milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There's a Beckett in the bar.

Only thing is, this one isn't carrying a gun - or a badge. In fact, she's not even going by the title of Detective yet, and as far as names go? You can just call her Kate.

This Beckett (Katherine, Kate - hell, even Katie at times) has never been in the bar.

And it shows.

" - whoa."

[ ooc: yes, we are dealing with a bb!Beckett. tag if you wish; open until her next. ]

[ tiny young!tag: rick castle ]

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"Love? Hardly," Kate scoffs. "I was talking about the something interesting part.

"And I wouldn't say I'm a romantic so much as a realist. It happens when it happens."

"I bet it happens a lot when you're around."

"You talk like this with every girl you meet?"

She's not exactly shying away.

"Only the cute ones from New York who make me work for it," he returns.

"Nothing worthwhile comes without a little work," she replies.

"Is that one of your folksy maxims, Kate Beckett? You gonna' tell me about 'a stitch in time' next?"

He slides his elbow along the bar, accidentally bumping her arm.

"If I do that, which of your 'tried and true' lines will you use on me after that?"

There's no illusion about the arm that gently prods his in response.

Elbows resting comfortably, nuzzling on the bar. Her skin provides a close-range kind of heat that thrums through Castle's bloodstream.

"Hey, hey, hang on: you think I'm incapable of saying something meaningful without working an angle at the same time? I'll have you know, I've said plenty of stuff that I actually mean." He squints, summing her up. "But I can tell you're the kind of girl who doesn't suffer bullshitters. I like that."

Normally, she'd have her fair share of qualms about letting anyone in this close. But behind the egotistical smirking and the quickness to brag, there's an honesty in his eyes that he can't hide.

"You're a writer. You could just as easily make up all of it - including the part where you claim you're being honest. How do I know that isn't all fiction?"

"Trust," he says, dropping the tip of his finger onto the back of her wrist. "Same as anything else."

"Well, my trust, Castle?"

She picks up his finger with her other hand, returning it to his side of the bar.

"'Has to be earned."

Some things never change.

Point taken, Castle uses the tip of said finger to draw a broken heart in condensation on the surface of the bar.

"I'll work on that," he says.

She notes the tiny drawing and chooses to make a tiny concession.

"You're off to a good start."

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