree, he would have answered a resounding 'no.'

He sighed, cracked his neck and saved his work. He checked the time on the wall clock. The last of the pink and purple glow of early spring daylight bounced off the steel and glass outside of his window providing the only other light than his desk lamp and the glow of the computer screens. His next appointment, the last of the day, would arrive in a few minutes, if they were on time—most of them weren't. He rubbed his eyes.

She'd sounded desperate on the phone after she had demanded to speak with him, leaving his assistant nearly in tears. That his assistant happened to be his daughter, who was interning for him this month didn't color his opinion of the woman…much.

He stood, straightened and tightened his tie and twisted his torso, cracking his back for good measure. Tax season meant longer hours and longer hours meant he wasn't able to get to the gym regularly. Checking his reflection, in the glass covering the portrait of Hamilton, a gift from his mother because he was the 'treasury and tax guy', he reached for the door. It burst open emitting a flash of red.

He caught his daughter in his arms. "Whoa, Alexis? What's wrong?"

"There's a woman." She closed his office door quietly.

"Yeah, it's probably my seven o'clock." He narrowed his eyes as he took in his daughter. "What's…"

"Mr. Castle?" Alexis' eyes grew huge, fearful at the sound of the woman's voice.

Rick half-grinned, rubbed his hands on her upper arms before he squeezed and drew her into a hug. He tried to sound soothing to the freaked-out girl. "Look, it's late. Take off. I'll handle Ms.…um…" He stretched his neck to peek at his notes.

"Beckett, Dad. Her name is Beckett and she's a detective not a Ms."

"Okay, either way…"

"Mr. Castle, I don't have all evening."

Pulling his lips between his teeth, he winked at his girl to send her on her way. "Just lock up on your way out, please. We don't want any crazies wandering in."

"Too late," Alexis remarked. She shook her head. "Good night, Daddy. Be safe," she mumbled as she hugged him again. He chuckled: his daughter seemed to have inherited some of his mother's melodramatic tendencies.

His inner office door burst open for the second time in under a minute and a tall, slender goddess in a trench coat stood framed by the harsh fluorescent lights of the reception area. Rick's jaw refused to close, nor his eyebrows to climb down from his forehead. Frozen in the middle of their hug, Alexis drew nearer to her father and instinctively, he responded by holding her tightly.

"Are you Castle?"

"Um…" He spun in place, trying to extricate his hand.

The goddess squinted and pursed her lips, her hands resting judgmentally on her hips. "I'm sorry; do you need a minute so you can finish groping your assistant?"

"Groping…oh, no—she's my daughter." Beckett raised an eyebrow. "No, ew, not…just…" He all but pushed his daughter out of the door. "Bye, Honey…and don't forget the doors."

"But, Dad…" Alexis protested, but the woman had already moved to his coat rack and was unwinding a scarf from around her neck.

Rick smiled to reassure his daughter while he closed his office door. "See you at home, Pumpkin."

Beckett sighed dramatically. "Look, I don't have much time and I would have gone to one of those kiosk thingies, but my friend Lanie said you were the best."

It was true. Her best friend had recommended Castle Accounting, but not only because he was a genius with numbers and tax law, but also because he was the hottest pencil pusher Lanie had ever seen: a nerd, sure, but a yummy nerd. That and he'd saved the medical examiner thousands of dollars. She reported that she'd not seen any evidence of a ring on his finger either. Beckett had rolled her eyes at her friend's never-ending crusade to hook her up, but made the appointment, nonetheless.

"I, uh…no, um…You're my next appointment, Ms. Beckett." He indicated a seat in front of his desk. "Please have a seat?"

"Detective."

Still flummoxed, Rick blinked. "I…I'm sorry?"

"My title. If you insist on using a title, it's detective." She smirked as she sat. "Tax King Castle."

