Disclaimer: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.
A/N: Much love to everyone who has reviewed- you make me smile. :)
The Feds were still keeping them waiting.
Beckett was getting downright waspish, and even Captain Montgomery was irritated- he didn't like being jerked around by the G-men any more than the rest of them. For his part, Esposito just wanted to go home and have a drink. They'd hit a wall, and even if the Feds did relent and let them continue the investigation, he wasn't holding out much hope for an arrest, let alone a conviction. And really, much though he liked and respected the beat cops he'd been working with, and much though he liked and respected Beckett, and liked Castle, he was starting to get seriously tired of bouncing between them.
"Fuck it," he said, standing up from his desk, interrupting a sniping match between Castle and Beckett, who both looked surprised to be reminded that he was there, "Call me if anything happens. I'm calling it a day."
"Okay," Beckett agreed, looking as though she were unsure whether she was annoyed by the interruption or glad of the reprieve. "I'll call you if we get anything from the Bureau. Get some rest."
He grunted a reply, and headed out, glad to leave the bickering behind him.
It was unusually early; early enough that he really didn't want to just head back to his empty apartment. Normally, on a Monday, he and Ryan would go out for a couple of beers to get the week started, but he still hadn't heard a peep from his partner, so he wasn't really counting on it. Apparently he wasn't counting on much today.
Roaming the city by himself wasn't all that appealing an idea either, unfortunately. Walking absently in the direction that could lead to home, or to one of his favorite bars, depending, he let his thoughts drift until he passed a video rental store. Reminded suddenly of the list he'd been pondering before he'd fallen asleep, he ducked inside, searching out a few titles before he wondered why he was bothering. It wasn't like he was really gonna have time to watch them all, and he wasn't really one for watching movies alone anyway.
Despite the pessimistic thoughts, he picked up a couple of boxes of microwave popcorn along with the movies; one with extra butter, and one of the funky sweet kettle corn boxes. Personally, he didn't get the appeal- popcorn was a vehicle for butter and salt, and that was all there was to it- but Ryan liked it, and it meant less competition for the real popcorn. Assuming, of course, that Ryan decided to grace him with his presence sometime in the next week.
Yeah, he was definitely feeling bitter today.
His mood was not much improved by the empty silence waiting for him when he got back to his apartment, dropping the popcorn and the movies on the kitchen counter and heading to the fridge to check on his beer supply. Low- too low, really, if he planned on having company. He took a couple of bottles out, setting them on the table in front of the TV and moving the empty bottles from last night back into the kitchen. He was pretty sure that rotating beer bottles was a sad commentary on his life, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it at the moment.
He sprawled out on the couch, switching the TV on, and began the process of flipping through the channels in search of something worth ignoring. He'd made the circuit twice without finding anything, and was starting through the third when there was a muffled, clinking knock at the door. It irritated him just how pleased he was to hear it.
A glance out the door revealed a walking bundle of grocery bags, and he sighed and opened the door. Ryan was balancing two overloaded bags of snackfood and a pair of six-packs of Esposito's favorite beer, and it was clearly too much for him. Esposito took the grocery bags out of his hands, his expression somewhat flat. Ryan didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss, however, simply flashing one of his frustratingly disarming smiles. It looked a little out of place, given the dark circles under his eyes and the very obvious sunburn across his cheeks, nose, and the tips of his ears. Esposito raised an eyebrow and took a step back, providing enough room for Ryan to navigate the narrow doorway.
"Hey, man. I stopped by the station, but Beckett said you'd already gone home for the day. I brought beer. You mind if we stay in tonight? Traffic on the way home was ridiculous, and I've been running around all afternoon."
"You do know that Doritos and Oreos don't actually constitute a meal, right?" Esposito asked in return, a bit waspishly, inspecting what he could see of the contents of the shopping bags.
"Relax, the food is under the snacks," Ryan replied. "Erin wouldn't let me go without loading me down with leftovers. I figured it was only fair to share the wealth. You like her baked chicken risotto, right?"
"She sent risotto?" The promise of homemade food- good homemade food- went a long way towards softening Esposito's disposition, and he carried the bags over to the kitchen counter, Ryan following close on his heels with the boxes of beer. "How is she, anyway? Everything okay?"
"You know Erin... She's fine, got a new project to keep her busy, still refuses to get anything in that house fixed, has a crush on some guy in a band out there- not that she'd say as much, but three days of hokey folksy music in the evenings was pretty telling. Pretty standard." Ryan set the beers down on the counter, and Esposito caught a glance of gauze pads and medical tape, derailing his train of thought instantly.
"Dude, what did you do?" he asked, and Ryan shot him a puzzled look before following his eyes to his hands. Esposito cocked an eyebrow, demanding an answer- finding out exactly why Ryan was injured beat out finding out why he'd left without a word.
"Oh, that? Nothing, just some scrapes. Apparently I am not cut out for clamming." He shifted, dropping the sleeves of his shirt- which were unbuttoned, apparently for exactly that purpose- down over the squares of gauze.
"...Clamming. What, the clams fought back?" Esposito was having trouble coming up with a situation in which digging for clams could possibly lead to injuries.
"What? No, dude, seriously." Ryan huffed a sigh, not seeming too thrilled to be discussing the subject. "Erin insisted we go out to this stretch of beach she likes. The whole coast, and she picks the one rocky beach in fifty miles."
