Okay, okay, okay. I fell in love with the "Blue Butterfly". I cannot be the only fangirl out there who noticed who angry alter-ego Esposito got when Castle/Joe punched alter-ego Ryan. I'm making Castle/Joe call them 'Cuban' and 'Irish' beuase it wouldn't be the same if he called them 'Kevin' and 'Javier', and we never really got told thier real names. I'm aware that some facts probably aren't right, but I was fangirling to hard to really pay attention. Just some fluffy angst, I suppose.

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I walked down the seemingly quiet hall, anxious for the day that would change my life, though it was only midnight. I heard a noise- a mixture of a grunt and a sound of protest- and nearly jumped out of my boots. When I finally settled, I made my way quietly to the room the sound came from. When I leaned in to the room, I saw the two men that had roughed me up a while earlier. The Cuban was seated on the edge of a chair, while the Irishman was standing directly in front of him, almost to the point of touching, stooped over a bit. A lamp lit the small room, with a shallow dish and a cloth on the desk beside them. The Cuban pressed his fingers to the side of the Irishman's face, the place I had given him a right hook. The Irishman winced, making the sound again.
"Mi amor, are you sure you're alright?" Cuban asked, frowning, his accent heavy on his words. Irish pulled back, a calm smile on his face. But I could see the hurt in his eyes, and Cuban must've seen it, too, because he looked unconvinced.
"Ah, that I am, love, quit your worrying." Irish said. I seemed to be the only one that he had called Cuban 'love', because neither of them acknowledged it. Cuban grabbed Irish's sleeve and tugged him back towards him.
"No, you are not. Get back over here, I can't see without the light." He said. Irish allowed himself to be moved, bending back over the Cuban. It looked true he wasn't alright; I could see the bruise in the right light from here.
"Okay, okay." Cuban now grabbed the towel, dipped it in the water, and used his other hand to move Irish's head to catch the right light.
"Here, come closer." He murmured. Irish shifted closer. Their legs brushed and their faces were mere inches from one another. Cuban gently pressed the towel to Irish's face. I gripped the doorframe even tighter. I had just realized what Cuban had called Irish; 'my love'. The two were so close they shared the same breaths.
"I…" Irish said softly. Was it my imagination, or were they getting closer…? Before I could completely ask myself the question, their lips met, and it was like a magnet. They kissed with as much passion, possibly even more, as Vera and I. I could barely keep the surprised sound from my mouth. Finally, they pulled apart. Their eyes held a different look than before; they held love. Cuban began murmuring strings of Spanish, no doubt words of affection. I hadn't noticed that Irish had been pulled down onto Cuban's lap. I saw it and smiled.
"That was right good, I tell you." Irish said quietly. Cuban ran his fingers through Irish's slicked back hair, leaving parted streaks, smiling tenderly.
"Si, lo fue. Yes." He chuckled, but his eyes glistened a bit. Irish frowned softly.
"Why are you crying, love?" he asked. Cuban turned his head, luckily toward the wall. He sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly.
"We both know if the boss found out, he would probably put a bullet in our heads." He said. Irish stood from his seating on Cuban's lap. He grabbed the other man's hands, pulling him up. He wrapped his arms around Cuban's shoulders, placing a feather-light kiss on his temple.
"Then we'll just have to be hush-hush about it, won't we?"

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I sort of based this entire piece on that last line by Irish/Ryan. Review, plzzzzz?