Anonymous asked: I loooooooove Season 4 fanfics. Can you write a random one? Maybe after "Eye of the Beholder", Beckett thinks Castle is with Serena, she goes to The Old Haunt and finds him there drinking alone #loveyouRWRITINGTOOMUCH

I made it take place during the episode, not after, for reasons, so I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Nightcap

Her day has been a disaster. An unmitigated, utterly embarrassing, total disaster. Any worse and FEMA will need to be called in for relief efforts, that's how bad it's been.

Not that FEMA would be very effective in dealing with watching her partner fall all over himself with Serena Kaye. FEMA can't help erase the image of Castle wrapped around the woman and the woman wrapped around him. FEMA wouldn't be able to do anything about Castle's red-painted lips, or the smug, victorious look that cracked through the other woman's confused, innocent façade.

Yeah, there isn't much that will help with that.

Of course, FEMA also wouldn't be able to help fix what was arguably not her finest hour, either. Arguing with him in the middle of the hallway, taunting him about 'kissing' a confession out of a suspect, or really every word that'd come out of her mouth since the insurance investigator came on the scene.

And yet she finds herself at the door to his bar. She doesn't even really want a drink, she just wants to be somewhere that helps calm her raging mind. It's probably a little pathetic, really – can't have him, might as well have his bar – and she considers what it says about her that she's here without him.

She stops short, fingers brushing the brass handle. What if she's not here without him? What if he's brought the insurance investigator here for a nightcap? Maybe even as an apology for his partner's ridiculous behavior.

It shouldn't hurt, that idea. She's not a jealous girlfriend or an aggrieved spouse. She's nothing; just Beckett. Just his partner, the one who can't get herself together. And Castle has every right to be here entertaining a new lady.

It's quiet in the bar when she steps inside, the music low-key and pleasant, matching the energy of the crowd. It helps already, the familiarity, the quiet. More so than going home to her empty place and pouring herself a glass of wine or whatever.

Brian greets her as she takes a seat at the bar.

"Detective Beckett, good to see you. Mr. Castle didn't say you'd be joining him tonight."

Damn it, Castle is here. Maybe she should go.

"Good to see you, too." Beckett smiles quickly. "Don't worry about it; Mr. Castle doesn't know I'm here."

"Oh," he accepts, wiping the space in front of her before pouring a glass of her favorite red. He knows the drill by now: red if she's alone, Castle's choice if it's just them, and beer when the boys are around. "He's down in the office, but he didn't ask not to be disturbed…"

"No, no, I won't bother them." Her smile is strained, but she tries.

"Oh, no… Mr. Castle wasn't with anyone. He was alone."

Her hand closes around the stem of the wine glass.

"He was alone? Not with a blonde?" It sounds a little too much like an interrogation for her tastes, but she can't help it. There's a combination of hope and relief settling in her belly, but she won't let it out.

"No, just him. He checked on things up here, then headed down into the office."

He's… he's not with Serena.

"Like I said, you're welcome to join him."

Is she? If he's hiding in his office, then he probably doesn't want to see anyone, her especially. Technically, they're kind of fighting.

But then again, it's better than having Brian eye her sympathetically all evening long. Maybe she'd gone overboard asking about Castle being alone.

"Thanks, Brian. I'll head down there. And I'm going to pay you for these drinks eventually." She gestures to the wine glass, sliding off the stool. Her landing is easy and she curls her fingers around the stem to lift it off the bar.

The younger man laughs. "Not likely; boss's orders, Detective."

Her eyes roll. "Of course."

She keeps her footfalls light, but the stairs are old enough that they creak under her weight anyway, alerting Castle to her presence.

Well, a presence anyway. He can't see her from his desk. He swears he likes the mystery; she'd rather have a clear visual.

"What's up, Amy?" Castle calls. "Did Mr. Aiken have a little too much again? Go ahead and call him the cab, it's on me."

A smile touches her lips; Castle's a good owner. He cares about the people who come to his bar. He entertains the people who don't drink and watches over the people who do, and not just because he knows what might happen to his liquor license if he's negligent. Richard Castle just honestly cares for people.

"I saw him," she starts, ducking her head at the way her partner stumbles to his feet. "He's okay so far."

"Beckett! Hey! What uh, what are you doing here?"

She lifts her glass. "Thought a drink would be nice."

"Ah."

"Brian said you were down here, so I figured… but I can go if you'd rather not have company…"

Castle looks almost incredulous before he clamps down on it. Maybe he's not as angry at her as she expected him to be.

"No, no. Stay, Beckett. Come sit."

Nodding, she takes the rest of the stairs to his side. A quick glance at his desk tells her more about his mood. He's drinking beer tonight, so perhaps he's not wallowing too badly.

"Thanks," she murmurs, settling in a chair, lifting her glass again. "Cheers."

"Cheers," he echoes, settling across from her, looking anywhere but at her. Okay, it's still awkward. That much she'd expected.

