Chasing Nirvana

Summary: Two years after model Grace Beckett uses her twin sister, Kate's, name in a one-night-stand with mystery novelist Richard Castle, things get complicated when the real Kate Beckett brings Castle in for questioning in a murder.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Castle, Beckett or Nirvana, but, for better or worse, Grace is all mine.

Chapter 1- Come As You Are

May 2007

The Big Brass Jazz Band was in full swing as Grace Beckett walked through the front doors of The Lounge, the heels of her Christian Louboutin pumps punctuating her entrance.

When Grace's friend, Elise had stormed into Grace's apartment earlier that evening and told her she was dragging her to a book launch party at a jazz club, Grace had all but chained herself to the refrigerator in her minimalist Los Angeles apartment in protest. It was only when Elise had practically begged her, pointing out that she was trying to get a book published, that Grace had finally relented. After all, Elise did make a very good point: no one was going to pay attention to the memoir of a twenty-five year old privileged white girl partying her way through Europe and Asia for a year, without getting caught up in the sex trafficking trade, or thrown in a Thai prison, unless she kissed some serious ass. And in her slinky silver dress, Grace was the perfect wingman.

So here she was, standing alone at the bar, left to put in drink orders for herself and her friend, who had promptly taken off after editors, publishers, publicists and potential sugar daddies unknown. While Grace had planned on spending her last Saturday stateside in a club in LA, she had imagined it as more of a posh sea of beautiful twenty-somethings supplemented by bottle service and recreational pharma, and less as a party for some geezer of an author in a retro bar.

Grace had just started considering making a break for it, heading to the nearest nightclub where she could lose herself in the thrum of the music, the feel of a faceless body grinding up against hers, when the front door was thrown open and the room lit up with the flashes from the dozens of cameras outside. A lone figure came strolling in, his back to her as he posed for the crowd, answering questions.

"Mr. Castle, Mr. Castle, what's next for Derrick Storm? Is it true that you are planning to retire him?" A reporter called.

Castle. Richard Castle. Her sister's favorite author. Kate had gotten lost in those books after their mother... No. Her fingernails dug into her palm. She was not thinking about that. Grace shook her head out of the impending spiral, forcing her focus back to the present.

"What of the rumors of your divorce from Gina? Is your next move for Storm a plan to spite her?"

Castle laughed in response, and Grace surreptitiously leaned back against the polished wood counter, taking a sip of her drink. The bartender, who was already sweating through his perfectly pressed, white button down and black vest, had finally returned with her order of two dirty martinis, extra olives. She allowed her eyes to roam over the newcomer's back, a single eyebrow quirking as he lifted his arms, revealing his fantastically shaped backside beneath the edge of his Armani suit jacket. Her gaze only wavered when she lifted her glass to her lips, throwing back the rest of the olive-laced Hendrick's before starting in on Elise's. Her friend wouldn't miss it.

"Stop fishing, Carly, we all know Derrick Storm isn't going anywhere," Castle answered chuckling. "But, tonight is not a night to talk about my books or my relationship. We are all here to celebrate my fellow writer, Lee's, new book, definitely a literary achievement leagues above my own, so why don't we focus on him?"

With that, Castle turned to enter the room, the doors closing behind him, leaving the entry devoid of the flashing lights and shouted questions. Grace watched as he closed his eyes, tugging at his lapels and sleeves and patting his hair before flashing a smile; nodding and waving as he took in the faces around the room, like the press hadn't phased him at all.

Using her teeth, she pulled an olive from the skewer - a sorry excuse for dinner. Grace's elbows now rested behind her on the edge of the bar as her eyes wandered along with the writer, her head tilting to the side. He wasn't faceless and he definitely wasn't nameless, but he would do.

