A/N: Greetings, fair readers! Feels like it's been forever. It's been a hectic few months, but RL has finally given me my brain back. Then as soon as I got it back, one little phrase from After Hours burrowed in and turned into this.

Many thanks to my beta, Risiblelady— you are the wind, etc.

On Paper

"You're like this world-famous, best-selling author, and I'm just this cop, and we're in this relationship, which makes absolutely no sense on paper." ~Kate Beckett

"So what if we don't make sense on paper? We don't live our lives on paper. And if we did, we'd never be astounded or...surprised." ~Richard Castle

Kate found the first evidence bag in her coat pocket when it was time to go home for the night. She was fishing for her keys, but along with the expected cold metal, her fingers encountered a familiar type of plastic bag. She pulled it out with a frown and mentally scrambled for a moment, wondering how she could have been so careless, until she realized it didn't contain any crime scene evidence. But it did contain something.

Even though Castle more frequently texted than scribbled, she recognized his handwriting immediately. The note was folded in half, writing side out, and written on a piece of NYPD letterhead that was likely pilfered from her desk when she wasn't looking. Kate glanced around discreetly before sliding the note out of the bag and unfolding it. She had finally accepted the reality that Lanie had noticed in about five seconds: she gave off a definite vibe when it came to Castle. Ever since last week when she was walking out of the Twelfth reading a text from him and the desk sergeant had winked and said, "I know that look— that must be from your secret boyfriend," she had tried harder to either school her reactions or read messages in private. She wasn't ready to go public quite yet, and definitely not by accident.

The note had been folded over another piece of paper, a copy of a police report. At least it better be a copy, she thought to herself. Before she began reading the note, she glanced at the name in the report's "Suspect" box: Richard Castle.

Dear Kate,

After careful consideration, I have decided that you were wrong. Once you experience my convincing and, dare I say, eloquent argument, I trust that you will see the error of your views.

I do realize that pointing out the ways in which you are wrong and I am right is not the best start to an evening, but don't worry. Unlike last month's infamous "Name the Seven Dwarves" incident, this argument will not lead to a midnight bodega run for apology flowers. I hope.

You said last week that we make no sense on paper. I present to you several pieces of paper that say otherwise.

Kate felt an affectionate smile threatening to spread across her face, so she stepped into the elevator, thankfully alone, and pressed the button for the parking garage before continuing to read.

Exhibit A: Our first of many arrests together— felony theft and obstruction of justice. Granted, this time it was you arresting me, not us arresting someone else, but every good story needs a pair of unlikely heroes. Sure, likely heroes get the job done, but they're boring. You and I may be many things, but boring is not one of them. As far as I'm concerned, that was a great beginning, and the story only gets better from there.

By the end of the note, Kate had walk-read her way to her car. Through the driver's side door, she could see a second evidence bag lying on her passenger seat. Castle had been at the precinct earlier but left for a meeting with his publisher, or so he said. She gave him a reluctant mental nod for sneaking her keys without her noticing. And where was he getting these evidence bags? She needed to have a talk with the boys about not enabling his schemes.

She got into the car and shut the door before picking up the bag and pulling out a single folded printout. The banner along the top declared that it was printed from the New York Times online archives. It was the Fiction Bestseller list from four years ago, and Heat Wave was #1.

A Post-It note stuck to the corner stated, "Millions of discerning readers agree: we make sense!"

"I am not Nikki Heat," she mumbled to herself out of habit, even though he wasn't there to hear her protest. And honestly, she only really denied it in public anymore, on the rare occasions when it came up.

At the very bottom of the Post-It was a final, cramped instruction: "Push play."

She started the car and sure enough, there was a CD in the player. She pushed play.

"Yes, you are." Castle's voice immediately argued, and she resisted rolling her eyes at how that particular exchange had become so predictable. He went on. "Nikki may be fictional, but she inherited all her best features from you. If she resonates with the readers, and three more number one rankings say she does, it's because you bring her to life for me every day."

Just as Kate was softening at his sincerity, his tone took on a definite swagger as he added, "And let's not forget the other half of this dynamic duo: me!"

This time she didn't bother resisting the eyeroll.

"But seriously," he continued, "people like Rook, and they really like Nikki, but they love them together. For more on that, Exhibit C awaits you in your mailbox. Or is that D? I'm a little fuzzy on whether this recording gets a separate letter. But never mind that. For now, this is Papa Bear signing off."

As promised, Kate found a manila envelope in her mailbox when she got home, tagged with a delivery confirmation. She couldn't help being a little impressed at Castle's planning efforts, even more that he managed to keep quiet about it the last few days.

She admitted to herself that he had sucked her into this game, or this story, or this legal argument, or whatever it was. She hustled up the stairs towards her apartment.