"I'm surprised you're not with Serena," she blurts out after a few minutes of silence.

Castle's eyes widen, probably thanks to her boldness, and he seems to fumble for an answer.

"I didn't… think that'd be very smart."

Her eyebrow lifts. "Because she's a thief?"

Castle bristles a bit. "No, because you might shoot me."

Annoyance flutters in her chest and her jaw tightens. "Keep it up and I might anyway."

It's the wrong thing to say, of course, and her partner sighs in response. Now he looks weary, slumping back in his chair, studying the pint in his hand like he's contemplating trading the lager for something stronger.

He opens his mouth, presumably to argue or defend himself, but nothing comes out.

"What?" she asks sharply. She can't help but demand it of him. He's the one with the words, she's just the one who tries to keep up.

"Forget it, Beckett. I'm not doing this tonight, not fighting with you again."

Ouch. The dismissal hurts.

"I just…" he continues anyway, gaining steam when she looks away, "it was just dinner. A diversion and a distraction. And if it hadn't been, you and I talked about… the possibility. So why am I the bad guy here?"

Words stick in her throat. He's not, but her assurances die on her tongue. She's the one who's greedy and selfish, but she can't tell him that.

He deserves so much better.

"She's not… what I'm looking for," he confesses, his words a haunting echo of something she'd said more than a year ago. "And she won't be," he trails off, looking at her almost expectantly.

She feels her cheeks heat, feels her question freeze on her tongue, and she can only nod.

He nods as well, finishing his beer in silence before getting to his feet. "Another?"

What? Her eyes flit to his face and then down to his proffered hand. Oh, he's offering her another drink. Her glass is empty. When had that happened?

A refusal springs to her lips, but an agreement is what spills out. "Yes, yeah, please."

"Sure."

His eyes slide past her to focus on the wall over her shoulder. Their fingers carefully avoid brushing as she passes her wine glass over. Still, she tries to smile for him, thanking him quietly.

The defeated slump of his shoulders on his trek up the steep stairs tells her that didn't really help. She'd missed her cue, stumbled when she should've been steady, and it's only hurt him more.

Fuck, she's never going to stop messing this up, is she?

She steps aside the next day, giving Serena Kaye her not-quite-blessing to go after her partner. He deserves a shot with someone who doesn't make him miserable, doesn't keep him waiting. So she puts her big girl pants on, offers the other woman advice about what a good man Rick Castle really is, and goes to file blank papers so she won't have to see the two of them ride off into the sunset.

Imagine her surprise when she returns to find the insurance investigator gone and her partner waiting at the edge of her desk, a thoughtful smile at his lips.

She stumbles through an attempt to find out what happened, why he's still here, all the while ignoring the blossom of hope in her chest. When he makes a joke about not being able to afford the date with Kaye thanks to the bill he's been saddled with, all she hears is the rough edge, the hope, and the longing in his voice from the night before.

He doesn't want Serena, he wants her.

That's her cue again. She doesn't miss it this time.

"Well the least the NYPD can do is take you out for a hamburger." It comes out shy, girlish, and her heart aches a bit at how easily he accepts and forgives her for being a stubborn, jealous ass.

There's an ease to their evening, a gentle rhythm of talking and teasing that's been absent for a while. Since she returned from leave at the very least. Possibly since the couch that night in LA, before she was shot. Their shoulders bump when they walk, hands brushing just long enough to know the contact is deliberate.

She doesn't falter when he stops in the middle of the sidewalk, his hand flexing experimentally before it makes contact with her upper arm. The touch is foreign, but somehow familiar as well, and she doesn't shy away. Instead she steps closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his shoulder.

He jolts, astounded by her boldness, but his large hands splay along her spine in return. They don't do this, they don't hug except in times of grave danger; she doesn't blame him for being confused.

"You're not the bad guy," she croaks in promise.

"Mmm?"

"What you said last night… you're not the bad guy."

One corner of his lips lifts. "You're just saying that because I shared my fries at dinner."

It's a joke to liven things up and give her an out if she wants it.

"Well that didn't hurt, but even if you hadn't shared," she murmurs, lifting her head to dust her mouth against his jaw – too much, too soon – but she can't stop it, "you're still not the bad guy, Castle."

He swallows hard as he digests her words.

"Thanks," he murmurs finally, clearing his throat. He doesn't say anything else, doesn't even move except to shift them to the side, away from a crowd that looks to be lacking in spatial awareness.

Then again, what few words she has have left her, too.

They both jump at the dull buzz of her phone coming from her jacket pocket.

"Dispatch?" Castle murmurs, sweeping his broad hand up her back, pressing closer at her shiver.

"Yeah." It's quiet, reluctant. This is good right now; she doesn't want to leave it.

"Kay," he hums, pressing his lips to her hairline. "Lead the way, Beckett. And after the case, Old Haunt for a drink? It's a date I can afford."

Heat colors her cheeks. It's not just an invitation to his bar, it's a date.

"Done."