Good

Inspired by Tim McGraw's "It Felt Good on My Lips"

*A/N* I've written a couple fanfics before, but this is my first Castle fic. This is AU so assume that the Tisdale case didn't happen. Castle still killed off Storm, but without meeting Beckett, Nikki Heat was never born and Castle only wrote flops. Beckett's life is relatively the same, though no beaus past Will, and she's a bit happier.

This will probably be more than a one-shot, though it depends on what kind of feedback I get. Honestly, I have no idea where this is going.

Enjoy, dJhonnie

Richard Castle gazed into the sticky laminate of the bar and let go of a heavy sigh. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the audience his books had attracted, but he was convinced that what had attracted most of the crowd these days was his previous loyal following of Castle groupies and the photo his publisher had added to the back of the book jacket.

He signaled to the bartender for another drink, desperately wishing for the affects of the alcohol to hurry up and take him.

A fresh drink was set before him on the tacky wood, and his eyes traced the path of a drop of condensation as it slid down the cool glass. Gravity grasped at it, dragging it down in an uneasy dance, heedless of its own desires. Rick reveled in the symbolism of it. Aren't we all dragged down?

Right about now was a good time to get drunk. He didn't like this melancholy mindset. Alcohol lifted him and let him party. Of course, too much led to charges of public indecency and theft of a police vehicle, but damn, what a good time that was.

The music grew louder and more upbeat as Rick contemplated gravity. Eventually, he noticed and checked his watch. Paula would be especially angry, he noted. He'd spent over two hours in the back of this bar already.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to leave.

A feminine voice tore him from his wallowing, "What's wrong, buddy?" He jolted a bit at the question, and traced the sound back to a woman two stools down. She was stunning, he admitted. A tall thing, all deliciously toned curves captured in a blouse unbuttoned maybe just one too far, or one too little, and tantalizing dark, skin tight jeans. Her brown hair was tied into a loose knot above the nape of her neck allowing strands to fall free and frame her face and illuminate her green eyes.

Apparently he had paused too long because in a moment she muttered, "Alright, you don't want to talk. That's fine," and turned away.

He blinked in attempt to wipe away his disbelief before asking, "What makes you think something is wrong?"

She giggled a bit, a glorious sound that Rick let dance over his senses, she didn't seem like one to giggle. It poked at the melancholy inside him and yelled at it to move out. "I was waiting for the drink to get up and dance, the way you were staring at it." Rick just shook his head. "I'm Kate," she added.

"Rick," he responded quickly.

"So, Rick," she began, sliding across the stools until she was next to him as she strung out his name, "what's on your mind?"

He took a sip of his drink as he pondered the answer to that question. Vaguely he stated, "The world."

Kate quirked an eyebrow. "So you're either a philosopher or a politician?"

Rick snorted, "Hardly. I'm nothing more than a decent writer with a pretty face."

"A writer?" she questioned.

"In some sense of the word," Rick muttered, taking another sip of his drink. He really should stop the wallowing, it was unattractive. So he killed Derrick Storm, so what? And sure, his manuscripts since were pathetic imitations of his usual bestsellers, big deal. Right then, at the corner of that bar with Kate, it was nice to be unknown. In any case, he steered the topic away from himself, "What about you, Kate? How is it that you're alone?"

"Who said I'm alone?" she retorted, her features slipping into a glare. She really could patent that. Rick bit his tongue, scolding himself for the assumption. Her face quickly lost the hard edge, and she touched his arm. "Nah, you're right, I'm alone."

They settled into a silence bordering on uncomfortable. Then Kate grabbed his arm and pulled him from the bar. His heart flipped at the smile that graced her face, though he was generally confused by her sudden action.

"Play along," she whispered, "the guy I'm looking for is here." Louder, she exclaimed, "I love this song! Let's dance."

On the dance floor, she led as they moved to a bouncy Latin song while successfully distancing them from the man in question who had just taken their newly abandoned seats.

Kate's body moved in graceful, sensual gyrations, thoroughly captivating Rick. Though her eyes remained trained on the shady man at the bar, both minds were on the way their respective bodies seemed to sync with the other.

An epic showdown roared through Rick's consciousness. Each option was equally horrifying to him. One could push the fascinating, extraordinary creature from his arm, but the other might just cause in to explode. Finally, in a choice between biting his lip at the tightening in his jeans or satisfying his curiosity, Rick broke and hissed, "Who are you?" into her ear.

His breath heated and tickled the skin of her neck and made her stomach flutter to the point where she had to pause before returning the standard line, "Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD."

"Detective?" She nodded. He moved back a bit to run his eyes along the lines of her body. As she opened her mouth to tell him off for leering, he asked, "Where's the badge and gun?"

No where you'll ever know, Richard Castle. She smirked and shook her head, gracing him with an eye roll as well.

Rick eyes gained a bright playfulness. His thoughts focused on devising a plan to find that badge. On a side trip for his need to know he kept questioning, "Who's the guy?"

She gave him so very little, but just enough, "Suspect in a murder."

His jaw dropped, and for a moment she worried, but then he breathed in admiration, "You're homicide?" She nodded, receiving a sigh of, "That is so hot," from the author. Those last few words threw her attention briefly. Most men were intimidated by her job, usually finding ways to avoid the topic. This man though, couldn't be more delighted or entranced. Of course, this was Richard Castle, once known as the master of the macabre. She snapped back from those thoughts when he oh, so casually remarked, "I guess that means I can't offer you a ride home then?"

A light laugh forced its way out of her as her eyes caught the movement of suspicious packages between the suspect and another shady silhouette. She raised her wrist to her lips unobtrusively and muttered, "Deal was made, take 'em down." Broad shouldered men detached themselves from the shadows along the walls and stood behind the suspect as Kate broke from Rick.

He watched in adoration and fascination as Beckett snapped cuffs on the man's wrist while one of her partners took the other. The club slowed a bit as one of the men started protesting. Rick was too far from the action to here Kate's response, but judging by the other cops' attempts to hide grins, it was something as sharp as he had expected. Three shuffled the criminals out while he stood, grinning like a loon.

After squad cars tore away with the cuffed men in back, Rick approached Kate where she leaned against the building chatting with the male detectives. Castle cleared his throat to get her attention. Beckett threw her partners a pointed glare and they meandered away, grumbling.

Raised eyebrows gave Castle the cue to speak. "So, I don't get to take you home, right?"

"Why, so I can be another one of your conquests?" her tone betrayed nothing of her feelings - not the desire to join him and delay the interrogations, not the offense of some playboy assuming she'd hop straight into his bed – nothing but sweet sarcasm.

"Or I can be one of yours…"

"I'll pass."

"It's too bad," he observed, "it would've been great."

She leaned close, pausing to let his senses absorb her scent, and the closeness he'd never again achieve before whispering in her rawest, bedroom voice, "You have no idea, Rick Castle." She enunciated every syllable of his name, assuring him that she knew so much more than he told.

Her teasing eyes caught his glazed ones as she gave a mocking laugh. She turned and strutted to her Crown Vic, completely cognizant of how his eyes worshiped her figure. She slid in and kept her face from him, hiding the grin as he asked belatedly, "You know who I am?"

Watching the car pull away, Richard Castle realized he had never been more inspired.

*A/N*2* Don't be shy! Review. Even if you don't want more, but especially if you do.