The Old Haunt is like a subterranean replica of his apartment. So Castle in its charm, fixings and comfortable — slightly edgy — atmosphere that Beckett can't help compare it to the man himself. If watching Temptation Lane makes her feel safe and at home, then she can only wonder what The Old Haunt does for Rick.

Rick?

His name rolls off her tongue like a bittersweet chocolate syrup.

She's had a glass too many for the first time in ages. Apart from feeling flushed and slightly loose, Beckett is totally normal. Sober? Um, not so much maybe. But normal, yes.

It's something she tries to tell herself as she sits at the bar watching Lanie and Esposito dance as though they're joined at the hip. Lanie loves this place. She'd grabbed Beckett's arm just before tongue kissing her man and manipulating him to a the small darkened dance area.

'This joint! I adore it,' she had gushed. 'It's so Castle. It's so full of atmosphere. And girl? You could be the queen of this haunt, you hear me? Castle's queen, you get it!'

Beckett had. She still does, but Lanie shouldn't try to match Kate Beckett drink for drink. Lanie is always warned others about Beckett's ability to hold her booze, but whenever they're out on a night like this, Lanie gets carried away and her immaculately straightened hair bobs into its natural spring.

Tonight, her cheer is contagious.

'Did you just say "Castle's a queen?"' Beckett asked, her lips ghosting the edge of her glass of champagne. She should never drink this riotous, bubbly stuff. It makes girls dance and drop their pants … or so the old adage goes. So far, Kate's done neither, and she intends stopping after this lovely, lively glass way before her pants get too tight. Not that this is likely to happen. She's wearing a dress for the occasion.

Lanie had laughed loudly at Beckett's joke, tossed her head and winked. 'If Castle is a queen, then he don't want you outta that dress so he can wear it. The way he's looking at you — the way he always looks at you — is like you're the heir to his massive, stiff-backed throne! Know what I'm getting at, sweetie?'

'Lanie? Shut the front door up. Sweetie!,' Beckett had replied, inhaling the yeasty bubbles of her glass, wishing she could hate this place. Hate The Old Haunt for the way it feels like Castle.

'Honey? I might need to get you down the lab, use some of my old college texts to remind you 'bout the birds an' the little old bees.' Lanie drained the remains of her glass and threw her arm around Beckett's shoulders. 'I know Josh has only been gone a couple weeks—'

'It's six days! Just six days!'

'Days? Weeks?' Lanie shrugged. 'You shouldn't wait around too long, babe. A girl can find cobwebs down there. Rust even, you know, if it's not used regular—?'

Lanie almost choked on her own words as Kate pushed her away towards Esposito, creating a gap in the small crowd that lead to Castle's direct line of vision. It was as though the Red Sea had parted. She was at one end of the bar, drinking, laughing and watching her friend making merry with her boy. Castle was by the pool table, chatting to Jenny and her smiling fiance, Ryan.

Why is everyone in such serious relationships all of a sudden? And why is one of her good friends a medical examiner with her own jumping hormones?

A week ago, Beckett had been wrapped in the safety net of Josh. She'd been trapeze flying between the doctor-catcher on one swing and Castle on the highest perch in the big top. Not prepared to commit to the obvious catch and afraid to reach out and leap for the dangerous, racy ride. But the change has come. The harness she'd been wearing — a rope-climbing rigging that would haul her to safety if Castle encouraged her to take that risk — has gone.

Josh had called her out on her fear in the bluntest possible way, and Kate can still hear his resigned goodbye taunting her, goading her to admit her feelings to everyone.

Including herself.

'It's not what you think, Josh.'

Kate had been matter-of-fact, immediately aware that she was on the verge of being dumped from the suddenly upended safety net. Unsure if she really cared, though it was nice to wake up in the morning knowing the only threat she faced was the danger of the streets. Not the scary realities of lust and love.