Once she was alone at last behind a locked door, Kate realized she wanted to draw the experience out, like when she read one of Castle's books for the first time. She laid the unopened envelope on the coffee table and took off her coat. She went to her bedroom and changed into her favorite lounge pants and a sweater she had "accidentally" borrowed from Castle after a movie night at the loft. It still smelled like him. She opened a bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass. She paused for a moment at the bathroom door, but she decided this wasn't a bubble bath situation. It was time to continue.

The envelope contained another evidence bag, which in turn contained a magazine: Castle's cover issue of Cosmo. Kate wondered how many copies of that thing he had squirreled away for posterity. She already had her own copy tucked into a box, but he didn't need to know that.

A sticky tab guided her to a paragraph in the middle of the article:

In Castle's latest page-turner, Heat Wave, New York is sweating it out through a hot July, but the oppressive summer weather is nothing compared to the sizzle between Detective Nikki Heat and her tagalong writer, Jameson Rook. The characters have a chemistry that is undeniable, despite being a bit of an odd couple. Like good bohemian fashion, their mismatched skills complement each other well. It's enough to almost make us wish that the pairing was inspired by a real-life romance between New York's seventh most eligible bachelor and his muse. (Don't despair, Castle groupies: both the writer and an emphatic Detective Beckett insist that the steamy love scene on page 105 is entirely fictional.)

She flipped back to the version of Castle grinning flirtatiously at her from the cover, then to the version of herself inside, looking a little guarded, a little haunted, and very uncomfortable. In a flash of insight, Kate realized that those two people would have been doomed to failure together, or at least doomed to a lot more drama. It was in their eyes: Cosmo Kate and Cosmo Castle did not really know what they wanted, or if they did they weren't ready to have it yet.

The article went on, but Kate knew that she had finished the section Castle was using to "make his case." Speaking of his case, there had to be more. She held the magazine by the spine and gave it a light shake, and sure enough, a half sheet of paper fluttered down to the coffee table.

This time the note wasn't written or printed out. It looked like he had typed it by hand on his typewriter. Kate knew that Alexis had surprised him by having it restored to working order last Christmas, but she'd never actually seen him use it.

I'm the first to admit we're a little odd together. You grew up with two loving parents, and I have no idea who my father is. I'm a few years older than you, but you are clearly the mature one. I'm a writer, and you have a real job. But it's okay, because it works. We work. There's a reason why the world loves an odd couple. People root for Nikki and Rook because they're the couple that doesn't add up, but they're right for each other anyway, because it's not about math. It's about chemistry. That's what humans are made of— not equations, but reactions. And I have been reacting to you since the day we met.

However, lest you think I have neglected math completely in my argument, I brought you some cold hard facts.

"Cold..." Kate's visual sweep of the room got as far as the fridge and stopped. She walked over and opened the door.

Between spending a lot of time at the loft and Castle's fridge-purging tendencies, her styrofoam temple of leftovers had dwindled to nearly nothing.

Tonight, however, there was a single Chinese takeout box on the shelf that had no right to be there. She hadn't ordered Chinese at home in ages.

Plus, it was sealed in an evidence bag.

She should have expected this when she gave him a key. Well, not this specifically. But some kind of shenanigans were inevitable. She opened the bag, unfolded the box top, and pulled out a paper folded several times to fit inside. This one was printed on Black Pawn letterhead.

Exhibit D could be taken the wrong way, but I'm going to risk it, because I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that this is a nice story, but maybe that's all it is: a sentimental fairy tale told by a man who is fooling himself into thinking any of this makes sense. It's true that I am a romantic, but if there's one person who will never be accused of that, it's Gina. I really did have a contract meeting at Black Pawn today. Exhibit D is the amount they are paying me to write three more Nikki Heat books by 2017.

I truly don't mean to boast, or make you uncomfortable. It's just that my ex-wife is paying me large amounts of money to write books about the woman I am now madly in love with. If you're looking for objective, it doesn't get much less sentimental than that.

Her curiosity now piqued, Kate scanned the rest of the paper front and back, but no numbers anywhere. She was beginning to think he'd changed his mind about telling her when she spotted a tiny slip of paper on the bottom of the takeout box. It was the size and shape of a fortune cookie slip. On one side it sagely advised, "Do or do not; there is no try." The other side said, "Lucky numbers: 3, 17, $—" Kate squinted a bit to make sure she was reading all the zeros and commas correctly.

Wow. Castle really was rich or something.

Was this supposed to reassure her that she wasn't completely out of her depth being with him? Because, not helping.

Then again, he had an interesting point. If that's what the free market thought their story was worth, it must make some kind of sense, even to a bunch of heartless executives.

She checked the bottom of the container again, but it really was empty this time. No more clues. Maybe he had a few more yet to give her, she thought, and sighed. She hated cliffhangers. She picked up her phone and tried to decide how to play it. She told him earlier she would call after work. Should she blatantly harangue him for Exhibit E, or play it cool and wait for him to make the next move?

