Rick Castle's day took a sharp turn for the worse when he rear-ended the silver Merc in front of him.

It had been going so well till then too. Sharp practice all day, tough gym session, just one more game till the bye week and he could take Alexis away for the weekend, maybe up to the Hamptons, just two of them to enjoy some daddy-daughter time after a string of road games had kept him away from the loft for a little while. But it was his fault- he shouldn't have taken the call from DeAndre. The new rookie linebacker and second round draft-pick from Alabama was taking a little while to settle into the city, and Castle had told him that he could call at any time- as a veteran and defensive captain at the Ogres, looking out for the new players and helping them settle into the organisation and the city was just part of the job and a mentoring responsibility he took seriously.

Too seriously, because he wasn't paying attention to the traffic and gently and but surely ran into the back of the car in front of him when it came to sudden halt.

"I gotta call you back, DeAndre."

The silver Merc (expensive car that, he'd looked into getting one before settling on his SUV) pulled onto the side of the road after the intersection he'd run into it at into a parking space, and he found another one fortuitously open behind it. The back was a little dinged up, sure, but he'd pay for it, or at least makes sure his insurance did. He pulled up behind it, waited for the driver to get out, but making sure he had his cheque-book at hand, but everything else fell away as soon as he saw-

Long, lean, beautiful legs made their way out of the other car, followed by an expensive suit that encased a stunning body. She was beautiful, even when she was scowling and angry at him, chestnut-brown hair pulled tightly back in a professional-looking bun to match that suit. He struggled to undo his seatbelt, fingers fumbling at the latch, till he only just stumbled out onto the busy street just as she reached his door. In her late 20s or early 30s (one of those face it was hard to tell with), up close she was even more gorgeous, even with those hazel eyes glittering and nose wrinkled with real annoyance and anger. She was really cute when she was angry.

"I'm sorry."

He blurted out just before she reached him.

"Yeah? You should be. This is just what I need today, on top of everything else."

"Listen, I'm sorry. I'll take care of it, I'm Rick Castle."

He leads with his hand, expecting her to shake it, expecting her to know the name, to soften her features, her stance. It has worked so many times in past before. Truth be told, usually women come up to him to ask him to sign their chests, not angrily shaking their fingers in his face like she's doing now.

"I don't care who you are. I don't care if you're the President. I've been up all night working on a deposition for a lawsuit worth over half-a-billion dollars, and this is the last damn straw."

She was a firecracker this one, all pent-up passion and ferocity. She'd be more than a handful in bed, and he liked that. Liked that a lot. She's almost as tall as him too, can almost look him in the eye, though the glance he sneaks down at her feet shows that some fairly impressive heels have a lot to do with that.

She can keep the heels on, he decides.

"Listen, like I said, I'm sorry. I'm happy to reimburse you the cost of the repairs, give you my contact and insurance details. I'd be even happy to let you spank me."

He smiled with that easy charm that melted hearts and dropped panties so many times before, but this time it's the wrong move.

"Look, Mr. Super-Bowl-MVP, talk-of-the-town, those kinds of lines probably work on cheerleaders and models, but I'm a corporate attorney and I work for a living and I'm gonna take you for every dime it costs to repair my car."

"So you are fan."

She blushes a little, caught in the honesty of her own tirade, and he can't help the easy grin that comes over his face at that.

"I'm not!"

"Listen, at least tell me your name."

"Kate Beckett."

"Well, Ms. Beckett, once again I'd like to apologise for what happened."

This time she does take his hand, her lean fingers surprisingly strong in the broad paw of his hand, even as he dwarfs her in size.

She isn't cowed even though he's managed to put her on the back foot temporarily, and brings out her phone to snap a pic of his car.

"License?"

He hands it over wordlessly. As soon as she's gone, he's going to call his agent Paula and she's going to handle the rest of the paperwork for him, but damned if he's going to let her walk out his life just like that.

"Listen, Kate-"

"I like it better when you called me Beckett, actually."

She smirks at him, and he can see the little power-play for what it is. That said, it's been a while since anyone challenged him like that instead of simpering and acceding to his whims.

"Beckett then. I feel really bad for this. On top of taking care of the damage, why don't I take you out for dinner."

"Save it, Rick-"

"Castle, please."

Of course, two can play at that game.

"Fine, Castle then."

She takes a sharp breath.

"I don't really have any intention of being the next Page-Six fodder on your arm at the latest fashionable restaurant or club. You don't need to schmooze me or charm me, and you definitely can stop flirting with me."

"I wasn't-"

"You were though. I'm a lawyer, it's my job to discern a person's hidden motivations."

"And you're very good at it, Beckett."

"Thanks."

She grinned triumphantly, the first time he'd seen her features relax into any kind of positive expression, and he saw the for the first time the person under the professional veneer, the girl who'd grown up into the fierce tigress who'd verbally tamed him into submission. It was entrancing. He wanted to know everything about her.

"Listen, at least let me buy you a cup of coffee?"

He inclined his head towards the Starbucks just up the block from where they stood next to their cars, and he noted the way her eyes came back to him, quickly running up and down his body in a way that was part-assessment and part-undressing. That he did not mind at all. Later, she would claim she'd only said yes because she needed the caffeine hit, but he'd remember the way those speckled green-brown orbs moved for a long, long time.

