Chapter 10

As Castle walked in, the first thing he noticed was the baubles strung above the window. The second thing he noticed was that he was gritting his teeth so firmly that they were almost cracking, in order not to comment. And the third thing was that Beckett was looking anywhere but at the baubles and tree – or at him.

He turned her within the crook of his arm and gently tipped her chin up. "What's up?" he asked, to no avail. Her eyes didn't meet his. "Coffee? I could really use something to drink after choir."

"Sure." She kicked her shoes off, trailed to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Castle followed, and, once she was finished with the kettle, came up behind her and pulled her back into his chest, linking his hands around her stomach.

"Snuggle in," he said comfortably. "I need a chin rest, and without those heels on you're the perfect height."

"You what now?" she sparked.

"Chin rest. You. Perfect height." He demonstrated.

"Get off!" She ducked her head away from him.

"Awww, but" –

"No! I'm not a head rest." She spun around – and Castle took full advantage to bend down and kiss her, briefly but thoroughly.

"There," he said. "That's better. Now, what's up? You looked like a bus had hit you at the end of the duet." His hands still cupped her face. "Did you sing that badly? I didn't notice, but then I was concentrating on my own perfect diction and pitch, so I might have missed it."

"I sang just fine," Beckett snipped. "It was just…"

"It was great," Castle stated. "We were great. Now c'mere so I can kiss you properly." She didn't move, but her eyes flickered away, landed on the baubles, and filled. She buried her face in his shirt, shoulders shuddering, soundlessly weeping.

"I can't do this," she sobbed.

"Do what? Because you can surely sing. Your voice is fabulous, and it's really unfair you didn't tell me you could sing and about the choir much earlier because I would have come along" –

"Christmas."

"Christmas?"

"I tried but I just can't and there's you being all Christmassy and joyful and I just hate everything about Christmas except choir."

Oh. Ah. Castle looked down at the top of Beckett's brunette head and simply cossetted for a moment, for once thinking about what he might say, rather than simply blurting out the first ten thoughts that hit his brain. In lieu of speaking, he manoeuvred them to the couch and sat down, plopping Beckett next to him and tucking her in.

"Does it matter?" he eventually asked.

"Huh?"

"Does it matter that you hate Christmas? I mean, what you do with your Christmas is up to you. If you want to have takeout and vodka with ice-cream for dessert that's fine."

Only soggy silence resulted.

"You don't have to have decorations and a tree. Anyway a real tree drops its needles and you have no idea how painful it is trying to extract needles from a screaming three-year old's feet. There's no magic in that at all. If there had been I'd've magicked up earplugs. Or anaesthetic. I did think about feeding her whiskey but Child Services wouldn't have approved."

"I guess not," Beckett managed, but it barely carried any snark.

"No. I can't imagine why. You'd have thought that an appreciation of good whiskey was a fundamental life skill – Beckett?"

She'd turned right away from him and was sobbing again.

Oh crap. He'd just hit one of her buttons, hadn't he? Her father…he thought back. Five years sober… oh, crap. He hauled her round and into his lap, cuddled her close into his shoulder and petted down her back. "I wasn't thinking of that," he said, but she only cried harder. "Please, Kate, stop crying," he pleaded, and only then realised that she wasn't pulling away from him.

"It was awful, but we fixed it, but I can't…" She dissolved again. Castle petted some more. It seemed that it was the only thing he could do, while he thought about her sobbed-out words.

"You don't have to do anything you don't wanna," he soothed. "It's okay if you don't like Christmas. Just as long as you take care of yourself."

She positively bawled. Obviously that had been a misstep too. His shirt was developing a cold, wet patch right over his collarbone.

"I want to," she sniffled, "but then I remember and" –

"And work makes you forget," he said, remembering O'Leary's words. "Because you can use all your thinking on the case, and nothing else."

"Yeah," she dragged, still leaning on him, still dripping miserably into his now-soaked shirt. "But I don't wanna any more, so I tried, but it isn't working."

"Why do you want to change? It worked for you up till now, so why do something different?"

"I just – it's been five years and I should be over it and ten since… and I have to move on."

"Yeah, but why this way?"

A protracted silence followed, but at least the dampness had stopped spreading through Castle's shirt.

"You," a very small voice emitted.

Me? Castle thought, but didn't articulate. What? He continued to pet and cosset, which seemed to be having a really good effect – or at least, was soothing Beckett out of her tears.

"You really love it all and you're so happy about it and it's just so different…" she snuffled "…and I… Mom died and it spoiled it all and I want to be happy but I just remember her and our last Christmas together." She dissolved yet again.

"Hey, hey," Castle murmured. "It's okay if you're still grieving. There aren't any rules about how you should feel or how soon." He parked the comments about his views on Christmas for later consideration, though it sounded very like Beckett was trying to change her views because of him, which was, well, astounding. "You made your soup, and you shared it with me: isn't that enough memory for now?"

"She would always make extra, just in case…she said if anyone ever came to the door hungry at Christmas then she'd have something to give them. Dad would just smile, but he never objected."

"The true spirit," Castle agreed softly.

"She gave. She was really big on giving when we were so fortunate and then she was murdered and how is that fortunate? She did everything to help people and got killed." She swallowed. "How did that help us? Dad sank his head in a bottle and didn't come out for five years and I" – she stopped, gulped again, and continued – "sank my head in work and haven't come out at all."

"But you sing."

