You guys are gonna hate me for this one. I'm really, really, really, really, sorry. The song just took control of my brain and off my muse went with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own a darn thing.

Oh, it's tough out there,
A good muse is hard to find,
Living one word to the next,
One line at a time...

-Kenny Chesney's 'Hemingway's Whiskey';

The image was seared into the recesses of his brain so that every time he blinked the memory danced across the back of his eyelids. The small diamond nestled into the white gold band that encircled her left ring finger was an image that would haunt him until the day that he died. They had showed up at the precinct today; cloaked in the sickening aura of love as his arms wrapped around her waist and she raised her hand with a small smile. His heart was in shambles, his thoughts were a mess (though, in part, that might be from the whiskey), and he wasn't sure of his next move. He had given her the perfunctory kiss on the cheek, patted the winning man on the shoulder before slipping away. Surely she wouldn't miss him when she was so lost in her prenuptial bliss.

He had expected the Old Haunt to surround him like a bear hug and push away the sadness but memories of her hung in every nook and cranny of his life. Crestfallen, he allowed himself to be miserable for the moment and then he'd force himself to find happiness for her tomorrow. She surrounded him like an ocean, the tide of memories pulling him under and drowning him in it's bittersweet feeling. He thought of the great writers who suffered epic losses that sent them on benders that ended at Betty Ford and cemeteries, wondering if maybe she would be his.

The brass bell above the door jangled and her heard the familiar cadence of her footfall just before her voice, "He's cut off."

"I'm a grown man," He slurred and motioned for the bartender to bring him another.

She flashed her badge to the barkeep before settling on the stool next to his, "If you wanted to hide from me you probably shouldn't have chose your own bar."

"Wasn't hidin'," He managed as he licked at the last drops of whiskey in his glass, "didn't want to bring down your party."

"You're my best friend, Rick," Her voice was as soft as honey and nearly too much for him to bear, "why can't you be happy for me?"

"I am happy for you," He promised and wished like hell there was more alcohol in his reach, "just never 'spected that our happiness wouldn't be together."

"Castle," She whispered and her hand rested against his wrist, the cool metal almost taunting him, "please.."

"Please, what, Kate?" He wanted to grab the glass and chuck it at the wall – a physical representation of the pain he was feeling, "Pretend to be happy f'r you, I 'ready told m'self I would be t'morrow. Give me t'night, 'kay?"

"Okay," She agreed and motioned for the barkeep to bring them two more, "you shouldn't be drinking alone."

"Don't y'got somewhere y'wanna be?" He asked as he took a sip, "Won't he miss you?"

She sighed, thoughtfully swirling the amber liquid around before taking a drink, "Tonight, I'm right where I need to be."

Together they drank to the memories.