"Oh," he dismissed as he took his seat. "Those…" He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, making his glasses jump. "Those asinine commercials were my mother's idea: my birthday gift from her this year. I didn't even see them before they started airing. I assure you Detective Beckett, that I am not all that cheesy."

She lifted an eyebrow. "That remains to be seen." With that she hefted a worn leather satchel, the kind an old time attorney would carry, 'Like Matlock,' he thought. It came complete with brass buckles and water stains, and she dumped it indelicately onto his desk. The weight of it slamming onto his blotter made the highlighters and pencils strewn there jump right along with Rick.

He swallowed and tugged at his collar. She noticed his shadowed jawline and the way his Adam's apple bobbed, yearning to be unencumbered by the tight necktie. "Um…I, uh…I could use a cup of coffee. Can I get you something?"

She made a distasteful face. His coffee was probably no better than the monkey pee and battery acid late-night blend she tolerated at the precinct, but at least there she was used to it. It was hard to imagine that she'd be able to stomach anyone else's swill.

"It's espresso. I have a fair selection of flavors and can steam some pretty mean milk."

"Um, yeah…please," she softened and exhaled, her shoulders losing a little rigidity. "Can…do you have vanilla?"

"Basic," he drawled, followed by a smile. "How would you like it prepared? Cappuccino, Latte, Macchiato—whatever you'd like."

"Oh."

"Come on, Detective. Let me earn my percentage. Pick your poison."

"Okay: I'd love a latte with two pumps of sugar free vanilla, if you have it, and skim milk: again, only if you have it."

"If we have it," he scoffed as he scrunched his face. "I'll be right back." He disappeared out of the frosted glass door bearing his name, but omitting the cheesy TV designation, and turned left down the hallway to where Beckett imagined must have been the small office's break room.

She took a moment and looked around, okay; she admitted to herself, she snooped around his office.

Standard, she thought. Bookcases filled with what she recognized as law books, but upon closer inspection turned out to be Tax Code and a couple of well-worn mystery books, and knick-knacks; degrees framed and hung on the wall along with certificates of his continued education and a couple of motivational plaques. One read: 'Life is like accounting, everything must be in balance.'

The desk was a little over-sized, but because of the way it had been arranged it fit in the space well. A picture of a younger him, still wearing his glasses, a plaid shirt and a bowtie, posed with an older redhead, held a place of honor on his desk among the papers, files and a calculator, on which the numbers on the keys were nearly worn off. After a closer examination of the photo, Kate smiled despite herself: Lanie had been right: he made the most delicious nerd-itizer she'd ever seen. Another, more contemporary photo was of him and his daughter at some sort of fair or costume contest with a fortune cookie paper attached to the corner that read: 'The minute that you think of giving up; think of the reason that you've held on for so long.' Beginning to get a picture of Tax King Castle, she ran her finger over his image, but then jerking it back as if the glass were hot, once she'd realized she'd been stroking the photo a little too long.

A pathetic plant sat breathing it's last on the windowsill behind his desk. She had never possessed a green thumb herself, but she couldn't sit there watching this wretched thing gasp. She went to the reception area, grabbed two paper cups full of water from the cooler, and brought it back to the dying vegetation as if she were providing a life-saving transfusion. The desk chair she had to roll back toward his desk in order to deliver the sustaining water was expensive: soft leather and had lumbar support built into the padding.

She noticed the faded pink strands hanging limply off the ends of the stems of the plant and never having seen the plant before, dead or alive, she sought out the plastic plant label jammed into the brittle, cracked Saharan soil. "Hm, Cat's Tail," she read aloud and briefly wondered why he would have chosen the pink fluffy flower in the picture for the otherwise utilitarian albeit masculine décor of his office, but her question was answered as she turned the label over and read, 'Thanks for a top ten, Kitten. Luv, M.' The writer was obviously female: in addition to the cute (read nauseating) spelling; she'd added a little heart over the 'I' in kitten. She shook her head, doing her best to ignore the unwanted pangs in her chest brought on by the obvious indication of a girlfriend and began to pour the life giving liquid into the pot all the while imagining Colin Clive's Dr. Frankenstein shouting, 'Look! It's moving. It's alive. It's alive...It's alive, it's moving, it's alive, it's alive, it's alive, it's alive, IT'S ALIVE!' She chuckled.

