So, this is my first attempt at Castle fic - man, it's nerve wracking delving into a new fandom! The second - and final - chapter will be up either Saturday or Sunday. Hope you enjoy!

Christmas Eve was quiet at the station house, just twinkly lights and the occasional hooker to brighten what was otherwise definitely not a happy place to be. Somehow, Castle had thought it would be a little more festive than this – at least, that's the way he'd always imagined Christmas at the 12th precinct. Of course, that was pure conjecture – up until this year, Castle hadn't been around for the holiday. Sure, he'd drop in to spread a little Christmas cheer, stock the place with presents, give Beckett a hard time. But then he'd be off to the Hamptons with his mother and Alexis, ready to deck the halls.

But this year… Well, this year he was definitely… Here. Alexis was in California with Ashley (Please, Dad – I know we broke up, but this is our one chance to see if we can actually make it work. You know, reconnect.) Right. And, yeah, he could have played the "It's our last Christmas together living under the same roof and things will never be the same after this" card. But did he really want to be that guy? Besides, Kate had said it was a bad idea – Alexis was trying to spread her wings. What she needed most from him right now was space.

So, Castle had been the bigger man. Then, Martha announced that she'd met the latest love of her life, and he was whisking her off to Paris for Christmas. Paris. And Castle was happy for her, of course, but still…

It was Christmas, for crying out loud.

"Rick!"

Castle looked up from his brooding to find Kate trying to get his attention. He must have looked pretty bad, because the usual Beckett annoyed/amused glare was tempered with concern.

"I've got a call on the Upper East Side – you wanna come?"

Hell yeah.

He grabbed his jacket. "Who kills somebody on Christmas Eve?" he asked once they were en route, lights flashing. It was a little after eight, a steady snow falling, white Christmas lights on every street corner. Esposito and Ryan were off for the night, which meant they were short-staffed. Beckett, of course, had volunteered to work the holiday.

"You'd be surprised," Kate said. "Christmas tends to bring out the worst in families."

He'd heard that, of course, but he'd never really experienced it firsthand. Which was supposedly the reason he was here – he was writing the next Nikki Heat book, and the case just happened to coincide with the Christmas season. It made sense that he should see what kind of havoc the holiday wrought at the station house.

"So, you got any plans for tomorrow?" Kate asked, just before they got to the scene.

"Just a laidback day – you know how it is. Nothing special." He could tell she was trying not to smile. "What's funny about that?"

She rolled those big brown eyes at him. "Please, Castle – you're just gonna take it easy on Christmas? That must be driving you crazy. You know, you could spend the day with my dad and me, if you'd like. We don't really – "

"Okay."

She laughed. "Wow, don't make me twist your arm."

"You should know by now, I have no pride – especially if it involves a day hanging out with the Becketts. So, what are your traditions? Home-cooked dinner by the fire, Tiny Tim singing carols, 'It's a Wonderful Life' playing low in the background?"

"You've seen way too many Christmas specials. I usually sleep in, then my dad'll pick up some takeout. We open our gifts with a little Bing Crosby in the background, and make an early night of it."

His face fell. "That's it?"

"What did you expect? Compared to what it was after my mom died, that's pretty nice."

Right. He'd almost forgotten.

"Well – how about you come to my place this year? I have this huge tree, and I promise to play enough Crosby to last a lifetime."

She pulled up to the curb in front of a high rise with half a dozen cruisers out front, their lights flashing.

"Aw, Rick, I don't know…"

"What's not to know? I'll take care of the food. All you guys have to do is show up – I know you can do that much." He put on his most pathetic face. "Pleeeeeease, Kate. Otherwise, the tree and all those trimmings are just gonna go to waste."

"Fine. But at least let me bring something. I could… I don't know, bake a pie or something."

"Really?"

She bristled at his disbelief. "Well – I could buy a pie or something," she amended grudgingly. "There's not really time to bake one."

They were in front of the building by now, and that light snow he'd noted earlier wasn't quite as light as he'd thought. A twenty-something man – a little pudgy, but generally good looking – in an expensive wool coat was propped to the right of the entrance. He had one of those cheap Christmas bows stuck to his forehead, an icicle dripping from the end of his nose, and a very high end butcher's knife protruding from his sternum.

New York was just coming out of a brutal cold snap, and the temperature was still hovering at not much more than twenty degrees. A doorman in a perfectly pressed red uniform stood off to the side, obviously unnerved.

