We learn in Disciple that Lanie & Espo are for sure still bootycalls.
This is how they got there.
He shouldn't be here.
He should've left when everyone else had, but he didn't. He probably shouldn't have even come out after this case, but everyone else did, and after this one they all deserved a drink, especially on someone else's tab. Ryan had left first, claiming he had to get home to Jenny. Castle and Beckett had stuck around for a little bit longer until Castle's shoulder was basically the only thing keeping Beckett upright, and then they called it a night, too. He had offered to share a cab with him, drop him off before they went home, but he'd refused, saying he'd call his own cab.
Now it was 2 hours and 3 beers later, and he's still here.
He hadn't meant to. He hadn't meant to end up sitting at his friend's bar, drinking by himself, but it happened. And then he started heading down dangerous thoughts because his entire team was happy and in love and going home to sleep next to someone they cared about and damn him that's the girliest thing he's ever thought but it settles onto his skin like a bruise.
It isn't how it used to be. There are fewer Halo nights, less nights spent at the bar together, just hanging out. His partner has a wife and was trying to have a baby and his other partner is in love with his other partner and he knows exactly where that is going and he knocks back the rest of his drink and before he knows it his hand is in his pocket and he's unlocking the screen.
It feels like it should be a bad idea.
Actually, it seems like a really great idea – the answer to all of his problems – which is why he puts his glass down on the bar, scrolls through his contacts quickly. He has to double back because he goes past her name, and quickly taps the screen, focuses on the screen and sees that it's dialing before he puts it up to his ear.
She picks up on the third ring.
"Parish."
He swallows loudly, waits a moment for his vocal cords to start working the way they were supposed to.
"Hey, Lane."
"Javi?"
She sounds surprised. And… tired? He glances at his watch briefly and flinches.
12:43 AM.
She was asleep.
She repeats his name softly, asks quietly what he wants and he finds himself shrugging.
"I just wanted to talk," he says, not even putting on the defensive tone he usually does and she sees right through it.
"Are you drunk?" She asks, and he's not sure if it's the beer or the music in the background but he thinks she sounds a little sad and it hits him like a punch to the stomach.
He always seems to make her so sad.
He stands up straighter, even though she can't see him, shakes his head and pushes his glass away from him.
"I'm not drunk."
He's not. He doesn't think so anyway.
"Javi…"
"I miss you," he murmurs, "I miss you all the time."
She's quiet on the other side of the line for a long time and he starts thinking that this was a bad idea again. Maybe he shouldn't have called her. Maybe he shouldn't have been so honest.
"You need to get a glass of water and go home," she says, "You're going to have a killer hangover in the morning."
He sense that she's about to hang up and he lets out a sound that he's not entirely sure should have been able to come from his body and he hears her sheets rustling on the other end of the line.
"Where are you?"
He tells her that he's at The Old Haunt, and he asks her what she's doing.
"I'm coming to pick you up. I'm taking you home. Don't leave."
The line goes dead before he can tell her that he's fine, that this was a mistake and so he pulls out his wallet. He knows he's on a permanent tab here, that Castle would never let him or anyone else at the 12th ever pay for their drinks in his bar, but he leaves the bartender a five before he pushes himself away from the bar, ignoring the knowing glances of the others at the bar that heard his conversation as he steadies himself. He makes his way through the thinning crowd, settles himself on the wall at the top of the steps.
When she pulls up to the curb, he's pushes himself away from the curb and slowly makes his way over towards her. He opens the door and climbs in without a word.
He looks over at her but he can't read her. She looks annoyed, but she looks even more tired. She's only wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt, a pair of flip-flops on her feet and her hair pulled back into a ponytail and he feels awful. She didn't have to come get him. He tells her so.
She shakes her head and pulls away from the curb. He pulls a Castle and stares at her as she drives, nothing but the sound of the engine running filling the space. He fixates on the piece of her bangs that she always complained about because she could never pull it back into her ponytail. It's long enough that she could now but it still hangs loose, like it's stuck in its habits and refuses to change its ways.
She comes to a stop in front of his building, lets it idle on the curb before she unlocks the car, waiting for him to get out.
He reaches towards her, takes the strand of hair that he couldn't stop staring at and tucks it behind her ear. He lets his fingers linger on her skin, his nerves alive with the memory of what her skin feels like all over her body. He's drunk on the memory of her, doesn't break himself out of it until she breathes out his name.
"This isn't a mistake," he whispers.
She closes her eyes, lets herself sink into the warmth of him by her side, and he leans forward, places a kiss on that spot on her jaw that he knows is extra sensitive, breathing out promises into her skin.
"I miss you, Lane."
"I miss you, too," she admits softly.
It's moments like this when he wonders how they crashed so terribly – how everything was going so well until suddenly it wasn't and then it was over.
They'd been so great together.
He presses another kiss to her skin and her eyes flicker open, dark pools staring at him so open and honestly.
"Come up," he says, "It's the least I can do since I woke you up. I'll sleep on the couch."
She does.
And he doesn't.
Drunk Last Night, Eli Young Band.