"And?" Esposito waited, arms crossed, for the part of the story that actually explained anything. Ryan glared- well, he tried, it wasn't terribly convincing- and rolled his eyes.
"I fell, okay? The rocks were slippery and the waves kept knocking my knees out from under me and I scraped my hands." The red edges of Ryan's sunburn darkened with a blush, which only worsened when he grabbed a beer and promptly snagged the cap on one of the gauze pads when he tried to pop the lid off.
Esposito laughed, and shook his head, taking the beer away from Ryan and popping the lid for him.
"Bro, you know Castle is going to have a field day when he hears that," he pointed out, fully intending to make sure that the writer did hear about it, as soon as possible.
"Hey, man, not cool! As far as Castle's concerned, I picked these up tackling some drugged-up mugger who was threatening an old lady. ...Or schoolkids. Ah, no, schoolkids helping an old lady." Ryan gave him a grin, and Esposito decided that he'd forgive him (for the evening, anyway) for taking off without saying anything- it was too much trouble to try and stay mad at him when he was being so very... Ryan. And annoyed as he might have been, it wasn't worth another miserable evening wondering what had happened to his social life since the last time he'd bothered to check on it.
"Seriously? Tone it down," Esposito replied, smirking. "Stick with the old lady. You throw too much in there, and he's gonna go digging for details."
"Good point. I wonder if I should call Erin and have her get Patty in on it- you think he'd call the P.D., or the local paper?"
"I think if it goes that far, you should man up and acknowledge how lame you are for being bested by some clams."
Ryan laughed, and took a swig of his beer, shaking his head.
"I would if I weren't afraid he'd publish it," Ryan said, and Esposito couldn't deny that it was a valid fear. He grabbed a bottle of beer for himself, and motioned to the grocery bags.
"So, what do we need to do to eat?" he asked, and he was maybe a little more pleased than he should have been by how brightly Ryan smiled.
"Dude, how much would I have to pay your sister to get her to live here and cook for me?" Esposito asked, sprawled out on his couch, empty plate on the coffee table in front of him. Ryan laughed, grabbing Esposito's empty plate and taking it to the kitchen and returning with more beers.
"She'd never go for it. Not a force on this Earth is going to get her out of that house."
"Yeah, well, you think she'd complain if I moved in there?" It had been way too long since Esposito had eaten something that resembled actual food, and he was reveling in the delightful after-dinner glow that came with it.
"Honestly, I think she'd be thrilled, so long as you promise never to shower before nine. But seriously, it's not exactly like she's the only person on the eastern seaboard who can cook." Ryan dropped down onto the couch next to him, not hesitating to simply shove Esposito's knees with his own as he settled in. Esposito reluctantly sat up a bit, providing more room.
"Maybe not, bro, but she's the only one I know who does. I haven't had a meal that good in months."
"That's sad, man, it was just leftovers."
"Yeah, but they were good leftovers."
"Tell you what, the next time you get so desperate for good food you're considering attempting to mooch off of my sister, tell me. I'll fix something up." Esposito shot him a look, and sat up even further, disbelief plain on his features.
"You can cook?"
"I grew up in the same house as Erin, you know. I'm not quite as good as she is- I swear, she does something witchy to make her breads turn out like they do- but she's never banished me from her kitchen, so I figure I'm doing okay. Lizzy can cook too- Ma wanted to make sure none of us starved when we moved out." Ryan paused, and fixed him with a dour look. "And I swear, if you tell Castle or Beckett, I will make you hurt."
"How about this- you make sure we eat real food once a week, and I won't say a thing."
"Blackmail? Seriously? You live in Manhattan, bro, you're surrounded by some of the best restaurants in the world. You don't have to live on nothing but pizza and Chinese takeout."
"Right, because my paycheck is totally up for that. I can't even get a table in most of those places." Esposito snorted, bumping Ryan's knee with his own because he couldn't reach his shoulder from where he was sitting. Ryan rolled his eyes, and fixed him with a look.
"One of these days, I should teach you how to name drop. You'd be amazed at the doors that open when you remind people that you work with Detective Nikki Heat."
"...Does Beckett know you do that?" Esposito asked warily, pretty sure that he didn't want to be an accomplice to that sort of scheme if Beckett ever found out.
"You kidding? She tipped me off to the possibility. Apparently, there's a scary number of Castle fans out there, and they're all too happy to go out of their way for his latest characters."
"That's kinda freaky, man. Seriously, I'm not sure I'm down with that."
"Fine, fine, don't take advantage of the gift that has been offered."
"I'm more interested in finding out if you can actually cook," Esposito countered, challenge in his tone. Ryan gave him a disbelieving look.
"Because I'd make that up?" he asked, and Esposito shrugged.
"I've never seen you cook," he pointed out, and Ryan sighed.
"It's not exactly something I advertise." Ryan rolled his bottle of beer between his hands, before settling back against the couch. "But fine. We have time tomorrow, and I'll cook."
Esposito smirked, sure that he won there however the night went. Either Ryan could cook, and he got a decent meal, or Ryan couldn't cook, and, well, that'd just be funny. "So tell me more about how those clams kicked your ass," he jibed. Ryan gave him a sarcastic, "Har har," and whacked him with one of the battered throw pillows that had come with the couch.
Esposito was ridiculously glad he was home.