"I just came out to see what the weather was doing," he explained to one of the cops already on the scene. "And I turn around, and find this leaning against my building."

Lanie was examining the body, and she didn't look happy about it.

"Glad you guys could make it," the medical examiner sniped.

"Ooh – somebody's not in a good mood," Castle noted. "Did Santa fill your stocking with coal?"

"I don't know what Santa filled my stocking with, but I've had two dead bodies in the past two hours. Do I look like somebody who'd been planning to check out dead bodies all night?"

She did not. Underneath the gloves and the jacket and the basic ME gear, Castle caught a glimpse of sparkly sheer stockings and a red dress that stopped just above the knee. Her hair was done, her make-up had probably been perfect not so long ago, and Castle could detect just a hint of some very pricey eau de toilette – you know, underneath the smell of death and the cold New York street.

"I take it you had plans?" he asked delicately.

"Hell yeah, I had plans. I was on my way up to Vermont with Mason – you know, that guy I just started seeing? – and a bunch of his friends. We were gonna spend two days in his ski chalet. Have you ever been to a ski chalet?" She leveled a glare at Castle, who wasn't clear on exactly what the right answer might be here.

"Uh… No?"

"Yeah, right – you've probably got your own ski chalet in the Swiss Alps or something. Well, I've never been to a ski chalet. And I've definitely never dated a man who owns a ski chalet."

"You could probably catch up with them later," he suggested timidly.

"Not in this weather, I can't. These flurries are just the tip of the iceberg – we've got a damned Nor'easter on the way. Everything's gonna be shut down by midnight."

"Ah."

"Yeah, 'Ah.'" She sighed, but then seemed to realize who she was talking to. "What about you – aren't you usually up in the Hamptons by now, having a Very Hemingway Christmas?"

"I think a Very Hemingway Christmas involves copious amounts of whiskey, homoerotic innuendo, and the maiming of large animals, but I take your point," he said. "Nah – Alexis wanted to spend the holiday with her boyfriend on the West Coast. And Mother's in Paris."

"Ooh – that's rough." She seemed genuinely sympathetic, at least.

"I hate to interrupt your gripe fest," Kate said, "but there's a dead guy here whose Christmas is looking a little more dire than either of yours. Lanie, what can you tell me?"

"Well, cause of death is – "

"Ooh, I've got this one," Castle interrupted. "Hmm… I'd say judging by lividity and position of the body, not to mention the giant knife sticking out of his chest, COD was… Um, natural causes, right?"

"You're funny for a man whose family just abandoned him," Lanie noted dryly.

"Ouch. Fine – see if I try to lighten the mood at another Christmas murder scene."

Kate cleared her throat, and Lanie took her cue. "Actually, I can't say for certain until I've done the complete exam, but I'd say offhand that cause of death was exposure. The knife through the chest came later – he's been dead for a while. Body temp's colder than a Christmas goose."

"And you've never seen this man before?" Kate asked the doorman, still standing off to the side looking perturbed. His eyes slid from hers before he answered.

"Well, he's certainly not a resident."

Castle could tell Beckett hadn't missed the reaction. John Doe might not have lived here, but the doorman definitely knew him.

"What about the knife?" Castle asked. He crouched down to get a better look, careful not to touch it. "This is a Wusthof – it's a pretty pricey blade to stick in a dead guy. Do you have any chefs in the building?"

The doorman crossed his arms over his chest and shuffled his feet. Beckett took the cue and stepped a little closer.

"Answer the question. Do you know who this knife belongs to?"

"Our residents value their privacy – "

"Not anymore than this man valued his life, I promise you," Beckett said. "You can tell us here or I can haul you down to the station and you can tell us there. What's it gonna be?"

He hemmed and hawed for another few seconds before he finally rolled his eyes. "Brad Windham – he lives on the third floor. I've seen the same knives in his apartment."

"The Brad Windham?" Castle asked. He straightened, and stared up at the building. "I thought he lived out in L.A."

"He likes to keep a place in the city," the doorman explained.

"Windham's one of the biggest names in cooking right now," Castle told Beckett. She looked at him impatiently.

"I know who Brad Windham is, Castle. I do turn on the TV occasionally." She turned to the doorman again. "And Windham is here now?"

"He was as of this afternoon, and I haven't seen him leave."

