Happy Saint Patrick's Day! My Irish blood just HAD to write a story today!
As always, don't own them, etc. Just love to put them up a creek without a paddle sometimes... ;)
Enjoy, and Slainte! :)
"Oh c'mon. Where's the Beckett that told me you could totally take me?" Castle looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "It's St. Patrick's Day, for cryin' out loud!" He said in feigned exasperation. "Beckett—that's English right? All the same islands, same region… you've gotta have some Irish in you somewhere." He was practically bouncing in his chair.
She couldn't help but smile. "Are you sure you wanna open that can of worms, Castle?" she smirked.
"What can of worms of yours don't I want to open?"
She shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully.
"You paying?"
"Can't promise anything. It's not like I own the place or anything." He winked.
She smiled at his sarcasm, but still looked unsure.
"C'mon. At least do it for Ryan. He and Jenny are Irish enough for all of us!"
She considered. At least they all were going to be there, not just her and Castle. It's not that she didn't want to go with just Castle, it was mostly that she didn't trust herself alone with him. And alcohol. Who knows what could happen? She looked over again at the over-exuberant writer.
"…Okay, fine. But not a word when I wound that pride of yours by drinking you under the table."
His jaw dropped a fraction of an inch.
"You asked for it. You have no idea who you're messing with." She smirked and turned on her heel. Castle stood there in a slightly stunned stupor before being snapped back to reality.
"You comin'?"
XXXXXXX
Jenny leaned over to Esposito and Lanie, "How do they keep downing those things? I may be Irish, but I can NOT chug like that!"
They glanced over to Castle, Beckett and Ryan who all yelled the Irish toast, "SLAINTE!" and were beginning another race (for the fourth time) to be the first done with their Irish Car-Bomb.
"I don't know, but Beckett is kicking those boy's asses!" Lanie said, just as Beckett slammed down her glass and sealed her third victory.
"At least Ryan won one," Jenny laughed. "His Irish pride would be killing him if he hadn't!" The three of them laughed, as Beckett and Ryan started teasing Castle yet again.
"C'mon bro, you gotta win one!"
"Yeah, Castle, your ego must be pretty sore right about now."
He laughed. "It's not my fault you can chug like a freak! Where'd you learn to do that, anyway?"
It was Beckett's turn to laugh. "Like I'd tell you!"
"C'mon. One of those 'bad-boy' boyfriends of yours was in the Irish Mob?"
"Nope."
"Watching the Boondock Saints on repeat?"
"Nope."
"You had to chug for your life or else the Irish-loving aliens who abducted you would kill you?"
She snorted. "Those Car-Bombs are getting to your head!"
"Since when is it out of the ordinary for Castle to suggest aliens?" Ryan slurred out.
The whole table erupted in laughter.
XXXX
The night wore on, and soon the members of the party camped out in the '12th Precinct Booth' started wandering towards home. Two by two, they departed. First, Lanie and Esposito, the obviously least Irish of the bunch, then Jenny dragged a reluctant Ryan up and out of his seat and towards the door.
Beckett and Castle sat alone, not quite sure what to do with themselves. Both were pleasantly floaty, inhibitions lowered, but not dissolved. Neither wanted to leave quite yet, as that would mean going home alone. They looked at each other in the same moment, both slipping into laughter for no reason other than to relieve the potential awkwardness.
"So, Castle. You never told me if you were Irish or not."
"Really, with all the red hair in my family, you couldn't guess?"
She seemed to ponder this a moment.
"Although 'Rodgers' is English, my grandmother's maiden name was 'Malone', so it sort of all fits."
"Mmm," was her only response.
"Something wrong?"
She pulled a mask of amusement over her sullen hazel eyes.
"Nope, I'm fine. Just enjoying the buzz. It's been a while since I've drank that much."
He nodded, letting them fall into silence again. Maybe if he let her alone a minute, her thoughts would surface. Sometimes that was the way Kate Beckett worked.
His patience was rewarded.
"My mother's maiden name was Riley," she mumbled finally.
He nodded in understanding as he inwardly high-fived himself for pegging the cause of her trouble. Not that it was terribly hard to guess.
"Johanna Riley. I like the way that sounds. It kind of rolls off the tongue," he said after a moment to mull this information over.
Beckett smiled.
"So I guess we're both pretty Irish, huh?"
"Seems so," he murmured back.
They both sipped at their drinks, which had turned into water since being alone, ignoring the fact that they should really get going. Friday mornings were never easy, especially the one after St. Patrick's Day.
"So I'm surprised."
"About?"
"You haven't pulled the most stereotypical St. Paddy's Day pick up line ever."
His features clouded for a moment.
"You mean, 'Kiss me, I'm Irish?'"
And she did.
Castle's eyes went wide as their lips met, in the back corner of the Old Haunt. After a moment, their arms slowly began wrapping around each other. She nipped at his lower lip, and he groaned softly at her action. His head immediately fogged, and before the clouds got too thick, he pulled back.
"Uh, Kate?" He murmured into her lips.
"Yes?" She smiled involuntarily at the use of her first name.
"Is this just—Is this because—"
"Because we've been drinking?" She pulled back to look at him squarely.
He dipped his head. "Well, I don't want our first kiss to be a drunken one… I'm mostly out of the woods, but I don't know if you are yet, and I just—"
"Castle," She interrupted.
"Mmm?"
"I told you I could out drink you."
"Yeah…?" He was confused.
"That doesn't mean I got drunker." Her buzz had dulled to a quiet roar, and she was completely sure what she wanted, and what she was doing. She gave him a hard look, hoping to convince him.
He read the words in her eyes, and he nodded slowly.
"I wouldn't have…" she said, changing her tone. He raised his eyebrows in question. "I didn't want our first kiss to be drunk either," she said softly. A smile crept onto her features, and into her voice. "Why do you think it took me so long?"
"Courage?"
"Oh I gathered the courage long ago," She smirked and leaned and pressed her soft lips against his again, drawing him in with a flick of her tongue against his lip. "Just was waiting for the right moment, I guess?" It was a thin excuse and a cop out and she knew it. He was so good at reading her though, that she had to explain no further. He crashed his lips back to hers, and they moved together for a few moments, breathing in turn, savoring the taste of the sparks they created.
"Grainte." She murmured into his lips after their kisses slowed.
"What does that mean?" He asked.
"You know how we toasted with 'Slainte' before?" She said, her forehead still resting against his.
He nodded, bringing a hand to her cheek.
"'Slainte' means 'to your health.'" She pulled back and looked at him, affection fluttering in her eyes. "'Grainte' means 'to your love.' At least that's what-" she faltered just a touch, "what I translated it to. 'Gra' means love, and if you follow the same rules…" She trailed, realizing that she was babbling.
His eyes flooded with warmth as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple.
"Grainte," he repeated softly.
Also, anyone who knows Irish out there, the last word was something me and my Gramma (whose maiden name was Riley... ;) made up... We used to dye tea green and toast 'Grainte!'... When Beckett is babbling, that was our justification for the somewhat made up word. The assumption here is that she and her mom made it up... (hence the faltering...)
Mistakes are my own, lemme know if there is anything glaring in there.
Otherwise, be kind and please review while I reward myself with another Guinness. ;)
Slainte!