The inside of the coffee shop is mid-afternoon busy, a hubbub of conversation and life as he steps inside behind her. He feels a few eyes swing his way, but luckily no one comes up to talk to him or ask for an autograph at this time. Generally New Yorkers are a private bunch, and they respect his space and time when he's out of uniform- it's one reason he came back home from California mid-way through his career, signing for his hometown team for less money. Of course the other team in the city, the Fighters, had made a pitch for his services too, but he was glad that he'd picked the red, white and blue.

It had worked out well for all concerned.

"Shouldn't you be at practice or something?"

He grins at the needle in her tone, the way she's trying to get a rise from him. He likes it, again, because it's something he hasn't heard in a while.

"Afternoon off, with the bye coming up. I thought you weren't a fan?"

"I prefer baseball."

"Of course you do."

She looks over her shoulder, honey-dark hair swishing over the shoulders of her grey suit, catching his eyes lingering on the stockinged form of her legs rising out of those sleek high heels. Unbidden, an image flashes through his mind of those legs naked. No better still, bare but for those heels, wrapped around his waist as that hair fell loose and curled around her shoulders as she shuddered to a climax in his embrace.

He swallowed thickly, trying to get his mind under control.

"So, how do you take your coffee?"

Her eyes glinted, as if she knew exactly what effect she was having on him. She probably did, that powerful, intoxicating mix of intelligence and beauty would be hard to resist for just about anyone. But she let him off the hook, inclining her head towards the menu, her tone quite amused and open.

"Grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla."

He'd have to remember that. She drifts away to the right while he makes the order, pulling out her smartphone, no doubt to do some highly-paid, very lawyerly things, paying him no mind at all. It's something he appreciates, something he rarely gets from women who he flirts with, ones who flirt back. The self-assurance to leave him alone and let him do his thing while she did hers.

"Hey man, big fan. Can I get a selfie?"

That's a skinny young teenager in line behind him, all smiles and jet-black skin, phone already out and he acquiesces with a smile.

"Sure. What's your name?"

"Vince. Thanks man. Loved the big hit and sack on Hudson last week."

This is an aspect of his celebrity he enjoys, just brushes with the team's fans, an acknowledgement of how much their play out on the field means to the people in the city, how much the win in the Super Bowl meant to the people in the city. When he looks up and around, he finds her looking at him, a slight and indulgent grin on her shoulder as she watched them take the selfie with Vince and the teen slide back into his spot in the queue. When she sees him watching, she quickly suppresses the grin and goes back to her phone, but it's too little, too late for that.

A moment later he's the next person to order and the barista behind the counter gives him a fist-bump and wishes him luck for the second half of the season, and then he's sliding back to stand to next her as they await their drinks. She watches him approach, putting her phone away as he comes to a stop next to her.

"Squaring up another big business deal?"

She smiles, something of the tiger coming through in that glint of her teeth, the sharp press of her lips.

"Some of us tackle our opponents….more metaphorically."

"But I bet you still lay them out, struggling to draw breath."

Her shoulders move up and down in a delightful manner underneath that suit.

"I do my best."

He really likes the competitive smirk that accompanies that acknowledgement, the look he knows he's had on his features a time or two when he's driven a quarterback into the turf or stopped a running back in his tracks or intercepted a pass before it could reach its intended target behind me. It's that feeling, that rush of adrenalin that comes every time he lines up and executes a defensive play perfectly, halts the opposition's progress and wins the ball back from their hands. The accolades, the stats, everything but the ring pales in comparison to that feeling of victory.

"Coffees for Rick and Kate? Grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla and a cappuccino?"

He picked them up and had but turned to her when she was plucking hers out of his hand, slim fingers brushing against his ever so faintly, but still with a crackle of electricity that he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"Thanks for the coffee, Castle, but I've got to go."

She must've felt it too, must've felt it for a while because all of a sudden she's taking a couple of quick steps out towards the door, out towards escape, and he knows it can't end like, he can't just let her walk out.

He catches her just outside the door, as she is headed for her silver Merc.

"Kat- Beckett. Listen. Wait."

She does at least do him that courtesy, turning around to face him, not speaking but letting him make his pitch. Those eyes weigh him up, green and dark, and in a way facing that is tougher than facing the 250-300 pound offensive linemen that liked nothing better than pancaking him into the ground, that he made his living running into and past those solid brick walls.

"Seriously, why don't we get a drink?"

"Why Castle? So I can be one of your conquests?"

He rocked back on his heels, but even that made him like her a little bit more, the way she called him out.

"No. No need for conquests. I doubt any man has conquered Kate Beckett. I doubt any man could. Just dinner, let's see how it goes."

Her features softened, and he knew she was wavering, she was on the edge, that she might just give in to her attraction. He felt like a teenager again, back at high school, asking the girl he liked out to the dance. He hadn't that felt that way in years, not even when he'd met his ex-wife back on the West Coast.

But then she hardened up again, the stone-wall of the corporate lawyer coming back, her head shaking as she backed away.

"No, no thanks. But I'll expect a call from your insurance company soon."

He nodded slowly, letting her off the hook. Standing in the middle of the busy street was hardly the place to press the issue (he was pretty sure someone had taken a picture of them just talking in the street a moment ago), though it was bittersweet to watch those elegant, creamy legs fold themselves into her car and slide into the traffic.

Still, just as being beaten by a left guard on the first play wouldn't stop him from getting to the QB on the next one, he was determined this wasn't the last time he'd cross paths with Kate Beckett.

A/N: Had some version of this AU knocking around in my head for a while. As always, I love feedback so please leave a note with your thoughts. Thanks for reading.