Just as Castle made to round the corner behind a larger group of people, a slender blonde, impeccably dressed in a pale pink gown, stormed up behind him, grabbing him by the arm as she guided him toward the back corner. Grace was about to follow, drink in hand, curiosity getting the better of her manners, when her phone sounded from her clutch. The ringtone blared obnoxiously through the space as the band paused between sets, gathering more than one sideways glance from the other patrons of the party. Cursing under her breath, she fished the offending device out with a roll of her eyes. It was probably Antonio. The man couldn't take a hint. It had been fun, a good short-term distraction, but now it was over. Instead she let out a groan as she stared at the name flashing across the small square screen.

Kate.

With a defiant clench of her jaw she rocked the side of her finger against the mute button on the edge of the phone, then let her hand fall to her side as she lifted the martini to her lips with her other. Sagging slightly against the bar, she lifted it back up when it chirped out the alert of a voicemail notification. Of course her sister would leave a voicemail on a Saturday night, even if it were well after midnight in New York. That was just how Katie was; she couldn't leave it alone.

Flipping the phone open, she stood staring at it for a long time, lost in thought, as it lay open in her palm. Shaking her head back to the present, she flipped it closed and shoved it into her clutch. This was not the time, nor the place to think about all of that. Instead, she decided to turn her attention back to the writer. Scanning the faces in the room, her gaze lingered on Elise for a moment as the other woman hung on a gray-haired man's arm. Moving on with an eye roll, she let out a huff, lower lip stuck out in a pout, when she realized she could no longer spot Mr. Castle in the crowd. So she did the only thing she could do with her family on her mind and the handsome writer out of her sights - she took another drink.

Grace had just finished her third martini when she felt a presence beside her. Tuning her head as she lowered the glass, she took in the form of the writer hunched over the bar next to her as he unsuccessfully attempted to flag down the bartender. Glancing down at her empty glass, only a single, gin-soaked green olive remaining, she let out a sigh and placed it on the bar behind her, switching it out for Elise's replacement round. Her friend wouldn't miss this one either.

The usual butterflies in her stomach had been muted by the alcohol buzzing through her veins, so swinging back around, Grace used two fingers of her free hand to tap the man on the arm. His shoulders sagged in response as he ran the hand he had been using to signal the bartender through his hair. He turned to her, and Grace was momentarily caught, breathless as her eyes connected with his, mischievous, blue, and sparkling back at her. Grabbing a hold of what was left of her bearings, she managed to hold the drink out in front of her in offering. Her lips tilted up in a sultry smile as he took it, and she reached back in to snag the skewer, lifting it up to rest against her lips before using her teeth to pull off a single olive. Grace had never been too keen on reading novels, and she hadn't inherited the analytical skills her sister had always used to piece apart mysteries, but she had never met a man who didn't want her. And it appeared Richard Castle was no exception. She was here, she was dressed to the nines, she might as well have a little fun.

His face broke into a wide grin, and he glanced covertly around the room before taking a half step closer to her, leaning in.

"Hi, I'm Rick."

Grace's smile widened as she leaned her elbow on the bar, her hand coming up to play with her long, blonde-streaked hair. Maybe this party wouldn't be so bad after all.

This was what she needed- fun. No strings, no commitment, just a night to forget everything- Antonio, her sister's unheard voicemail message taunting her from her purse. But she didn't need another person to complicate her life. She didn't need to be tethered to the states when she had just been offered a gig back in Paris. So, she stepped forward, her hips brushing ever so slightly against his, and gave the first name that came to mind.

"Kate, my name is Kate."

Richard Castle practically collapsed against the bar as he was, once again, ignored by the bartender. He could not catch a break. Not only had his second marriage officially crumbled with the signing of the divorce papers two days ago before he had left New York, he was having to deal with his first ex-wife thanks to this book tour stop in LA providing the "perfect opportunity for mother-daughter bonding" with Alexis. Now he couldn't even get a drink.

Divorce was different this time. No one had blamed him for filing for separation the first time, despite having a young daughter, considering he had walked in on his actress wife, Meredith, in bed with her director. But when his second marriage had started to crumble, there was no big event, no blow up or single person to blame. It had just fizzled apart. In many ways it was so much harder. This time there were sideways looks, the suggestions of therapy. There were whispers of a second marriage ending, his daughter losing another mother. The rumors in the tabloids were that it was his fault, after all he was the one with the playboy image.