'Whatever happened,' Josh had said, leaning his hip on the corner of her table, 'you're heart's not in it. In this.' He'd waved the air between them. We're both smart enough to know it, and it's time, Kate.'

Beckett had crossed her arms across her chest. 'Nothing happened. Except in the line of duty … like we talked about …'

But it had happened and it meant something. Josh didn't have to be a cardiac surgeon to know that there was only room enough in his chest for one intact ticker, and that Kate was wearing hers on her sleeve. It was unfortunate that the sleeve was tucked in close to a 'WRITER' vest.

He'd left, saddened, and she'd eaten enough ice-cream to make herself feel sick. He'd mentioned nothing about Castle, although Rick hung in the air of her apartment like an impish shadow, that pulled on her ponytail till she wanted to cry out for a hug.

Beckett refused to ring him that night, just as she has neglected to tell Castle that Josh walked out of her life nearly a week ago. He probably knows. Once Esplanie knew something, so does the New York Times.

She watches Castle work people in his Old Haunt. He seems effortless, clasping Jenny's arm to exchange some tidbit about Ryan, laughing at something Ryan says about his bachelor days being over. He's a natural communicator, a people magnet, and all of a sudden Kate wants to be near him, if only to be a negative charge to his positive allure.

The teasing, the barbs, the riddled subtext. It's all about the magnetism and he oozes it. She doesn't want to blunt it, necessarily, because it's so damn attractive, but she wants to be one of his iron filings. The most important one, goddam it!

Just as she's about to slink off her bar stool and saunter over to mess Castle's armour, she spots him watching her. His mouth is quirked in that smile, his eyes narrow and his head dips. Before she can move, he leaves Ryan and Jenny to cuddle, muttering something about them enjoying 'their last two weeks of freedom.'

Because, yeah, Beckett thinks to herself as Castle steals the stool next to her and invades her personal Rick-free zone, there's a wedding in a couple of weeks. She's been invited 'with friend', Castle has been talking about the big day since he received his invitation. They'll both be there, socializing, chatting, drinking. He'll be wearing a tie, a fantastic shirt, and she's already picked her dress. Something tastefully snug, with a dash of vibrant colour, a lot of black and a little bit of leg—

'Enjoying the bubble party, Beckett?' he asks, swiveling the stool around so his trouser- clad thigh traps her legs against the bar. She wonders whether she should ask him — snidely — if he wants to sit on her knee, but thinks better of it. He'll probably act without thinking and she'll be squashed beneath a welcomed weight.

'Bubble party? Really Castle? I thought you'd come up with something more descriptive than that.'

She resists rolling her eyes, but flashes him a jousting smile and he's immediately up for the contest. 'Why detective? Wasn't it you who implied the bubble might not burst if you were in it with the right person?'

She had. Didn't mean she'd let him win here. 'I just meant, Castle, that it's better to be in a bubble with the right person than, say … say a prick. Doesn't mean you have to name Ryan and Jenny's pre-marriage get-together a bubble party.'

Castle's reaction is as instantaneous as his love of verbal parry. He laughs. Hard and strong, the rumble in his chest a deep energy that moves Kate on another level. She's hard press to deny the need to touch him. She wishes she could play with the front of his shirt as easily as she could anyone else she's this intimate with — because they iare/i intimate. She has never had this level of repartee, this synergy with anyone else in her life.

The last thing she wants is another relationship so soon — isn't it? The first thing she wants is to bury her lips in that jester-like mouth and wipe the cocky quips and sexy innuendo from his mind by kissing him into oblivion.

Instead, she drinks to smother a retort and give her mouth something else to do but moisten in anticipation.

'So?' he asks, knocking her knee with his own and making her wobble. 'What do you think of the new pool table? Looks pretty great over there. Do you play, by the way?'

'Oh yeah. I play a bit,' she says, avoiding eye contact by looking at the table. She wonders if he'll pick up on the sexual context of that the way he had a few weeks ago with her suggestive look about sleeping 'on it'. She doesn't have to wait long.

