I did promise better stories than my Tumblr stuff... and they are coming!

But writing has been slow-going at the moment so enjoy these few little drabbles and then I promise I will actually focus on finishing one of the many stories I have started!

This first drabble is set in season 2 (toward the end but no specific episode in mind). I don't know how we got here... just that the gang are having a few after-work drinks and things take a very quick turn! Yes, Beckett will be taunted for the rest of her life for this little slip-up.

Enjoy : )

Her heart pounded frantically and she froze in place.

Eyes wide and locked to castle's, she couldn't believe the words that just slipped from her mouth.

He smiled like a damn Cheshire cat and she wanted to smack the smug grin right off that stupid face of his.

"Did you just call me babe?"

She could hear Lanie's poorly-stifled chuckle as it cut through the thick silence that filled the air surrounding their table.

"I-I..." She shook her head, because actual words sure as hell weren't coming out.

"She did," Ryan teased.

"Yeah, I heard it clear as day." Espo dogpiled on.

"You're hearing things," she finally said through gritted teeth.

All humour dropped from Castle's voice. "Okay, come on guys! It was a slip of the tongue. Let's just drop it."

She sighed, relieved, when everyone agreed and went back to casual conversation.

Apart from the occasional side-glance from Lanie and smug smirk from Castle, it seemed everyone had moved on from her little mishap.

For a whole 20 minutes, maybe.

Castle rose from his seat, shifting the group's empty glasses to the side of the table before looking at her with that smug smirk.

She should have seen it coming.

"You want another drink, Babe?" he asked with a wink.

Laughter echoed around her as she hung her head and covered her face, hiding the pink flush of her cheeks from her friends.

She knew she wasn't going to live this one down anytime soon...

Here we have a season 8 drabble.

A Tumblr follower requested a story where Beckett calls Rick because she misses him.

In my mind, this could really only go one way...

"Kate?"

His voice was pervaded by concern and guilt twinged deep in the pit of her stomach.

This was what it had come to: only calling one another when something was wrong. Even before they were together, he always answered her calls with unbridled enthusiasm. Now all she could hear was pain.

Better than resentment, she thought.

"Kate, are you there?"

"Uh, y-yeah," she stuttered over the words as if she was speaking a foreign language. "Sorry, I - uh..."

She... what? Missed him? Wished that she wasn't sitting alone in the cheap rental she refused to call home? Craved the feeling of his arms wrapped around her as she drifted off to sleep? That wasn't his problem, she shouldn't burden him with her sadness.

She tried to swallow past the lump forming in her throat, but couldn't. Tears stung in her eyes and she took a shaky breath.

"Sorry." She cleared her throat, a final attempt to remove some of the emotion from her voice. "I just- I wanted to say goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight, Kate."

She closed her eyes, could feel the ghost of his lips brush against her forehead like they had a million times before.

"I love you."

The tremble of her bottom lip kept her silent and she pressed her palm over her racing heart.

"Love you too," she quavered.

She ended the call, tossed her phone away from her and ran her hands through her hair as she tried unsuccessfully to keep the tears at bay.

I didn't really have a set timeframe in mind when I wrote this one.

Possibly pre-relationship? Just a sweet little gesture of friendship, but you can slot it in wherever you see fit.

Enjoy : )

She could see it from the elevator; the vibrant intrusion of springtime beauty on her desk that seemed at odds with the winter chill that seeped through the precinct walls.

Her brow creased and confusion grew as she walked closer, desperately searching the corners of her mind for an explanation.

It wasn't her birthday, nor was it an anniversary of any kind. She hadn't been unwell, or injured, or suffering a loss that might result in her colleagues pitching in for sympathy flowers or a condolences card.

She looked down at the gift tag attached to the brown paper wrapping; slightly crinkled but blank. She flipped it, smiling when she saw the note scrawled in familiar cursive handwriting.

Saw these and thought of you.

"Morning, Beckett," Castle greeted as he walked out of the break room, two coffees in hand.

She smiled.

"You bought me flowers?" She looked back at the card, swiped her thumb delicately along the cursive note before looking back at Castle. "Why?"

"Just-" He shrugged. "Because."

Set after 2x17/18 (Tick, Tick, Tick... Boom!).

Anon requested a scene where Castle sees Beckett wearing his clothes for the first time.

I tried for a 'wow she is beautiful' kinda thing but angst is just where it's at.

