"So, Natalie Rhodes was too meta for you, huh?" She asks, eyebrow raised and bold with the liquid courage that sings through her blood. She's fishing, she knows; she can't help but want to hear more about why he turned the actress down, vindictive glee at his rejection of the other woman consuming her in a way she can't justify. She has no right to this possessiveness - she has a boyfriend and it's not the man sitting across the booth from her, leaning far enough forward over the table between them that she can smell his cologne.
It's dangerous, this. Alcohol dissolving their (okay, her) careful barriers, everybody else already home and no buffer between them.
"Way too meta. A shame, really. She was one of my freebie five before she took on the role of Nikki." He waggles his eyebrows at her playfully but her answering smile is forced, her lips having to fight the current of jealous revulsion in order to tilt upwards even infinitesimally.
"I thought you didn't like Natalie Rhodes?"
"Okay - maybe I was being a little harsh at the beginning… I'm just very protective of Nikki, you know? Don't think I'd consider anyone good enough for that part."
"I don't know, Castle. She did a pretty terrifyingly good job at being me in the end."
He laughs; a scoff, really. "She could never be half as extraordinary as you, no matter how hard she tried." It's too honest, charges the air between them with a static charge and the heat of the room is suddenly stifling. She leans back and tries to breathe but can't quite tear her eyes from the siren-call of his dark blue eyes, whirlpools of navy tugging her spiralling into the depths of them. Digs her nails into suddenly-sweaty palms, wets her lips with the pink tip of her tongue. Forces her eyes shut to break the moment before she does something stupid, nervously downs the rest of the whisky in her glass.
you have a boyfriend you have a boyfriend you have a boyfriend
"So," she asks, her voice unnaturally loud as it cuts through the electric haze shimmering between them. "Who's the rest of your freebie five?"
"Oh, easy. Number one, J. K. Rowling. Obviously. Number two, Kat Kingsley - from Hard Kill. 'Nuff said. Three, Tyra Banks - oh but that may need updating… it's been a while since I made this list. Things happen," he winks, and she's painfully unsure if he's joking or not. Because Kate's fully aware she's been gifted with good looks and a great body, but she's a cop, not a supermodel-
-and why is she comparing herself to Castle's sexual conquests when she already has a boyfriend? Boyfriend, Beckett. Josh. Not Castle. The numbing effects of the drink are dulling her grasp on the connections here and she reaches desperately for them because she can't afford for the lines to blur.
"How drunk was she at the time, Castle?" Is all she says, wry tone to her voice, teasing and a little mean. Their usual.
He gasps comically, grasps at his chest as if she's wounded him and his melodrama brings a genuine curve of her lips, soothe the confusion waging war in her mind and lets her just be. Whatever else she ignores the possibility of him being, he's a friend - her best, maybe, though she'll never admit that to anyone lest Lanie hear - and his humour has always done that for her, lifted some of the weight. "I would never. Katherine Beckett, how dare you suggest I would take advantage of a woman like that?" He feigns wiping a tear from his eye. "Do you really think so little of me?"
No, is on the cusp of escaping from her lips in an earnest rush but she's just sober enough to hold it back, refusing to call an end to this return to their usual banter. Can't deal with a rise in tension.
Castle pours her another two fingers of scotch, amber liquid splashing out onto the oak of the table as he tilts the bottle and proving he's a little gone himself. She takes the glass gratefully, swirls the flavour on her tongue and lets it dull the chaos in her mind.
"Number four?"
"Was Natalie Rhodes."
"Five?"
"Beyonce. Duh."
"Oh, because you are so Beyonce's type."
"Hey, the whole point of a freebie five is wishful thinking."
"What about Tyra?" His grin is wicked, alluring - the return of that dark badboy charm has her heart beating out a scattered rhythm way up in her throat.
"Sometimes dreams come true," he shuffles around in the booth, not quite sitting next to her, but close enough that his left knee knocks against her right at her forty-five degree angle; his sudden intrusion into her personal space and the dizzying swirl of alcohol through her blood is almost too much. She's intoxicated by more than the scotch - the subtle richness of his aftershave, the tantalising heat coming off his body in wave… it all plays its part in the loss of judgement that has her closing the gap between them until there's mere centimetres between their thighs. "So," he drawls, all smooth charisma that reminds her of the way he used to wind her up in the very beginning, the fakery of it. But its just them now; the satin words flow from his lips naturally and she wants to taste them, lean into him and steal them before they can even escape his lips.
No, she tells the insistent urging of the alcohol. She has a boyfriend. A boyfriend.
"I showed you mine, you show me yours."
She coughs on her sip of whisky, muffles the chokes against the back of her hand. "Excuse me?"
"Your freebie five, Detective. Mind out of the gutter," he chides, eyes glinting with mischief.
She freezes.
"Don't have one."
"Never have?" She pauses a beat too long, alcohol killing whatever part of her brain it is that usually allows lies to spring to her tongue in fractions of seconds. "You have! Do share."
She says nothing.
"Fine. I'll guess." He pushes back around the table to face her, tilting his body across the solid oak, chin resting on his knuckles as his eyes scan her face intently. "George Clooney." He studies her. "That's a no… Leonardo Dicaprio." His face lights up. "Ooooh, that's a yes."
She needs to work on her poker face, apparently.
He gets stuck, works his way through a long list of names to no avail.
"Me?" He asks, a tongue in cheek suggestion that sends her cheeks burning and him bolting upright in realisation. "No!" He gasps in delighted disbelief.
"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps. "You're barely a celebrity."
"Less than I was. Before I knew you, I'd say I counted. Did a lot more publicity stuff then… so this was when you were with Sorenson?"
Her affirmation spills from her before she can bite it back. It's almost worth it to see the shit-eating grin crack his jaw, splitting his face wide. "I mean - no. Never had a list. You wouldn't be on it if I did."
The stubborn spark of knowledge in his eyes refuses to be dimmed and she groans in defeat. "Before I knew you, Castle." It does nothing to abate his smugness.
She endures a half hour of teasing before she calls it a night, swaying slightly as she stands and gripping at his arm for stability on instinct. Doesn't let go even when her balance is found; instead, she lets him call her a cab as she maintains her grip on his sleeve. She doesn't object when he presses in beside her in the taxi, the space between them almost nothing. Still, the miniscule gap separates them, a vacuum of space which neither of them dare move into.
He follows her up to her door.
And then he kisses her goodnight, aims for the cheek, she thinks. Trusts it truly is drunken clumsiness that has him stumbling slightly, lips hitting the edge of her mouth.
She can't give herself the same excuse when she tilts her head, lips sliding against his until they're perfectly aligned. One hand moving to grip his collar, the other laid against his cheek, she pulls him through her open threshold, pushes him back until his body slams the door shut.
"Kate, we-"
She hushes him with a hard press of her mouth against his. Crushes the guilt that rises up in her with the clash of their bodies as she surges forward.
"Freebie five, Castle." She tells him.