"Okay," her host said as he stepped into the room with two coffees in plain white, but elegant ceramic mugs. "A latte with…" He noticed her behind his desk. "Um, what are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she jumped when he entered, caught. "I…I just couldn't watch this poor little fella die."

He narrowed his eyes. "What the…" Setting the coffees down on his desk he hurried next to her. That damn note from Meredith was still on the plant. "Um, Ms. Beckett…" he stammered as he ushered her around his desk.

"Detective," she corrected.

"Yes. Detective Beckett, please…" He blinked again and licked his lips. "Please just have a seat."

She sat and after waiting like a gentleman, he did as well, but then he turned his shirtsleeve cuffs up, tucking them to just under the elbows, as he explained something she needed him to repeat: his forearms were muscular and mesmerizing. After the awkwardness of her trying to save a plant, about which he couldn't have cared less, they began a stilted, but cordial interview. He asked her questions and she answered. Some might have been more personal than a tax advisor or accountant would need, and yes, he skirted that line, but he needed to know more about her. There was something in her eyes that touched a long-dormant part of his soul. Was he pathetic? Maybe, but he wasn't willing to let the feeling stirring in him be ignored. Besides, he really did need to know if she lived alone and could claim no other personal exemptions.

An eternity of no noise in the room later, save shuffling of her papers and receipts, a few clicks on his keyboard and the occasional sip from their coffees: the heavenly coffee he'd brought her, she leaned forward. "Um…do you have any other questions?"

"Actually, no: this is all fairly straight forward." A closed lip smile meant to reassure her appeared on his face. He had gorgeous eyes behind those glasses. Kate wondered if he needed the glasses all the time or just for work. "I've begun a list of corroborating evidence that I'll need you to produce for our next appointment."

Kate sat back. "Oh. I thought this would be the only appointment."

He truly didn't need anything else from her. He could work his magic without the nit-picky list of items he had requested, but he wanted her to come back. "It might have been had you had all of your receipts," he gulped as he handed her the printed list, which just happened to be printed on his letterhead...which just happened to include his name and number. "How...um...how much time do you think you'll need to...ah...locate those papers?"

She skimmed the list. "Um, maybe a couple of days…I have to work, too."

He opened the calendar on his computer. Two days from now had him scheduled for sixteen hours of appointments. Shit. Sighing, he checked the third day. "How about Friday? I could squeeze you…" he cleared his throat. "Um…I could squeeze you in at seven again."

"You'll be working later than seven? On a Friday night?"

He chuckled in a boyish, bashful way. "'Tis the season for tax filing…" he semi-sang, semi-whined, awkwardly. He read her confusion and murmured, "sorry: it's an accountant joke."

She smirked, "That's okay, Castle: I bet there aren't too many. You go ahead and keep that one alive." She stood and gathered her briefcase and turned for her coat.

He weakly chuckled. He knew better than to try and be funny. That was for his alter ego, not for the version of himself he'd created right after Meredith left him. When he'd worried about providing for his daughter after he couldn't get his second book published. He sighed and realized the detective still stood in his doorway. "Sorry, Detective, sorry: I'll...um...let you out."

"Oh, oh yeah," she stumbled over her words and headed to his outer office with him close on her heals. She stopped and he plowed into the back of her, nearly knocking them both onto the floor.

"Oh my God: are you all right?" he gasped as he grabbed her elbows.