"I don't know who your chef was fighting with this morning," Lanie said, inserting herself into the conversation. "But it wasn't this man. He's been dead for at least twenty-four hours."

"Any way to tell how long the knife's been in there?" Castle asked.

"I can run a couple of tests back at the lab, and I'll be able to tell you then."

Beckett looked torn. "I'd still like to talk to this guy. See if he knows anything."

The rest of the cops on the scene were standing around looking restless now that CSU had arrived. Kate glanced at Castle, then addressed the others.

"You guys canvas the neighborhood, see if anybody saw this guy – before or after he died. He didn't just materialize out of thin air. Somebody must've seen something."

Once everyone else had dispersed, she turned to Castle and nodded toward the building. "You wanna meet Brad Windham?"

His eyes lit up. "Yeah?"

"Sure, what the hell," she said with a shrug. "Consider it an early Christmas present."

The first thing Castle noted about the high rise where Brad Windham lived was how shiny everything was. Like, blindingly shiny. Castle preferred old money – mahogany and muted tones, a little subtlety to take the edge off. Windham and his fellow residents obviously felt differently.

"Should've brought my shades," Kate noted, echoing his thoughts.

The lobby had a huge, modern Christmas tree – one of those awful art deco things that wasn't so much tree as a bunch of plastic triangles and metallic bulbs. White lights glittered on every available surface, and a group of residents were gathered at the window to gawk, though they were trying hard not to look like it. When Kate and Castle came inside, they dispersed quickly – within thirty seconds, there wasn't a soul to be seen.

"Was it something we said?" Castle asked.

Kate wrinkled her nose. "Typical. It's no different here than it is on the other side of town – somebody gets killed, and nobody wants to get involved. Sometimes, people suck."

They got on the elevator to head up to Windham's apartment. It stopped on the second floor, and a little old woman shuffled on. Before Castle could hit any of the buttons for her, she hit the emergency stop button and turned to them both. She was maybe five feet tall, with blue-gray hair and a fur coat PETA would've had a field day with.

"You're here about the dead boy?" she asked.

Kate nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Is there anything you can tell us?"

"I don't live here," the woman said seriously. She had an old New England accent – the kind that came from years of money and privilege. "I'm just visiting my nephew – it's an awful place. So crass. But I saw that man – the dead man – leaving here two days ago. He was clearly intoxicated… Weaving and incoherent. I remember because I mentioned it to Carl – my nephew. It's not the sort of element with whom he should be associating – doesn't reflect well on the family."

"Do you remember where he was coming from?" Beckett asked.

"Well… Not really. He was in the lobby, arguing with Michael."

"Michael…?" Castle prompted.

"The doorman, of course. The one who called you. I assumed he'd told you – they clearly knew each other quite well." She looked uncomfortable. "If you know what I mean."

Beckett met his eye, understanding flashing at the same moment. "Thank you – you've been a great help," she said to the woman, already going for the elevator buttons to get it started again.

"We're not meeting Brad Windham, are we?" Castle asked, after they'd ushered the old woman off the elevator.

"Not right now, we're not," she said. "Sorry." Then, she gave him one of those enigmatic smiles she'd been flashing his way a lot lately. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."

Castle raised his eyebrows and opened and closed his mouth and shuffled a little where he stood. "Uh… Okay, then." He clapped his hands so loudly they echoed. "Let's go get that doorman!"

Michael the Doorman was, predictably enough, nowhere to be found by the time they got back to the lobby. One of the tenants told them she'd seen him leave a few minutes before, and the chase was on. Castle followed Beckett outside, where they hit the curb just in time to see Michael disappear down a side street on foot.

"Hey!" Beckett called. "Stop!"

Michael didn't stop. Beckett called out to another cop for backup, ordered Castle to stay where he was (Honestly, why did she even bother anymore?), and took off on foot.

Rather than risking her wrath by following Kate, Castle circled around the block the other way. He'd never catch up to Beckett anyway, but the doorman looked like he was in pretty good shape – add to that the burst of adrenaline dear old Mike was no doubt feeling from the chase, and Castle just might head him off before Kate caught up.

They were headed up Lexington toward 86th, all the shops closed by now but the streets still busy. Castle skidded around a corner and caught a flash of Michael's red uniform up ahead, just as he darted inside an apartment building. Rents were way too high for a doorman to afford – Castle wondered if it might be another place the guy worked. He waited a couple of seconds for Beckett – or somebody, at least – to show up, but nobody did. So, he did what any self-respecting crime writer-slash-wannabe-cop would do: He followed the perp inside.

