Author's Note: Here's a little one-shot I wrote during the hiatus between seasons four and five. It's my take on the "morning after" immediately following the events of 4x23 "Always." It fell by the wayside, obvs, but I whipped it back into shape. Enjoy this little drabble and review! As always, I own nothing.

Unhooked

Alexis stands in the entryway, mouth falling open just a little bit more every second. She wonders if she's imagining things, if the punch was spiked, or if the post-graduation all-nighter wasn't such a good idea after all. She closes her eyes, rubs them savagely. When she opens them, it is still there.

There's a bra hanging from the refrigerator.

A black, lacy bra just hanging by the strap from the corner of the fridge. No big deal.

Except that it is.

Alexis can tell it's not a prank. No, dad had pulled that one on April Fool's day a few years ago, stringing all of her bras across the living room window like a tacky valance. But this bra isn't even hers. Or Gram's.

The worst part is that Alexis doesn't even really wonder how or why it got there. She's old enough that she can fill in those blanks on her own: Dad had "company" last night. Or this morning. Or still.

"I can't believe it," she murmurs to herself. "After all that they've been through, he just…"

Alexis's heart begins to race and she begins to understand the old saying: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Dad's gone too far this time.

She stalks over to the fridge and snatches the bra, gripping it tightly in her angry fist. About two seconds later, she's standing in front of his desk and the garment has landed across his keyboard, effectively halting his fingers in their frantic typing. Rick's more than a little surprised to see his daughter home so soon.

"What," she demands with a pointing finger, "is that?"

"Well, it's, um—"

"Dad, how could you?"

"I—" He doesn't stand a chance.

"Does Beckett know that you're sleeping around?"

It's a ruthless question and shock registers clearly on his face. He's torn between wanting to answer with a triumphant YES and wanting to ask his daughter on what planet is that any of her business?

Alexis can see that she's just about overstepped her bounds, so she lowers her voice and meets his gaze demurely. And then she asks the real question, picking at her sleeve and blinking against quelling tears. "I thought you were going to wait for her." She pauses to swipe the unwelcome wetness from her cheeks. "I was rooting for you."

Rick's expression softens. He stands and closes the distance between them, opening his arms to her. "Come here, sweetie."

She's a high school graduate now, but she still feels like a small child when he hugs her. It's a feeling she savors.

His chin rests atop her disheveled head. "You're tired, emotional, and probably drunk, but I'm going to gloss over that."

"Thanks," she mumbles miserably.

"And you're absolutely right. After everything that has happened between me and Detective Beckett, it would be grossly unfair of me to just throw it all away by sleeping with another woman."

Alexis can't see his eyes sparkling because her face is burrowed in his chest. Her brain is bleary and she doesn't know what he's getting at. "Dad, please use less words."

"Fewer words," he corrects her with mock-severity. "A hangover is no excuse for poor grammar." He takes her by the shoulders and sits her on the edge of his desk, grinning cavalierly. He holds up a finger and pokes his head just out of his office.

"Beckett!" He calls, waggling his eyebrows at poor, confused Alexis. She winces at his booming voice. "You almost ready to go grab some breakfast?"

"Almost," she returns, her voice muffled by the distance.

Alexis' eyebrows fly into her hairline. "Oh my gosh," she whispers.

"I just can't find my bra—I don't know what happened to it, do you?" Kate is completely and blissfully unaware that she and Castle are not alone in the loft. Alexis is mortified knowing that the classy, reserved detective would never have uttered those words in mixed company.

"Oh my gosh, dad. You mean I walked in on…"

"Uh," he calls back, voice cracking, pretending not to notice the deep blush creeping up his daughter's neck, "could be any number of things. I'll poke around."

Castle and Alexis stare at each other sheepishly.

"Well," she huffs in as breezy a tone as she can manage. "I apologize for jumping to the wrong conclusions." She steps around him, avoiding direct eye contact. "We don't have to talk about this ever."

"Agreed."

She moves as swiftly as she can without bumping into the living room furniture. "If you need me, I'll be upstairs nursing my hangover."

"There's aspirin in the bathroom cabinet," he advises with fatherly concern. She's halfway up the stairs and moving fast, but she turns on her heel and flashes a genuine smile.

"I'm happy for you both, dad."

The corners of his eyes crinkle. "Thank y—"

"And I'll be even happier for you when I finish throwing up." Her face is hangover-green and she's moving with urgency. She hopes that by the afternoon, this incident will be nothing but a dull memory. "But for the love of God, please, no more bras in the kitchen!"