He had almost told his driver to keep going when he saw the sea of press outside The Lounge from the road. Part of him still wished he had, but fielding a few uncomfortable questions was a small price to pay to support his friend, Lee Cooper, who had been a mentor and inspiration to him during Rick's time with Black Pawn. If this was going to be Lee's last book, as he intended, it was the least that Rick could do to show up and celebrate, despite the fact his now ex-wife and current editor would be there as well. He had definitely learned his lesson about dipping his quill in the company ink.

The second time he considered making a break for it had been when he was eyeing the emergency exit sign over Gina's shoulder where she had yanked him into the hall after the press had threatened to eat him whole. She had been yelling at him about something inconsequential, about how "our personal relationship should in no way affect our professional one. Withholding your latest chapters isn't just low, Rick, it's in direct violation of that agreement. I am still your editor and deserve to be treated as such."

He had tuned out halfway through her rant, realizing the two fingers of scotch he had sipped in the car was wearing thinner with every word she uttered, wondering if he would survive until he made it over to the bar for more. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that the reason she didn't have a manuscript yet wasn't because of petty grudges. Instead of writing since she had moved out and they had filed for divorce, he had been sitting around the Manhattan loft in his boxers beating level after level of Guitar Hero and World of Warcraft. Derrick Storm was starting to become what Castle thought the character never would: boring.

But now here he was, after smiling and making small talk, debating whether it would be better to jump over the bar or just give in and call his driver to take him to the nearest dive when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he considered ignoring whomever it was. He had already signed so many books, programs and assorted body parts that even the ones he normally didn't mind signing were getting old. With a pained sigh he forced a brilliant smile onto his face and turned, only to have the breath knocked completely out of him. She was the single most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Taking the proffered martini from her hand, he felt his blood surge. Who knew an olive could be so seductive.

He was in motion before his northernmost brain could intervene, to convince him that hitting on a woman, albeit a drop dead gorgeous one with long, flowing, hair the color of hazelnuts, and sparkling green eyes, was a bad idea when he was mere feet from his barely-ex-wife with a sea of paparazzi piranhas right outside the door.

"Hi, I'm Rick."

She smiled back at him, and he felt like his heart would shatter. He had never seen something so perfectly stunning before. Her hips brushed against his and he gasped. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Kate, my name is Kate."

Kate. Perfect. So completely perfect.

"Hi, Kate. You know you have a beautiful name."

In his haze, Rick saw something flash in her eyes, but she covered it quickly. Choosing to ignore it, he drained the rest of his martini and looked around the room, drinking in the atmosphere.

On any other night he would be thrilled to listen to a band cover the best of Sinatra in a place like this. It reminded him of The Old Haunt, his favorite bar in New York in which to sit with a smooth scotch and his laptop.

"I just love the feel of this place, reminds me of an old speakeasy."

"Yeah," his new acquaintance murmured, her lips now centimeters from his ear, officially derailing any other topics of small talk he could imagine. "It's great."

"So, Kate, you want to get out of here?"

Her hands wrapped around his hips, tugging his body impossibly closer. Castle's eyes darkened as she whispered in his ear, his breath catching in his throat.

"You have no idea."

Grace stretched lazily in the bed, relishing how the buzz of her skin intensified with every brush against the Egyptian cotton sheets. The vestiges of the very expensive champagne Rick had ordered from room service still pumping through her veins, as she watched the man lightly snoring next to her. That had been, wow, nothing short of completely amazing. He had kissed her like he had known her entire life. Her body was set on fire from a single touch of his finger trailing down her side, tracing a line around the small tattoo on her hip, a whisper asking the meaning as he pressed a kiss in the center. A silly smile lazed on her face. The way he had smiled up at her, mischievous, as his head had disappeared between her thighs. She squirmed in the bed, legs rubbing against the silky cotton as she got momentarily lost in the memory. Oh, she definitely had no regrets about any of it.