There was a security guy at the door, but luckily he turned out to be a mystery fan – he flashed a grin the second he recognized Castle, and let him right on in. Fame definitely had its perks.

"Whoa – Rick Castle, right?"

"In the flesh," Castle said with as much of a grin as he could muster while simultaneously trying to catch his breath. "Say, you didn't happen to see a man in red bolt past here a minute ago, did you?"

"Michael? Yeah – just about knocked me off my feet." He nodded in the direction of an archway toward the back. "I think he was headed upstairs."

"He live here?"

The guard gave him an 'Are you serious?' look and shook his head. "He works days here – when he's not at that tacky glass palace down the street."

"Any idea where he might have gone in a hurry?"

"Only place I can think is the roof."

Right. Crap. Castle thanked the guard and headed for the stairs, punching in Beckett's number as he went. When it picked up, he gasped into the receiver while he raced the three flights to the top.

"I'm on 86th and Lex – the Talbot Regency. He's on the roof."

"Castle?"

"Yes, Castle – who else would it be? Did you hear me?"

"Got it – we'll be right there. Just hang back, I don't want you getting in this guy's way if he thinks he's cornered."

Castle managed an ineloquent grunt and hung up. Damn. He really needed to get to the gym more.

He slowed down when he reached the door leading out to the roof. Michael didn't look like the kind of guy who carried a gun – but then, he also didn't look like the kind of guy who would stick a butcher's knife through a man's chest. If Castle had learned nothing else from trailing Beckett for the past four years, it was that people were unpredictable.

When he finally, very slowly opened the door, Castle was met with a blast of cold wind and a face full of snow. He got low to the ground, searching the roof for any sign of the doorman. It didn't take long before he spotted him at the edge of the building – sure enough with a gun in his hand, staring out over the city. Castle swallowed past a lump of fear the size of a Kardashian diamond, and very carefully cleared his throat.

Michael jumped all the same, turning wildly in the direction of the sound. Castle raised his hands to show he presented no threat.

"Slow down, Michael. Just take it easy. Why don't you put the gun down, and we can talk this thing over."

"Talk it over? Talk it over?" Okay, hearing it like that, Castle had to admit that it didn't sound like the best plan. "I killed him. I mean – I didn't mean to." He started to cry, still holding the gun tight with both hands.

"If you didn't mean to, we can work something out," Castle soothed. "Just put the gun down, Michael. This doesn't have to be the end of your life."

"It was just one of those stupid fights, you know?" the doorman continued. "He was flirting, and that jerk Windham was clearly interested… I got mad."

"So, you slipped something in his drink," Castle said, almost thinking aloud. How else would a man in an expensive wool coat freeze to death in New York City?

"He was supposed to go straight home!" he shouted. "Not wander around the city when it was ten below zero! And then I came out of my apartment this morning and…"

He started crying harder now, the gun moving dangerously close to his own head. Castle winced. He couldn't help but feel for the guy. One stupid decision, and suddenly he's on the roof waving a gun, his life headed in a very, very bad direction.

Behind him, Castle saw Kate's head and shoulders clear the building; she was coming up the fire escape. She put her finger to her lips to let him know he shouldn't give her away – like he needed to be reminded.

"So, how did your boyfriend end up with Brad Windham's knife through his chest?" Castle asked, in a last bid to keep the man talking.

"I went up there this morning to deliver a package, and the bastard had the nerve to ask me about Paul – how long we'd been seeing each other, whether it was serious… That's when I got the idea. I went into the kitchen, took one of his precious knives, and snuck it out under my jacket." For a few seconds, he'd actually been distracted enough to stop crying and calm down. He shook his head ruefully. "I forgot all the CSI crap you people know now… I wasn't thinking. I stuck the knife in his chest, loaded him in my car, and dumped him here."

Suddenly, Michael got a very focused gleam in his eye. His hands steadied visibly as he leveled the gun just below his chin, pointing up at a deadly angle.

"I'm an idiot," he said softly, his eyes taking on a distant cast.. "I loved him. He loved me – he was sitting outside my apartment building this morning, waiting for me to let him in."

"Come on, man," Castle said, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. "Don't do this. You can make it through this."

Michael shook his head. "I don't think so."

Kate was on the roof now, her own gun drawn.