"I'm fine," she said, turning to face him. "I stopped because," she let out a quick exhale. "I stopped because I can't meet you on Friday evening…"

His face, which was so much nearer since she turned around, dropped along with his eyes. She could smell hours of coffee and the lingering faint scent of his aftershave. This close, she could see the exhaustion around his eyes, but the eyes themselves were bright and seemed to be endless pools. He half smiled, but it wasn't enough to crinkle the laugh lines bracketing those eyes. "That's okay; um…you can just drop it…"

"No, that's not what I meant, Castle. Look, I can't meet you on Friday evening...here: I'm working late, but you've got to eat, right?" He nodded. "So do I. Can we meet somewhere other than here? Maybe grab some dinner?"

He raised an eyebrow, desperately trying to regain control of his senses. She smelled like cherries and vanilla and gunpowder. "Detective Beckett, are you asking me out?"

"Well, no…I mean not…look: you have a girlfriend or some significant other." she gestured toward the still open door of his office. She said it as a statement, a fact, but her tone rose at the end of her sentence and her expression held hope.

He scowled and turned his head back toward his door. "A girl? Alexis? No she's my…"

"Your daughter, yeah I know, I got that. No. I meant the giver of the plant: M?"

He started to chuckle and then laugh, his humor lighting his face and reaching those well-used laugh lines, deepening them. He bent over and Kate had to admit that she enjoyed watching the muscles ripple under the dress shirt. He stood again, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry Detective, but Meredith?" He shook his head, "no, no, not Meredith. She's Alexis' mother, my ex, nothing more," he mirthfully sighed.

Kate raised her eyebrow in disbelief. "Kitten?"

All mirth dropped from his expression and he frowned. "Yeah, she…she tries to get me angry. Look, Kate?" She nodded her permission to use her first name. "I'd love to have dinner with you on Friday. Let's not make it anywhere too fancy. I'll have to come straight from here."

"I've got just the place, if you like cheeseburgers and shakes. I'll send you the address?" She smiled as he nodded. "Well, goodnight, Castle."

"Until we meet again on Friday, Kate."

"Can't you just say goodnight"

"Until we meet again is more…hopeful," he tilted his head as he grinned bashfully.

She smiled. "Then…until then, Rick."

He watched her get into a cab and then he locked his door and went back to his desk. Smiling, he lifted his feet and spun in his chair a couple of rotations, but stopped it short facing the window, a streetlight bleeding its orange glow into the corners of his space eerily backlit the dying reminder of a dead relationship. He stood, picked up the plant and dropped it into the trashcan with a resounding and satisfying thud.

Saving and closing all his files and programs, he almost shut the laptop, but instead opened a new document file and began to write. He hadn't written in years and almost as if he was experiencing an out of body moment, he watched his fingers fly across the keyboard, painting a picture with words, a medium that had been mute to him for too long.

He smiled unabashedly and continuously as he walked toward the subway that night. He didn't care if he looked like a lunatic. It was the first time in a long time he had looked forward to meeting a client a second time.

A/N - I don't know how far I'll take this, but it is dedicated to griever11, jstar1382, perspex13 and the seemingly disproportionate number of accounting professionals who write Castle Fan Fiction, for the tease, the images that haunt my dreams and the inspiration.

Please read the collaborative genius of jstar1382 & griever11's Accruel World

Recently, a group of Castle Fan Fic Writers was able to interact more personally on the CastleFanFicStreamCon. This was organized and run by Griever11 to the detriment of her sleep, her nutrition and I fear, a bit of her sanity. All told, it is 30+ hours of fun, interviews and questions from all your favorite Castle fan fic authors. Hopefully we'll do it again.

If you haven't had an opportunity to watch, please check it out. (Replace punctuation, which is in bold and italicized with the actual punctuation and remove the spaces for the links to the Stream Con videos)

www dot twitch dot tv slash castleficstreamcon slash profile slash highlights

And, finally a special shout out to Perspex13, my bud who shared the hour and made the process that much more fun.

This is our interview.

www dot twitch dot tv slash castleficstreamcon slash v slash 80955519