Author's note: A brief bonus chapter, written very slightly under the influence, because I'm grateful to all of you who are following along. I have a day off tomorrow, so this is like a rare mid-week version of Friday night for me. And, uh, I will be checking email.
They still have some way to go, because Castle isn't going to just ignore everything that's happened (or not happened) over the previous months and years. But he also has his own hopes and feelings to deal with. It's never simple for these two.
As my grandmother used to say, there'll be tears before bedtime. For now, though, let's rejoin them in that bar…
The two games of pool became a best of three, which Castle narrowly won. Beckett accepted defeat gracefully, and they had both been back at the booth for almost an hour now.
The evening was wearing on. Ryan was pleasantly drunk, sitting in the rear of the curving booth between the two would-be couples, and he was swaying slightly. He had a vacant grin on his face, and he appeared to be listening intently to Esposito, who was making an impassioned case for the merits of a cop's intuition. Lanie was having none of it, and was teasing him effortlessly.
Castle and Beckett sat together at the other end of the booth, with Castle on the outside, listening in to the conversation. She had a half-full glass of sauvignon blanc, and he had a barely-touched tumbler of neat whisky clasped in his right hand. Every few seconds, he rotated the glass slightly without being aware of it.
Beckett turned her head to look at him. His eyes were deep cobalt in the shadows of the bar's intimate lighting, and they sparkled with intelligence and amusement. She watched the muscles in his face react to what Esposito was saying, making minute shifts in his expression from moment to moment. She knew that he was bursting to interject, but that he was holding back because he was enjoying the spectacle too much.
He rotated the whisky glass another five degrees, tapping his fingers on the rim to a rhythm that only he could hear. She wasn't paying attention to the conversation across the table, but there must have been something particularly amusing, because suddenly the corners of Castle's eyes crinkled and he pressed his lips together to hold back a laugh, then he glanced down at the tabletop for a moment.
She felt a little drunk.
Just a little, but enough for her to notice. She was unusually relaxed, and feeling the buzz of the alcohol. Everything was very slightly brighter, and warmer, and just a little less focused than normal. She wasn't so aware of her general surroundings, and she was instead paying most attention to the man next to her.
He was sitting to her right, with his forearms on the table. His jacket had been transported from the pool table to now sit in a pile with her own coat, and Ryan's, Lanie's and Esposito's, on the wide shelf along the back of the booth just behind Ryan.
Castle's shirt sleeves were rolled up and bunched around his elbows, and if she turned her head a little to the right, she could smell both his aftershave and his whisky at the same time.
Her right elbow was barely an inch from his left, and she could feel the heat emanating from him.
She returned her attention to Lanie and Esposito just in time to see Lanie give her the briefest of looks across the table. It was a multi-purpose Lanie look that roughly translated as Well?
It could mean a dozen things. Tonight, right now, it meant something like What are you just sitting around for, girl?
She grinned at the pitch-perfect version of Lanie's voice in her mind, and the real Lanie across the table raised her eyebrows and returned the grin, before once again turning her attention to the verbal duel with Esposito.
Beckett reached for her wineglass, taking the opportunity to shift her right arm ever so slightly outwards until it rested against Castle's left.
She felt him tense, and a few moments later he lifted his whisky glass to take a sip of the amber liquid, then sat back against the seat cushion and removed his forearms from the table entirely.
She felt a twinge of disappointment, but she also felt bold – and a little reckless. She took a sip of her wine then set the glass back down and sat back in the booth, crossing one leg over the other so that the slight change in position brought her in contact with him from shoulder to elbow. She waited a moment, then shifted another half-inch towards him, resolutely not looking in his direction.
Castle's mind went utterly blank for five long seconds, then he forced himself to breathe. The movement only increased the gentle pressure of her upper arm against his, but she didn't move away. He thought about checking his wristwatch, but there was no way to lift his left arm without temporarily pressing even more closely against her.
Probably time to leave, he thought, then he felt his resolve crack.
A primal part of him said Stay. Stop thinking.
His conscious mind warred with his instincts.
He heard her take a deep, contented breath, and felt her relax back into the booth's cushion beside him. He shut his eyes as he struggled against the two opposing forces within him.
Pessimism. Fatigue. Rejection. Embarrassment.
Hope. Instinct. Love. Lust.
He gripped the whisky glass more tightly.
You already know how this ends, his mind cautioned.
But what if I'm wrong? he argued back. She's been… different. Hasn't she?
You're seeing what you want to see.
He released the glass as his fingers began to cramp.
Well maybe I prefer to hope for what I can't have, damn it!
He was pulled from his thoughts by a scent that was familiar and heartbreaking all at once.
Cherries.
He barely had time to register the thought before he felt increased pressure against his shoulder, and her breath against his left cheek.
"Doesn't know when to give up," she whispered.
His pulse spiked, and he automatically turned his head slightly towards her. She was so close. Her lips were inches from his ear, and as soon as he turned he could smell her perfume, her shampoo, and the sweet scent of her breath.
"What?" he said, and he didn't like the slight roughness and the startled quality in his voice.
He met her eyes, and saw that they widened slightly. There was a flush in her cheeks. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips.
"I… uh, Espo," she said. "He doesn't know when to give up."
"Oh," he said hoarsely, swallowing as his gaze darted from her eyes to her lips to her hair and then back again. "Yeah."
God I want to kiss you, he thought.
God I wish you would kiss me, she thought.
They both flinched at a sudden loud cackle from Ryan, and they each tensed for a moment until they saw that the other man's focus was squarely on Lanie and Esposito across the table.
Ryan was laughing now with the kind of boneless, full-body mirth that was only possible while intoxicated, and Esposito gave his partner a toothy grin before turning back to his debate with Lanie.
Castle and Beckett both reached for their glasses at the same moment, and took steadying swallows of alcohol. She leaned forward to put her glass back on the table and he felt the sudden coldness of the loss of contact, but she was back a moment later – and he was sure she shifted towards him again, almost imperceptibly.
This is trouble, he thought. Trouble with a capital T.
He inhaled deeply, and laid his palms flat atop his thighs.
Beckett's gaze was focused resolutely on the tabletop, as she willed her pulse to slow. She could still see his lips, as clearly as if she was looking at them.
She slid her hands off the table and clasped them on her thigh. After a moment, she extended her right little finger to just brush the edge of his left hand.
She felt him twitch, but he didn't pull away.