"Michael," she said quietly, "I want you to put the gun down."

He started, the gun waving wildly as he whirled on Kate. A loud crack broke the stillness, and Castle saw a fleeting look of terror on Kate's face just before she went down, falling backward. Castle ran for her but he was too far away to be any help – she hit the edge of the building, hard, and then plummeted out of sight.

"Kate – Kate, can you hear me?"

She was already half-covered in snow by the time Castle reached her, crumpled awkwardly on the second floor fire escape. Her skin was cold to the touch. When she slowly opened her eyes, he honestly could have wept.

"Dad?" she said, her voice wavering. She furrowed her brow, like she didn't recognize him.

"No – Kate, it's me – "

And then she laughed. Just… laughed. He debated strangling her then and there.

"You're… You're kidding? Are you serious? You think this is funny?"

"I'm sorry, Castle – I couldn't resist." Her smile vanished, a look of genuine remorse replacing it. Her hand found his as she tried to sit up.

"Easy," Castle said, once he realized that – despite her little performance – she really was hurt. A gash above her left eye was bleeding heavily, turning the snow beneath her a dark pink. "Don't try to get up."

Of course that didn't stop her. She started to stand, then quickly sank back down.

"What part of 'don't get up' do you not understand?"

"What the hell happened?" she asked. There was a trace of fear in her eyes – that little seed of panic that he'd seen a lot lately, though she was trying like hell to hide it.

"An icy landing, those killer boots you insist on wearing, and a very bumpy flight down a fire escape happened." He could hear sirens now, and the other cop on the scene waved over the ambulance.

"No… Now you're kidding, right?" She looked horrified. "I fell? I slipped and fell. Did anybody see me?"

Vanity, thy name is Beckett. "Besides me and the homicidal doorman? Not a soul."

"Did he at least shoot at me? Please, tell me he had a gun."

"Oh, yeah – he definitely had a gun, and he was waving it around like nobody's business. But an icicle cracked off the roof next door." She winced, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Hey, Kate – I thought it was a shot, too. I swear… Anybody would have. This wasn't you."

She'd never admit to it, but he could tell she was relieved at his words.

"Did we get him?"

"Yeah – there was another cop on his way up. Michael was so freaked out when he saw you fall that he just gave himself up."

The paramedics showed up then, and Castle stepped aside while they did their thing. Of course, Beckett didn't want to go to the hospital. And of course, Castle insisted. He let her have her way and didn't make her go in the ambulance, but then had to suffer through her backseat driving while he drove them to the ER. Still, he got to use the lights and siren – which, all things considered, was pretty cool.

It didn't take long for someone to see her once they got to the hospital – apparently, all it took to get quality care in New York City was a slow night and a gushing head wound. Castle was dialing his cell phone as they wheeled Kate away, his stomach in a knot, when she called back to him.

"Rick?"

He hurried over to the wheelchair, where she was looking a little pale but still remarkably lucid.

"Yeah – right here."

"Please don't call my dad."

"But – "

She lay her hand on his arm, her brown eyes pleading. "He worries too much as it is. Just… I'll be fine. A couple stitches, and I'm good as new. Promise me you won't call him."

He grudgingly gave her his word, and put away the phone.

Unlike the last time he was in the hospital waiting for word on Kate's well-being, this time there was no one else to distract him before his imagination took over. And Castle had one hell of an imagination. Maybe they'd do a brain scan and discover a tumor. Or she could've jostled something that wasn't supposed to be jostled in the fall, and end up paralyzed. They could accidentally give her the wrong medication… Hell, she could get switched with another patient and they could accidentally remove her spleen.

Kate needed her spleen, dammit.

By the time half an hour had passed, Castle's stomach was inside out and he was ready to call the first good malpractice lawyer he could find, while he waited for word of one more tragic turn in the Life of Beckett.

Instead, Kate came out laughing with the blonde, blue-eyed – seriously, the man was clearly part of the Aryan master plan – doctor wheeling her into the waiting room. She had a neat little bandage above her eyebrow and still looked kind of pale, but otherwise you'd never know she'd fallen off a freakin' building just an hour before.

The doctor wasn't as good looking as her old boyfriend – thank God – but he was still definitely making eyes at Kate. He smiled politely at Castle when he stopped her wheelchair in front of him.

"Castle, this is Dr. Everett – he was one of the docs who took care of me last spring."