Enjoy : )

He sat in the kitchen, hands wrapped around the glass of water he had poured - almost twenty minutes ago - but hadn't sipped from: not even once.

It was more of a prop, really. Something he could touch to anchor himself to reality.

He should be in bed. Asleep. Dreaming peacefully of... well, anything. But every time he closed his eyes he saw it again: the flames; the thick, billowing smoke; her tiny frame all battered and curled up in the tub.

Guilt settled heavily in his chest.

He had put a target on her back. She assured him that she placed no blame on his shoulders, but he did. He had created the perfect target for this psychopath and she had almost paid the ultimate price.

Oh God, he really did not want to think about how close he had come to never seeing her again.

His eyes wandered toward the staircase as he briefly wondered just how inappropriate it would be for him to sneak upstairs to check on her.

Turning back to his glass of water, he shook off that idea. The last thing he needed was to get himself shot because the already frazzled detective woke to a figure lurking over her in the dark.

She's okay, he reminded himself. She had a bed to sleep in, a roof over her head and people who care for her here if she needs to talk. He knew that he had done everything he could.

Still, he wanted to do more. He wanted to completely erase the damage of the past 48 hours. Hell, he'd erase the past year - any trace of himself, of Nikki Heat - from her life it that would make the guilt subside.

"Hey."

The soft rasp of her voice pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Beckett, hi." He released his grip of the glass as he straightened his back and stood tall. "Everything okay?"

His eyes searched her, looking for any sign of distress. The clothes he had given her to sleep in - one of his favourite cotton tees and an old pair of grey sweats - were baggy, almost comically so. She looked so delicate, so fragile in them.

But apart from swimming in his clothing, the tiny cut that was barely visible in her hairline and her bandaged wrist, she looked fine.

She's okay, he reminded himself once more for good measure.

She looked down at his too-big, burgundy shirt.

"Not my best look," she said, looking back at him with a smile.

He mustered a weak smile; for her. "I think it suits you."

Her smile faded with his words. "It's not your fault, Castle."

Despite his best efforts, he never was able to hide from her. He shook his head, forced his smile to be real.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"Just need some water." She walked into the kitchen and pulled a glass from the overhead cabinet, filling it with water from the tap. "Throat's a bit dry."

"Yeah." He let out a huff of air, turned back to his untouched glass of room temperature water. "Fire will do that," he mused absentmindedly.

He could feel her eyes on him, her presence lingering in the silence until suddenly she came into his line of vision, leaning against the counter just as he had been before. She jerked her elbow to the side, tapping it gently to his arm to gain his attention.

"You doing okay?" she asked once his eyes were back on hers. "You would have inhaled-"

"I'm fine."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to pretend. You ran into a burning building to save me; and even heroes suffer from smoke inhalation."

"I wasn't trying to be the hero." He shifted, his entire body turning toward her; fast. "I-"

She moved, too; her back ramrod straight as she stared into his eyes, hovered just inches from him.

"You what?" she whispered urging him to continue, to say whatever it was that needed to be said.

He looked down, fingers tangled in the excess material of his shirt that had completely enveloped her.

Was she always so small?

So vulnerable?

So beautifully human: capable of bruising, of breaking, of dying because of him.

He closed his eyes and tried to force that thought from his mind, but he couldn't. The memories just kept replaying.

The flames, the smoke, her body.

She's alive.

The trickle of blood down her forehead, the wince as she stepped from the tub and into his arms, the fear in her eyes when Shaw had tried to pull her from the case; the one thing she had left.

She's alive.

The quiet moment of reflection as she wiped soot from her mother's ring, her too-steady-he-knew-it-was-forced voice as she called out "has anyone seen my father's watch?" and the poorly veiled helplessness behind her joke about insurance covering the cost of dry-cleaning.

Her world had been thrown off axis. How was she keeping it together? How was she worried about him? Why was she so willing to let him off the hook for this?

But, she's alive.

"I'm so sorry, Kate." He leant closer and pressed his lips to her forehead, careful to avoid her injury. "I'll shake it off eventually. Just not tonight."

He stepped back, grabbed his glass of water from the bench and retreated to his bedroom, hidden from her studying eyes, where he could dwell and wallow and chastise himself and she wouldn't feel any sort of unnecessary guilt.

Because he had meant what he said: he would shake it off, eventually.

Just not tonight.