'You certainly do.' Castle clears his throat. 'Play. A bit. I imagine you play well, Detective, pocket the ball quite easily?'

She spills her drink. In an effort to thrust her hands in a pantomime of how she can caress a pool cue, Beckett misses the mark and upends what's left of her champagne.

'Would you like another, Kate? I hear the owner of The Old Haunt has a big … a really big …'

Castle pauses for effect and Beckett tries to look as cool as she can. Fortunately, the cute young barman she'd met on the first day — whatever the hell his name is — moves in to refresh her drink before Castle can take his series of 'big' comments any further.

She thanks the hot bar boy and takes a sip of the crisp bubbles. They tickle her nose and stimulate her orally. Dutch courage or something? 'Yeah. I've heard the owner has the biggest, a really big, the most massive … ego ever! You know him?'

'I do. I know him. And I was going to say, that he has a really big bar tab and a big heart, so any drink that an NYPD detective wants at The Old Haunt, she should be able to get. Any time, any day.'

Always?

'I'll remember that, Castle. The next time I spill my champagne, I'll remember about the owner's big … big … things.' She grins into her drink. 'He must be really huge.'

'He's in proportion,' says Castle, in his 'separately' voice. 'Well proportioned, according to all sources.'

Half-turning on his stool, he brushes her knees with his thigh again. Beckett wishes he wouldn't do that but without thinking, she moves in towards his back to see what's caught his interest. Her gaze dips to his collar and hairline tucked just beneath. She recalls how it feels to sensitive fingertips. Bizarrely, her lips tingle and her lower body tightens.

It would be so easy to move forward a matter of inches and place a kiss where his hair catches his skin, where it turns prickly and shorter. She sighs and waits to blame the champagne for that noise, but knows it's something else. A memory caught between a kiss and a series of stolen moments since.

When Castle turns back to her, there's barely lip room between them. The last time they were this close, she'd been ready to forsake the promises she'd made to herself when she'd first met Castle — don't get involved with a rich playboy who undresses with his eyes and makes love with his words.

'Would you do me the honour, Detective Beckett, of accompanying me to the wedding of our colleague and his lovely fiance,' Castle whispers so intensely, she can feel his words on her lips. In a surprising move that nearly has Beckett falling from her stool and spilling her latest drink, Castle takes her hand that rests between them, and starts to rub his thumb against the tendons that move her fingers.

She feels undone. She wonders if he can see the walls are down by the gloss of her eyes, and she tries desperately to steel them over. 'I-um … I'm … '

'We're both guests. I'd let you drive. We could take the Ferrari.' He pauses, smiling. 'If it's raining, I could hold a golf umbrella over your head as you're steering.'

Beckett hates stuttering. She dislikes being disarmed. She wants the upper hand, but sometimes, when someone is stroking your wrist and giving you all they're able to give at that moment, it's hard to be cynical. So she chooses direct. 'You've heard about Josh? Thank you, but I don't want a pity date, if that's what you're getting at? Castle? Castle?'

He flutters his eyes half-closed and looks down at their hands. Beckett notices the dense line of his eyelashes, the small frown that's developing and regrets some of her bluntness.

'The only pity that I can see, Kate, is if we don't enjoy the wedding and miss out on an opportunity to spend some time in each others company. Away from work.' He's speaking so quietly, she has to move closer, but the moment's over. 'We're both going. Why not carpool? I promise to put the top up if it's windy or wet, and if we breakdown I won't make you push in your heels.'

Beckett can't help smile.

'Oh, unless you're wearing something low-cut. Then you'll have to lean over the back and push, so you keep abreast of the situation.'

She pushes his arm, not disrupting his contact with her other hand. 'When did you find out? About Josh?'

His hand turns hers over and he starts running two fingers along the line of her radial pulse. He's going to kill her in a minute. She realizes how her taunts and innuendo must make him feel this way on a daily basis, but it doesn't stop his scramble of fingers. He once told her he has soft hands ...