"We were hoping not to see her again so soon, but at least this time it's minor," the doctor said, only half looking at Castle.

"So, you're okay?" Castle asked. He knew he sounded anxious. "The head looks good, but they didn't find any… abnormalities? And obviously there was no time for major surgery." He looked at her seriously. "You still have your spleen, right?"

Kate flashed him that smile she always got when she thought he was being an idiot. "I'm fine, Castle. Just like I said – they stitched me up, and I'm good as new. Probably won't even have a scar."

Castle looked at the doctor for confirmation. The Aryan nodded.

"She should be just fine," he agreed. "But since I know Kate here a little too well, I thought it'd be wise to give someone else the instructions for her care."

He arched an eyebrow at Kate, but she just grimaced and rolled her eyes.

"She has a concussion," he told Castle. "Nothing serious, but someone will need to stay with her overnight. No work for a couple of days, and for the next twelve hours you'll need to check her pupils every hour and make sure she's lucid. Any memory lapses, difficulty speaking, dizziness or excessive vomiting, and you're to get her back here immediately."

"Of course," Castle agreed.

He got the rest of the directions from the doctor, they filled a prescription for pain meds at the hospital pharmacy, and half an hour later they were back on the road.

"So, you still don't want me to call your dad?"

She was in the passenger's seat with her eyes closed, her hand gripping the door handle so tightly her knuckles were white.

"No, Castle – I told you, I'm fine. I'm just gonna go back to my place and get some sleep – "

"I'm sorry, you're just what?"

She opened one eye, grinning widely. Her hand loosened on the door handle. "Kidding. Man, Castle, you're a pretty easy mark when I'm bruised and battered."

His eyes widened, but he found himself at a loss for a comeback. His silence seemed to get through to her, because she got serious.

"In answer to your question – No, I still don't want to call Dad. But… I'm gonna need someone to stay with me…"

It wasn't quite a question, but the uncertainty was clear on her face.

"You could stay at my place," he said. "Spare bedroom, Jacuzzi tub, movie marathon in my home theatre…?"

She was trying like hell not to look too eager, but he could tell he had her at 'home theatre.'

"I guess that wouldn't be so bad," was what she said. To Castle, it might as well have been a ticker tape parade. He flashed her a quick smile.

"All right – my place it is."

By the time they'd swung by Kate's place to get a few things, stopped at the corner market for a little emergency ice cream, and gotten back to his apartment, it was after ten o'clock. While she put her stuff in the spare room, Castle put on some grilled cheese sandwiches and soup and piled the sofa high with pillows and blankets, then looked up when she stood on the stairs with her brow furrowed and her bag in her hands.

"Problem?"

"I forgot my pajamas. I thought I had everything, but…"

"You want me to go get them?"

She laughed. "No – that's fine."

"I could go buy a pair."

"On Christmas Eve?" Her laughter turned to disbelief. "I think I'll manage, Castle. You know, you really need to stop doing that if we're ever gonna – "

She stopped. Went red, right to her chestnut roots. Castle's eyebrows climbed clear to his hairline.

"Um – I'm sorry. 'I have to stop doing which if we're ever gonna…' what?"

"N – nothing. I mean – I just meant, you don't have to always assume buying something is the best solution. Sometimes it's the worst solution – or no solution at all. I can just… I could wear something else. Or borrow something."

Their eyes met. She was babbling. And blushing. And there was no mistaking it – If we're ever gonna… meant exactly what he thought it meant. Didn't it?

"Did you forget the part where I have a head injury?" she finished lamely.

He managed to hide his grin as he refocused on their grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Right – how could I forget? Well… All right, then, I retract the offer to buy you new PJs. You want to borrow a pair of mine or would you prefer Alexis's?"

He just barely managed to avoid doing a little dance when he heard Kate's answer, with a little silk to her tone – and he knew that wasn't his imagination.

"Yours will be fine, Rick."

Hell yeah, they would.

While Kate changed into his pajamas (now that was a phrase that should be stitched on a pillow, if ever he'd heard one), Castle put the soup and sandwiches on a tray, set up the surround sound and the projector, and cued up the movie she'd chosen. There was no wine – she did have a concussion, after all – and he skipped candles in favor of dimming the lights, but it still felt like one of the more romantic nights he'd had in a while.

Which was probably sad, but he wasn't going to analyze.