"I could lose myself in the music and remember Mom without it being so bad." She sniffed. "I used to think maybe she could still hear it…but that was just a silly fantasy to get me through. Wherever she is, she's gone on." Tears started to trickle again. "Gone on without us. I miss her."

"Of course," Castle breathed. "Of course you do. It's okay."

"It's not okay. It's never okay. I went into Macy's on Saturday and I don't even know how I got out of there."

"Uh?"

"I was going to buy some stuff" – her eyes dropped away, skittering around and not landing on the tree or baubles – "and I went in but it was just like when we went when I was small and I couldn't bear it." She sniffed, but didn't start to cry again. "So I just came home. I didn't even unwrap the baubles I bought in Bryant Park. And then I had a lot of wine and went to bed and the next day I went to work till Montgomery threw me out." She took a deep breath. "And then I bought a wreath because I was trying."

"That was the package," Castle said suddenly. "You put it up, even though you hate Christmas. And" – he looked around – "you did unwrap the baubles, because they're there. So you are trying. And succeeding." He hugged her hard. "You are."

"I am?"

"Sure you are. Anyone who can sing the Christmas songs like you can knows more about the real meaning of Christmas than you believe. You can hear it in your voice. And you give all the time, to all the victims and all their families." His voice took on full confidence in his argument. "You give as much as your mother did, in your own way. So you're following in her footsteps – helping others, at Christmas and the rest of the year. It doesn't matter if you hang up the baubles or a wreath or decorate a tree – the real spirit is giving. Unto us a Son is given," he quoted. "It's all about giving. And you do. You celebrate Christmas just as much as – more than – anyone else."

She stared at him, reddened, damp eyes wide, hair mussed where she'd lain against his shoulder and sobbed her heart out, a pressure-patch on her cheek, red, beginning to fade; and scrubbed at her eyes, pulled a Kleenex from the box on the table and blew her nose. "Really?"

"Yes. Really." He hugged her again, and made sure that he met her eyes squarely. "Really. Please don't start crying again, Beckett. It's not natural for you to be crying. I might start crying, and then we'll really be in trouble. Your floors might flood and we'll upset the people downstairs when their ceiling collapses and then we'll be sued for damage and lose all our money and what will we do then?"

"You're insane," she managed with a decent covering of normal, though soggy, snark. "None of that is going to happen."

"You've soaked my shirt," Castle said provocatively, "so what's going to happen about that?"

She slipped off his knee, which certainly hadn't been Castle's hope, and shortly returned with a towel.

"I could put your shirt in the dryer," she offered, strangely uncertain, and handed him the towel.

He scrubbed at the shirt, achieving very little, and considered. "Okay," he said. "I think it needs dried, or I might get icicles on it as I go home. You wouldn't want my heart to freeze, would you – like Kai in the Snow Queen?"

"Not medically possible."

"You talk to Lanie far too much," Castle grumbled.

"Don't try to bamboozle me, then."

His eyes lit with appreciation for the word. "Okay, no bamboozling. How about coffee, since we never made any, while my shirt dries? I can't go out with no shirt on. I really would freeze."

"Okay."

Castle thought that Beckett sounded less miserable, and when he sneaked a glance at her, she seemed more thoughtful and less bereaved. He stripped his shirt, which sadly failed to produce any flare of desire in her face, and swapped it for the towel, which he swathed around his chilled chest. The shirt entered the dryer and started to spin around slowly, the kettle boiled and the coffee began to brew. In all that time, Beckett had said nothing, but now she had become pensive. She made the coffee, brought mugs and coffee pot to the small table in front of her couch, and poured: movements precise and controlled, and then sipped the coffee: likewise delicate, precise and controlled.

If it hadn't been for the scalding heat of the coffee, on which Castle had burnt his tongue, he'd almost think that she was perfectly restored to normal, but he knew that when something was wrong, Beckett's throat and mouth became coated with asbestos as she threw back coffee so hot it could almost be superheated steam. He put a gentle arm around her, and snuggled himself up close. She hesitated, and then nestled herself into him, curled against his side, a hand reaching out for his and finding it. Her cold fingers twined into his, but still she didn't speak.

Her cellphone cheeped, loud in the silence. Automatically, she reached for it, opened the message, and grimaced.

"What is it?"

"Ben wants us to rehearse tomorrow, on our own. Ugh."

"Yeah."

Gloom descended. Singing was all very well – and singing duets with Beckett was wonderful – but Ben had proved to be a tyrannical taskmaster, and Castle liked ease and comfort. Thinking of which…he cuddled Beckett close in, which was both easy and comforting; dropped a kiss on her hair, ditto; and then buried his nose in the dark tresses and enveloped her. She softened into him, and gave a contented little hum, then turned herself in his arm and nestled firmly into his lap, her own nose nuzzled into the join between his neck and shoulder, her arm coming around him to hold him just as close. They stayed entwined for some little time.

Beckett breathed in aroma-de-Castle: slightly spicy, totally male, and relaxed against him, cheered and comforted by his earlier words. Maybe, just maybe, she hadn't been doing everything wrong for the last ten years. Maybe, unwittingly, she'd been doing something right, even if she hadn't known it. In which case, she could take baby steps, and not force herself to feel discomfort in the name of progress.

Castle hadn't disapproved, she also realised. He'd said to do it her way. He hadn't suggested taking her shopping or produced baubles or tinsel, tutted at her tiny tree or commented on her lack of festivity. He'd…accepted. