**A/N: I wrote this for no other purpose than Garrae needed something to smile about. She was so tickled she insisted I share it with everyone. Her OC Patrick O'Leary, the "movable mountain" from her story "What's In A Name" used with permission. Enjoy.**
Rogan Meets the Mountain
Rogan O'Leary sat at a small table near the back of his girlfriend's bar in upstate, NY feeling pretty good about himself. Though it was clear that Kit-Kat was not nearly as much fun as she used to be, it was clear that he could still play her like a fiddle. She would help him to get what he wanted... especially since he held all the cards. If that rich fiancé of hers was willing to offer him additional financial incentive to sign the dissolution of marriage papers, so much the better. He figured on holding off signing as long as he could to squeeze everything he could get away with out of them.
His musings on the topic were quickly interrupted by a voice he only barely recognized, however.
"Rogan Quincanon O'Leary, you've been a very naughty boy again, haven't you?"
When Rogan turned to face the man who had called him by his full given name he was confronted with a set of hips. He slowly craned his neck to look up...and up...and up to take in the biggest movable mountain of a man he had ever seen, topped by a face he had not laid eyes on in nearly twenty five years.
"All this time and you still haven't changed have you?" The voice of his cousin, Patrick Seamus O'Leary boomed. This was clearly not the scrawny five year old baby-faced cousin he used to push around and drag into his schemes. He'd obviously hit that first growth spurt a little late and never stopped.
"You certainly have Paddyboy" Rogan muttered in disbelief.
"Strike one, cousin," O'Leary rumbled, crossing his massive arms over his equally massive chest, muscles rippling powerfully, eliciting a gulp from Rogan.
"Strike two was for even thinking of messing with Beckett," he rumbled, leaning in menacingly in his best Irish brogue "you really wanna try for strike three, boyo?"
Rogan gulped again as he thought about his options, not to mention the very high odds that he would get beaten into the middle of next week, then stomped the rest of the way to Sunday and waved Kate over, quickly signed the form, then departed the bar as fast as his legs could carry him without so much as a backward look.
Ten minutes later Patrick, Castle and Beckett were laughing over churros.
"I thought for sure he was gonna piss himself when he first got an eyeful of you." Castle said between laughing fits.
"Been lookin' forward to doing that since I heard Aunt Mary finally disowned him," O'Leary chortled.
Kate nodded, unable to get any words out as she was trying (and mostly failing) not to giggle like a schoolgirl.
"If I'd know that poor invalid wife in a coma Aunt Mary disowned him over was actually you, I'd have looked him up sooner, spared you the embarrassment." He grumbled, suddenly serious.
Kate stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
"Thanks O'Leary." She whispered.
"I get a dance with your boy at the wedding and we're even." O'Leary rumbled, a grin splitting his face followed by a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Get your own writer, Sasquatch, this one's mine!" Kate snapped with little malice in it as she swiped his last churro.
**I never get tired of seeing a bully or a con artist get their comeuppance, and the moveable mountain, O'Leary certainly puts the "UP" in comeuppance!**