She was still debating her options with his speed dial under her thumb when her email alert dinged. Of course she had email.

From: Richard Castle
Subject: FWD: thank you nikki

K-

I present Exhibit E, as submitted to richardcastle dot net. Even as a fictional shadow of the real you, you still manage to inspire and bring a little sense to a senseless world.

RC

PS: One more to go.

Begin forwarded message:

| To: mail at richardcastle dot net
| Subject: thank you nikki

| hey nikki, im shayla. im 13 years old and i think ur
| awesome!

| i know your not real but im still gonna write to tell
| u i wan tto be a cop someday. my friends think its
| cuz i want to be badass and have a gun - k
| maybe a little lol. but more becuse my mom died too
| and if i can stop killers and help another kid not
| have there mom die then that wold be a good job to
| have.

| thanks for being born lol not really. but ur still
| inspiring even if ur made up.

| shayla xoxo

Kate smiled and read the message again. Maybe she would write back to Shayla as Nikki Heat. The girl was only thirteen, why not keep the magic of fiction alive? It would give Shayla a mystery to solve, too. Good practice for her future career.

First, however, Kate had to find Exhibit F.

She searched her living room, kitchen, bedroom, even the bathroom cabinets, and still nothing. She thought for sure it would be in her bedroom somewhere, since his visits to her apartment inevitably ended up there, but apparently Castle was determined to defy expectations.

Expectations— of course! She knew the man's writing style inside and out, and what he would throw in at this point was a twist. For example, the main character had the final piece of the puzzle with her the entire time but didn't know it until the end. Very Wizard of Oz; he would love it. Kate went for her purse.

She found Exhibit F zipped into a side pocket she rarely used. It was a collection of torn scraps jumbled together in the bottom of the evidence bag. Kate's mind went straight to another bag full of confetti, paper that had saved her life both before and after it met with the exploding end of a booby trap. She had a feeling that in this case, the format itself was Exhibit F. Those little shreds of paper represented a time, one of many, when they had spurred each other on and saved each other's lives. That said, Castle would never pass up the chance to include an actual puzzle within his puzzle.

Unlike Smith's post-explosion pile-o'-file, this puzzle was a small, one-woman job. She emptied the bag onto the table and spread the pieces out. It looked to be about the size of an index card, with fractions of handwritten letters and words on each piece.

Like any good jigsaw veteran, she turned all the pieces face-up and picked out the edges. She had always found puzzles calming. Examine the clues, pursue all the details, don't lose track of the big picture, and before you know it everything comes together. Like her job, but without the messy human element.

Of course, the messy human element was where she really shone. She knew she could make a difference for people in those moments. In turn, when her life got messy, Castle was there to help her find the story— the one that would make it all make sense.

It was a work in progress, her story. So was theirs together. Sometime in the last week, maybe even that night, she had realized she was okay with that.

Kate refocused, surprised to realize that while half her brain had been spinning and thinking, the other half had finished the puzzle. She read the message before her.

We are greater than the sum of our parts.
Nothing in my life makes more sense than you.

Kate was already dialing by the time she finished the second sentence. Castle answered in one ring.

"So, have I made my case?"

"You mean have you successfully spent the last few days preparing to prove me wrong?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

She decided to let him off the hook— mostly. "You have a strong case. The jury seems inclined to go your way."

"That is excellent news. Permission to approach the bench?"

"What—?"

Her question was cut short by a knock at the door. She hung up the phone and opened it to find Castle, his phone in one hand and bodega flowers in the other.

She glanced at the bouquet and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Just in case?"

"Yeah, pretty much," he admitted. "Also, I've been out here for the last 15 minutes, and I thought flowers would make me look more 'nervous suitor' and less 'creepy stalker' to the neighbors." He held the plastic-wrapped arrangement out to her and asked, "So, did I need them?"

"No," she admitted, "but they don't hurt." Flowers in hand, she put her arms around his neck and said,
"Congrats on the new contract."

Castle wrapped his arms around her waist. "Thanks. Remind me to take you out someplace nice to celebrate. Once we're, you know, going out in public."

"I'll do that." Then she gasped in fake surprise. "Good news! The jury is back, and you've convinced them. We are greater than the sum of our parts."

He tightened his hold and pulled her closer, grinning. "Don't get me wrong: the process of adding our parts together is pretty great too."

"Would you like me to give you some math homework?"

"Ooo, sexy schoolteacher. That works for me on so many levels."

"Play your cards right, Castle, and I may even put my hair in a bun," she said, walking him backwards out of the doorway and into the kitchen. "But not until after I put the fake Chinese leftovers back into evidence and stick Cosmo Castle in a drawer."

Castle kicked the door shut with his foot. "Makes perfect sense to me."

THE END