But now she sighed as she lifted herself onto her elbows to see the clock on the other side of Rick's sleeping form. The red numbers glared back at her. Four in the morning. She really needed to leave, to get out before he awoke and made this more than what it was. A few hours of blissful perfection not impeded by false meaning, last names, or reality.

Rick stirred in the bed, and Grace held her breath as he mumbled unintelligibly before rolling onto his side. Making sure he was settled, she shifted out of bed, and padded silently around the room, gathering articles of clothing from where they had been strewn. Yanking on her bra and underwear, she ran a hand through her hair. Oh God, Elise. Elise was going to be mad, abandoning her in the middle of the party.

As quietly as possible, Grace rummaged through her clutch, fishing out her phone, alerts for three texts and a voicemail greeting her. Her heart sank as she stared at the screen, she had forgotten. Reading the texts first, she couldn't help but smile at the message from her friend.

Coffee. 10am. I'm still pissed even though I saw that stud you left with.

The second was a reminder to come by the agency and pick up her schedule for her first couple of weeks in Paris. The third: Antonio. The man could not take a hint.

Her lower lip caught between her teeth as she stared at the voicemail. She could delete it, act like her number had changed, like she had never gotten it, but truthfully it had been four years, and she had yet to actually change her number. She pounded her password in and lifted the phone to her ear. She shouldn't listen, shouldn't put herself through this torture, the doubt in her decision. Her family… no, her sister and father were poison, attempting to drag her down with them into the black hole that had been created when…

"Hey, Gracie, it's me…" Grace's sister's voice, the lower tone, which had inexplicably never been identical to her own, tore her from her spiral of thoughts. "Look, I know you don't want to hear from me, you've made that perfectly clear."

Grace rolled her eyes at the inherent droll sass.

"But I just thought you'd like to know Dad's doing great, he received his 3 year chip yesterday. We went out to dinner at Sal's to celebrate, and… well… umm, I got promoted." A nervous laugh sounded through the speaker. "Youngest female detective in the NYPD. Homicide…"

Grace's heart clenched, as her breath stuttered at the underlying pride in Kate's voice. How could her sister, her identical twin sister, be so brave and so stupid at the same time? She should be running from that life, from all the death, but instead she kept diving head first into it, falling. Kate was content to drown in the dark while Grace kept sprinting toward the light, praying to be engulfed by it.

"I would say to call me back, but we both know you won't. So, yeah, that's it. Take care of yourself, Grace. Bye."

With a tired shake of her head, Grace flipped the phone shut, shoving it back into her bag, her blood boiling at Kate's biting statement. She didn't care. She had told them as much when she stormed out of her father's Manhattan apartment four years before. Kate futilely trying to pry a bottle of whiskey from their father's hand, empty promises of sobriety falling from his lips. It hadn't lasted then, and it wouldn't last now. And her sister… well, Kate just had a death wish. She couldn't stick around to watch them kill themselves then; she wasn't going to start now. She shouldn't have listened to the damn message. Next week she would be on a plane back to Paris, back to her life and her job with Modern Fashion.

Slipping on the rest of her clothes, she leaned over the bed, brushing a kiss to Rick's head before heading out the door. It was a shame, they had the potential to be good together, but there was no looking back now. No strings. She was going to be someone. She was going to be happy. She was going to be free.

A/N: In case there is any confusion this is a Kate/Castle story… eventually. ;)

This is going to be a little more fun than some of my more recent works. I hope you enjoy the ride. I am definitely enjoying writing it. As always, I look forward to hearing what you think.

Thank you to Kate Christie for her unwavering support, brutal honesty, and knowledge of women's fashion. And thank you to Angie (Dtrekker) for her perfect cover art.

Based off a Tumblr prompt that Season 1 Beckett and Season 4 Beckett look more like sisters/twins than the same person.