Unwritten

Summary: One of the last things true crime writer Richard Castle expected when he took a meeting with convicted murderer Kate Beckett was to be sent on a quest for proof of her innocence, the other was to fall in love with her. A Castle AU.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or any of it's characters. They are property of Andrew Marlowe and ABC.

A/N: This is a edited version of this story uploaded in 2016. The story is the same, but the writing has been greatly cleaned up by Kate Christie, Fembot77 and myself. Enjoy.

Chapter 1

Richard Rogers glanced over his shoulder, pausing when he heard a scuffle coming from the alley. He could have sworn he heard someone crying.

"Hey Rick, come on man, we're gonna be late!" Daniel threw back as they wove their way through the bustling streets of New York City.

It was a cool November evening, and the three teenagers were on fall break from Edgewyck Academy.

"Did you guys hear that?" Rick called as his friends continued down the sidewalk towards Times Square.

Daniel glanced behind him, shoving his hands in his pockets, as Steven lifted a hand to the back of his neck and shrugged.

"I didn't hear anything. Come on, we're gonna be late. Those chicks said they wanted to meet at the coffee shop at 8. Girls that pretty don't wait around, even for ruggedly handsome guys like us."

Rick shook his head, turning towards the alley.

"I know I heard something - crying, maybe. Come on, we should check it out."

"Rick," Daniel whined, but Steven circled back toward his friend.

Daniel let out a sigh as he took off after them, jogging to catch up.

The trio slowed as the whimpering grew louder, and they shared a glance as they began to make out the soft, strangled pleas. Rick peeked around the corner, his hand resting against the brick wall.

"Hey!" He called out when he saw the shadow of a young woman, streaks of tears and mascara running down her face as she was held against the wall of the alley, a knife twisting into her gut. The dark-haired man holding her turned his head, startled by the sound. His hand pulled away, letting the young woman's lifeless body slump down to the ground.

Rick surged forward, Daniel and Steven hot on his heels as he dashed towards the woman, the man taking off down the alley.

Rick spared the retreating figure a quick glance before falling to his knees next to the woman, two trembling fingers pressing against her neck.

He drew in a short breath as he searched her neck for a pulse, picking up her limp wrist and pressing his fingers to it when he found none.

"Daniel, call an ambulance!" His friend's retreating footsteps echoed down the alley.

Rick sagged onto his heels as his hand returned to the girl's neck, feeling for the pulse that wasn't there. His other hand pressed into her stomach, the metallic smell of blood filling his nose as the sticky red fluid oozed around his fingers.

"Rick," Steven crouched down across the body from his friend. "She's dead."

"No, come on!" Rick pressed his fingers against the cooling flesh under the girl's other ear.

Daniel reappeared, out of breath, and knelt beside the body.

"Cops are on their way, but look at her. Track marks on her arms, the clothes, the bruises? She's just some junkie prostitute."

Rick sank to the curb, his hands lifting off the body, unable to look away from the sunken, lifeless eyes shadowed by streaks of too-heavy makeup.

She was dead.

"Who was she? What's her story?" Rick asked the detective as he leaned against the fender of the squad car, an untouched cup of coffee cradled in his still blood-soaked hands.

The detective's eyebrows lowered.

"No story kid. She's nobody; a Jane Doe. Probably a drug deal gone wrong, or a ripped off pimp."

"There's always a story. A chain of events that makes something, someone like her, make sense."

The detective sighed, clapping a hand on Rick's shoulder before he pushed himself off the car and ambled towards the alley.

"Go home kid. Try to forget this ever happened. Nobody else is going to remember."

Rick watched the detective until his balding head disappeared.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Steven called, as the two boys stood from the front steps of the closest building and flanked Rick. "We have our IDs, might as well use them. Daniel and I are in need of a stiff drink."

Rick deflated against the cruiser, shaking his head as he placed the now cold cup of coffee on its trunk. He brought a hand up to rub his forehead, but catching a glimpse of the dried blood, he let it fall back to his side.

"No, you guy go ahead."

Rick turned to walk up the sidewalk, away from the alley, away from Times Square.

"Where are you going?" Daniel called after him.

"Home," Rick answered. His head spun with the unanswered questions. Why had the woman been here? How had she gotten into drugs? Whatever the answers were, her story deserved to be remembered. His fingers and brain buzzed to fill in the blanks. She was abused, a run away. She witnessed a tragic event, her best friend was killed when she was five in front of her and it sent her into a downward spiral. She was an undercover cop. She was in witness protection.