She came down a couple of minutes later in his flannel pajamas, the cuffs rolled up and the waist cinched tight, her hair down around her shoulders. There'd been this whole debate in his mind over whether or not he should sit on the sofa with her or take the chair next to it, but she sat far enough over that it was clear where she expected him to park.

"I'm not actually that hungry," she admitted once they'd sat down. The sofa was big enough that they could sit on separate ends without touching, but not so big that it felt like there was a giant chasm between them, which hadn't been planned but still worked out nicely. He nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, Doctor Mengele there mentioned you might be a little queasy. You okay?"

"I am, actually – my body took most of the beating when I fell, it was just that the scratch over my eye looked the most dramatic. I think whenever you get knocked in the head they have to call it a concussion and take the necessary precautions to cover their own asses, but… Honestly, Castle, I feel fine. Just tired."

"Yeah, well… I'd rather play it safe." He turned to her with a whole new level of anxiety when her words sank in. "Wait – your body took most of the beating? They checked you over, right? I mean… I'm no expert, but in my experience internal bleeding is almost never a good thing."

"They checked me over," she assured him. "Ultrasound and everything – no internal injuries. Everything's where it should be, and it's all in one piece." She lay her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes seriously. "I'm okay, Rick. You don't have to worry."

He scoffed at that. "Easier said than done." Their eyes held for a few seconds, her brow furrowed in concern. She really was… God, gorgeous didn't even begin to cover it. She sat with her body just barely touching his, her legs curled beneath her, a strand of chestnut hair curled gracefully over one ear. He'd never met anyone more beautiful in his life.

Her eyes slid from his and she chewed her bottom lip, a sure sign she'd caught the tension.

"So… I guess we should start the movie."

"Right! Yeah… Start the movie. You sure this is what you want?"

"Absolutely. It was kind of a tradition when I was little," she admitted. "I haven't watched in years, but my mom would rent it every Christmas Eve and we'd all curl up with popcorn and hot cider."

"Wow. That's sweet…" He considered his own Christmas traditions. "One year, Mother dressed as a naughty elf, made a double batch of red margaritas, and performed her one-woman Burlesque interpretation of the Nutcracker Suite for her amour dujour and three very sheltered classmates from the all-boys academy I was attending at the time."

Kate had just taken a sip of hot cocoa and very nearly spit it out all over both of them before she recovered.

"You're kidding," she finally said when she'd stopped laughing, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Sadly, no. Yet another image I'll never be able to erase from my mind. Trust me, there are many."

He started the movie – The Muppet Movie, no less… A long-time favorite of he and Alexis's. Kate put her arm through his and leaned into him, her head tipped to his shoulder. Castle held very still for a moment, then figured… What the hell. He shifted, pulling his arm from hers and wrapping it around her shoulders. Then, he held his breath and waited for Kate to deck him or the planets to collide.

Neither happened.

Instead, she settled in a little bit more, her head resting on his chest now. When Kermit started singing about his rainbow connection, Castle took Kate's hand. At the entrance of Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, they both began reciting memorable lines – (Castle: "I seem to have lost my sense of direction…" Kate, looking up at him with a smirk: "Have you tried Hare Krishna?"), and by the time the muppets hit Hollywood, Castle was thinking maybe he'd survive Alexis's first Christmas without him all right after all.

Kate fell asleep shortly before the movie ended. The entire left side of Castle's body had fallen asleep well before that, but he wasn't about to complain. He shifted, pushing the hair back from her face gently.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at him for a long second or two of pure, charged silence. The apartment was dark but for the Christmas lights, quiet but for the sound of their own breath and the ambient noise that never stopped in New York. Kate smiled at him, sitting up just slightly without actually putting much distance between them.

"I was just checking your pupils… The doctor said I was supposed to, remember?"

She smirked at him – which she'd been doing a lot lately. It was enough to give a guy a complex, all this Beckett smirking.

"And?" she asked.

"They look good." They looked great, as a matter of fact. He'd always admired Kate's eyes – deep and dark, fringed with generous lashes, big enough to get lost in for at least a lifetime. "Though to be fair I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be looking for."

"I think the pupils are supposed to be the same size – and that they react to the light. That kind of thing."

"Aah. Well, that clears that up." They were speaking in hushed tones, just above a whisper. Castle had the odd feeling that the moment was so tenuous, simply speaking at a normal volume could shatter it. "I guess you've been down this road before. For Kate Beckett, a simple concussion is a walk in the park."

