Author's Note: I went back recently and watched parts of Season One for another story I was working on. I was truly surprised to see what Castle had been like back then. His growth has been tremendous and I thought it might be fun to watch it happen in a condensed fashion. This is what came out of that; it's mostly character thoughts and fillers. And if you think I'm too harsh on our favorite writer, check the pilot episode out again—you'll be shocked, too! Don't worry, this only encompasses the first five or so episodes and then he starts radically changing, as does the relationship between he and Beckett.

Disclaimer: Castle and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

Richard Castle, Grown-Up

Chapter One: A Nine-Year-Old on a Sugar Rush

She was standing in Captain Montgomery's office.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"No way."

"Beckett, listen,"

She wouldn't ordinarily interrupt her superior but she had to make him see the lunacy of what he was saying. "Sir, he is like a nine year old on a sugar rush, totally incapable of taking anything seriously."

When she turned around at the nod of her Captain, she saw Richard Castle standing there with that smirk on his face, knowing he'd won even before she'd been told of this turn of events.

She walked past him, out the door and back to her desk, her thoughts in turmoil. He's a pain in my tail. I can't stand the man! Okay, so his books are great, but he knows it and is full of himself as a result. He's like a spoiled brat who's never been denied any toy in his life; what he doesn't have given to him, he just buys. I don't need this—my job is tough enough as it is. She blew an exasperated breath out between clenched teeth. A wisecracking novelist, accompanying me everywhere I go, indefinitely—just lovely. Not only that, but the books will lose their charm; I'll never be able to get past the cover without seeing his Cheshire-cat grin or turn a page without remembering how infuriating the writer is!

She had made it through this case with him as a "consultant" but didn't know how long she could stomach him following her everywhere for research until he decided that he'd had enough. This one had been significant torture already! Her exceedingly low expectations were met with his every action. Rick Castle was so self-absorbed that he had stunningly little concern for the victims they met with, almost as if they were mere characters in one of his novels. He took this first case as some sort of sick tribute to his writing, even having the effrontery to ask for pictures of the corpses to show his poker buddies. People are dead, and he wants photos of it! When she called him on his callous attitude, his response was, "I'm not asking for the bodies, just the pictures."

She shouldn't have been surprised by that reaction. He behaved almost as if he were entitled to whatever he wanted, simply because he was Richard Castle, novelist. He didn't even look embarrassed by his police record when I put him in the box. He had a glib response for everything: "boys will be boys," indeed! And then he tries to put the moves on me! "Do you know you have gorgeous eyes?" Maybe all he has to do to get most women to fall at his feet is give them that smile, but I'm not like that. His "connections" didn't impress, either; name dropping did nothing for her, even if the mayor was on speed dial. Again she thought I don't need this!

Kate was getting tired of feeling like some kind of meat on display. As they sat opposite each other trying to find some kind of clue, a stack of his fan mail between them, he kept watching her. Did he really think she couldn't see him, that she wouldn't notice? She was a detective because she was good at her job: she spotted details others might miss. Having enough of his leering, she confronted him, but unfortunately the conversation took a turn she didn't foresee.

Wanting to know her story, he figured he'd just ask. He was astonished when she challenged him to tell her what her story was. He began slowly with what he had surmised from the little things, watching her face for signs that he was on the right track. Castle grew bolder as he gained confidence in his little theory. "You had options; yeah you had lots of options, better options, more socially acceptable options. And you still chose this. That tells me something happened. Not to you; you're wounded, but you're not that wounded. No, it was somebody you cared about; it was someone you loved. And you probably could have lived with that, but the person responsible was never caught. And that, Detective Beckett, is why you're here."

He saw the look on her face, the pain that he had put there with his careless words, and a twinge of regret passed through him. What had started as a display of his genius, hoping to impress her, had become hurtful instead. Usually his words didn't have that kind of power; he wrote to entertain. His little victory turned out to be a painful moment, both for himself and for the beautiful detective.

On the other side of that stack of mail, Kate Beckett was absolutely outraged! How dare he presume to know her? Never mind that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head, but he'd gotten one detail wrong at least: she was that wounded.

She found, however, that she wasn't quite as immune to his charm as she tried to convince herself. Castle had fooled her with his "gift," the copy of Storm Fall, signed to her with his thanks. Then he had told her it was nice to have met her, kissed her on the cheek and quietly walked out of her life. No jokes, no innuendo, no attempt to extract more from her than she was willing to give. Her jaw dropped a bit as she considered that maybe she had misjudged him after all. Could it be possible that below that bad boy, self-important exterior was a real man with a genuine heart? It wouldn't be the first time he had surprised her, but she had to admit it was the first time it was a pleasant one. She sat down and puzzled over her own reaction for a moment, and then a thought hit her almost physically: "he didn't." She checked the file. "Oh, he did!" At least she no longer questioned her first impression of the man—he was willing to do or say anything to get what he wanted from whomever he wanted it! He took the crime scene photos!

And that was only one example of his breaking the rules. Because he wasn't accustomed to following anyone's orders, he was going to have his own way no matter who it impacted. So, if she was going to be forced to endure his presence and he was going to continue to act like a child, she decided to treat him like one. It had its satisfying moments, too. She was talking on her cell phone during one case and he invaded her personal space trying to listen in on the conversation. Grabbing hold of his ear, she literally pulled him away from her head. The man didn't understand subtlety.

He was rude, arrogant, self-centered and so much more. But she had to find a way to make this arrangement work, so she started giving back what she got from him. She went to a book signing and stared him down, mocking his reading of Storm Fall. When he asked her if she was trying to tell him how to do his job, her reply was simply, "annoying, isn't it?"

But then, a strange thing happened: the Tin Man got a real heart, or perhaps she just caught a glimpse of it at last. She saw him finally empathize a bit with the parents of a murder victim, relating it to his own relationship with his daughter and how such events would impact him. Kate Beckett began to see Richard Castle as a real person himself, and he wasn't so bad at being a dad, or a son for that matter; he had allowed his mother to move back in with him. Maybe he did have some redeeming qualities; maybe she'd let him follow her a little while longer.