"There's a story there, and I'm going to write it."

What if…

Richard Rogers glanced over his shoulder, pausing when he heard a scuffle coming from the alley. He could have sworn he heard someone crying.

"Hey Rick, come on man, we're gonna be late!" Daniel threw back as they wove their way through the bustling streets of New York City.

It was a cool November evening, and the three teenagers were on fall break from Edgewyck Academy.

"Did you guys hear that?" Rick called as his friends continued down the sidewalk towards Times Square.

Daniel glanced behind him, shoving his hands in his pockets, as Steven lifted a hand to the back of his neck and shrugged.

"I didn't hear anything. Come on, we're gonna be late. Those chicks said they wanted to meet at the coffee shop at 8. Girls that pretty don't wait around, even for ruggedly handsome guys like us."

Rick's gaze lingered on the shadowed entrance to the alley before looking back at his friends, who were flexing their muscles and goofing around in the middle of the sidewalk. He let out a chuckle, shrugging off the sound and jogging the few steps to catch up to them.

Daniel clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You're too obsessed with death, man. Sometimes a sound is just a sound. Sometimes an alley is just an alley. There doesn't have to be some conspiracy behind it."

"Yeah," Rick agreed, as the trio made their way towards Times Square and their impending dates. "Sometimes a story is just a story."

Richard Castle took a deep breath as he pressed the intercom at the gate, the shrill buzz of the alarm sounding when the lock clicked open. The wrought iron door swung out, and he stepped into the small room. There was a pane of bulletproof glass to his right and a single metal detector in front of him. It was his first time at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility, and his gut clenched as he took in the stony faces of the women around him.

He had been in prisons before, a hazard of the profession, but this was his first time in a women's prison. It was different, tougher. The women - the guards - had steel in their eyes. No leeway, no backing down. He could at least joke with the guards at Rikers, bump fists and talk about the latest ballgame, but here, he felt like he might be castrated if he spoke a syllable out of turn.

"Richard Castle," he announced himself to the woman behind the glass. "I'm here to interview one of your inmates."

The woman eyed him before picking up the phone and confirming with the warden. She gave him a short nod before advising him to place his valuables in the tray in front of him. He emptied his pockets, clutching his recorder, pencil and pad of paper as he walked through the metal detector, jumping when it let out a squawk.

"Belt," the woman to the side of him eyed his waist. Hurrying to place his items on the counter, he slid his belt out of the loops, stepping backwards and then forwards through the metal detector.

When it remained silent, he let out the breath he had been holding before retrieving his pad and recorder and falling into step behind the guard.

"You sure you want to do this, Mr. Castle?" Warden Carter asked as she led him down the hall to the meeting room, her long, brown hair curled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. "She shot a guy in the head, point blank range. She wasn't provoked. She just murdered him, no reason. There is no fancy story here."

"I'm not here for a story. I'm here for the truth, that's what I write," Castle retorted.

The Warden smirked.

"There are much more interesting 'true crimes' here. Not that our inmates would agree. If you ask any of them, all of their crimes are just figments of the cops' imaginations. At least she doesn't deny that she did it."

Castle shook his head, dipping it towards the warden as they stopped outside the meeting room, beside a guard watching the heavy metal door.

"No ma'am, this is the one I'm interested in."

"All right then," Warden Carter motioned for the guard to unlock the door. "But don't say I didn't warn you. She isn't exactly the chatty type."

Rick mumbled out an acknowledgement but all other comments died on his lips when he stepped into the room and took in the sight of the woman sitting at the table. Long brown hair, cut jagged at the bottom, pale, sunken cheeks.

"Richard Castle, meet your new muse, inmate number 40415: Kate Beckett. Good luck."

Beckett's dull grey eyes drifted up to him and Castle barely heard the slam of the door reverberating through the otherwise silent room.

Her eyes flickered away, refocusing on the far wall, and Castle inhaled, his head spinning from lack of oxygen. He had seen the pictures, he had read the file and heard her story. She was not what he had expected from a former Manhattan socialite.

There's always a story, you just have to find it. A voice echoed in the back of his mind, that same voice he had been trying to ignore for the past 25 years, the same voice his journalism classes had taught him to drown out with evidence. Facts, he was here for the facts; he already knew the story. It wasn't some fantastic tale. A man was dead. She did it. He was just here to fill in the blanks.

Maybe. The voice taunted. Just maybe, this time it will be different.