"Pretty much," she agreed. Well, her words said she agreed. Her body language said, 'Shut the hell up and change the subject.'

Interesting. He decided to keep going, and see where it took them.

"You know, you scared me out there today," he admitted quietly.

He bridged the scant gap between them and pushed a thick lock of hair back behind her ear. There had been something different about her over the last month or so – a shift in their relationship, though neither of them had actually addressed that shift. And Kate had been unquestionably more open with him. Now, though, he saw a flash of the old Kate fear before she could lock it down.

"I know," she said, just as quietly. He expected her to change the subject. She didn't. "I saw the look on your face just before I went down. I knew what you were thinking… I was honestly thinking the same thing. I am okay, though."

"Except for the nasty gash in your noggin," he amended.

"Well – yeah, except for that."

"And the bruises… You must have some serious bruises."

"I've got a couple. I'll live."

"That's good."

Their eyes held in the dim shadows of his apartment, time suspended. He ran the back of his hand down her cheek, watching her reaction with frank curiosity. Anyone else, and he would know these cues… It wasn't like Rick Castle had never been with a woman before, after all. She swallowed, hard. He saw fear flash across her face, and knew that's what it was because he'd seen it there how many times before, at this point. But there was a difference, now.

Now, she didn't turn away.

She didn't run.

She didn't even blink.

He leaned closer. She did the same. They met somewhere in the middle, her lips softer than he remembered them. Sweeter, somehow. The kiss deepened quickly, his hand buried in her hair and his body already on fire with the need for more. When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard – he felt like he'd just run a marathon. In a really, really good way.

"Kate…"

And there it was – that damned smirk again. "Yes, Rick?" She licked her lips, slow and lazy and predatory in a way he'd only dreamed of before. He groaned.

"You… Uh. You have a concussion."

She nodded. Her right hand was on his thigh, while her left rested on his chest, her fingers fisted in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "I know," she said.

"So… While under normal circumstances, that kiss would lead to my bedroom and a night of passion that, I swear to you, would leave you weak in the knees and begging for more…"

The faintest hint of desire touched her dark eyes. But she nodded again, and then she removed her hand and moved back.

"Yeah… You're right. Sex and a concussion probably aren't the best combination – even on Christmas Eve."

They sat there for a minute of silence, a very noticeable gap between them on the sofa now. The places where her hands had been on his body were still warm, and he felt their absence more acutely than he really should have after such a short time. It was just after midnight. Ten years ago at this time, he was filling stockings and wrapping ridiculously overpriced gifts, while Alexis counted down the seconds 'til dawn.

The memory sparked something in him, the slightest tinge of melancholy that Kate seemed to notice. This time, she was the one who bridged the gap between them. She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the lips, lingering there for a second more than she really needed to, to get her point across.

"Weak in the knees and wanting more, huh?" she asked, her voice a silky whisper.

"You have no idea," he whispered back. She smiled, and he was oddly pleased that she remembered the reference.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a strong hug that she returned. Something had changed – oh yeah, something big had changed. Eventually, they'd need to have that discussion. For now, though, it was enough that she was safe in his arms and the lights were low and the apartment smelled of pine needles and Kate's subtle perfume. He stood, and pulled her to her feet.

"You should get some sleep."

"I'm supposed to be up every hour on the hour with someone looking into my eyes," Kate reminded him. Oh yeah. He'd almost forgotten about that. Before he could come up with a solution, she nodded upstairs. For the first time, he saw a trace of doubt.

"It seems silly to have you going back and forth between bedrooms all night."

It did. He waited for her to continue, unwilling to be the one to make the suggestion.

"I'm not talking about sex," she said. She licked her lips nervously. "I mean… Not that I'm not ever talking about sex. But… Tonight, maybe we could just…"

"Cuddle?" He couldn't help it – he grinned. Ear to ear. She rolled her eyes.

"You're such a child. Would that really be so bad?"

"Are you nuts?" He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and steered them both toward the stairs. "I can't think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve."

She gave him her best 'Give me a break' Beckett look.

"Okay… I can think of a few better ways to spend Christmas Eve. But this is a pretty good one, too."

They went up the stairs together. Castle still didn't know what the hell had happened, or what the hell would happen when dawn broke. For now, though, he was willing to live in the moment. With Kate on his arm and Christmas lights twinkling, snow falling heavily outside his window, it seemed like a pretty good moment to run with.

TBC