This fic is inspired by a prompt from my good friend Mira-Jade. We'll see if it matched her original intent or not. I hope you enjoy.

Castle/Beckett: Mocking Twilight (Except that Richard Castle is the biggest

Stephanie Meyer fanboy evah!)

The Sour Taste of Twilight

"You've been quiet for a while," Castle said to Beckett, who sat opposite him at burger stop near the precinct. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," she replied, looking away to hide a dawning smile.

"It's not 'nothing'. You look stumped; like you're trying to figure something out. Let me help."

"When it comes to this, you're beyond help, Castle," she replied, coyly. "I would have thought you were more discerning."

He gave her a faux gulp and shrank away from her slightly at the vague rebuke. "Now I really have to know. If you're challenging my judgment, I must be able to defend myself. "

"If you ask me, there is no defense," she deadpanned, narrowing he eyes and leaning forward to press the effect of her statement.

Castle leaned forward as well, matching her mock intensity. "You. Are. Killing. Me. Smalls."

Beckett's façade cracked and she laughed out loud. "Touche, Castle. But, the fact remains."

"Yes, and…"

"Stephanie Meyer."

Castle's flippancy came to an abrupt end. He stared at Beckett, daring her to say it. "Tread lightly, Detective. But, go on."

"Hack."

Castle pulled in a deep breath and covered his mouth in shock. "Blasphemy!"

"I know the truth hurts, but someone really needs to set you straight about what's good and what's…not."

Consternation pinched Castle's face as he considered his retort. "Who made you judge?" was all he could summon.

"Really, Castle?" Beckett baited. "Twilight is adolescent fantasy at best and a badly written journal of infatuation at worst. The vampires are incidental."

Castle's face moved from mild discomfort to outright horror at her words. He opened his mouth but sputtered in getting out a coherent thought. "How can you say that?" he finally managed.

"With pride," she said, raising her eyes in amusement at his reaction. "Your pantomime of offence really hasn't offered much a counter interpretation. I feel like I'm a hammer and you're a nail. Come on, Rick. Skin glistening in the sun like diamonds? Your writing puts hers to shame."

Castle straightened his coat by pulling smartly on the lapels. "You, Madame, are a harsh critic. While I am thankful that you are a fan, I would not want to be on the receiving end of such a character assassination."

Kate chuckled, unwilling to let his deflections be the end of it. "Prove me wrong, Castle. Tell me where I've erred in my judgment."

Tucking away his outrage, Castle simply replied: "It's a love story. It's about a girl who has tremendous faith in the man she loves. That appeals to me."

Beckett huffed. "A more accurate statement would be that she has blind, obsessive faith in the guy and is so captivated by his beauty that nothing else matters."

"You seem to be getting upset, Kate," Castle replied. "Why does Twilight get you so fire up?"

Beckett ignored him and pressed on. "The writing is so sophomoric, Bella's voice is laced with desperate loneliness, and her actions are almost exclusively self-centered."

Castle tilted his slightly. "Is there something wrong with wanting to be taken care of?"

"What?" Beckett asked, momentarily nonplussed. "No, not in and of itself. But Bella…Bella, she's so…"

"More like you than you'd like to admit?" Castle said, softly, but with a serious edge.

"What? No!" Beckett responded with a mixture of shock, incredulity, and anger lacing her voice. "I would never throw myself completely into something so dangerous and unpredictable."

"What I hear you saying is that she, the fictional character, is willing to take a risk, for love, and you are not."

Beckett flushed, feeling the heat rise in her neck and cheeks. Castle was twisting her words; deliberately ignoring her point. He was also getting personal; a place she never wanted this conversation to go.

"Castle, why are you making this personal?" she asked, confused by his pointed comments.

The writer shook his head, suddenly, as if coming out of a trance. He looked at her, seeing her agitation, which only moments before was playful mischief.

"I don't really know, Kate," he replied, honestly. "I started out defending Stephanie, but your comments rang so true. Not about her writing or Bella's naiveté, but your own loneliness and obsession with your mother's death. You call Bella selfish, but you've built walls so high and thick around yourself that you simply exist. You're not living, Kate. No one can truly love you. And you can't genuinely love them either. You won't allow yourself to love because you can't stand even the thought of losing someone like you lost your mother."

Kate folded her arms and sat back in her chair. "None of that is news, Castle. I told you most of that myself."

"And you're okay with that?" he ventured, ever closer to the edge.

Beckett shook her head in sad disappointment in what their fun lunch together had come. She stood, taking her coat from the back of her chair and stared at him. He stood as well, ever the gentleman even when being impossible.

"For right now, yes."

She turned and walked out of the restaurant.