'Montgomery told me. Last week.'

'What? It only happened a few days ago. How can Montgomery have known last week?'

And why haven't you said anything? Done anything? Come over, bearing gifts and hugs?

Castle shrugs. 'The whole precinct knows by now. You know how it is.'

He stills the finger action and she wants to ask for more. 'And I'm sorry. About it. Josh … are you okay?'

She uses her free hand to lift the glass to her mouth. 'Yeah,' she says, muffled by yeast and taste and verve. She's not lying. She's better than okay and Josh will be too. In time.

'Well then, if you're not broken-hearted, you don't need a pity date. But,' he says, 'what say you about escorting me? Will you do me the honour of your company, or will you be desperate? And dateless?'

Kate yanks on their hands and pulls him in, then pushes at his chest to show her disgust. He grins. In a move that has them both on the edge of their stools, debating distance from some lip action, he grasps her forearm in both of his hands and looks like he's going to plant an impromptu kiss if front of all their colleagues and friends.

Not now. Not yet!

She raises an eyebrow to stop him and he's instantly aware of Lanie getting a drink nearby and Esposito watching them from behind Kate's shoulder. 'Your answer,' he rumbles, looking at her mouth.

'Okay. Yes, as long as I get to drive the red car.' The public kissing danger abates in a few seconds so she has the guts to lean in and whisper in his ear. 'As fast as I want.'

Leering, Castle grasps her hand in his, lifts it to his lips and deposits a kiss to the tendons he's been fondling. Just when she thinks she might melt off the stool, he tips his head, looks at her like she's made him stupidly happy, then presses his open lips to the point on the inside of her wrist that makes her so responsive. And leaves it there. For seconds. When she wants him to stop. Nope, she doesn't … when she feels the tip of his tongue against her softest skin, she wants to groan ssssstop … she doesn't.

His understanding of her body within the course of ten minutes astounds her. Imagine if he had a weekend of study ...

'Hey Castle,' laughs Esposito, from somewhere down the bar. 'If you can come up for air, how 'bout a game of pool? If I win, The Old Haunt buys me drinks for the next month.'

'Oh yeah?' says Castle as he looks up, as dazed of expression as she feels. 'And what do I get in return?'

He's only watching her, dipping his focus to her lips, to the subtle cleavage she suddenly wants to get as much of his attention as he's willing to give. She wishes they were alone, but who'll make that first move?

'I'll let you drive a car with sirens and lights.' says Esposito, loudly. 'Real fast, maybe along the highway? Just don't tell Montgomery. Oh, or Beckett.'

She hears laughter. It's not hers.

As Castle makes to leave for the pool competition, Beckett pulls his head down and says in his ear, 'don't think that Esposito's bet applies to us. If you win, I still drive, okay?'

He lets her hand go and ruffles the end of her hair. 'It's a deal, Detective. Oh, but perhaps later, when it's quieter? We should have a game of our own … the winner of that one could take the stakes he … um, or she determines as fair.' He wiggles his eyebrows and turns.

'You must be pretty damned good if you think you can pocket more balls than me, Castle,' she tosses his way, thinking this will be the end of it. Till later. When it's quieter.

He's back in her face before she can draw breath, or turn to Lanie and gossip, or watch his ass as he walks away. She will. She's done that before tonight.

'What did you say?' he asks her, a heartbeat away from her lips.

'I said,' she stands to push him upwards so they're toe-to-toe. Her favourite Castle-provoking position. 'You must be pretty confident you're that damned good.'

He leans in to the point where Beckett almost shuts her eyes in anticipation, but instead of feeling his lips against hers, his mouth is at her ear.

'You have no idea.'

As he saunters away, Beckett feels the warmth of The Old Haunt wrap her in something as familiar as a winter coat, and her safety net vanishes with the pocketing of each pool table ball.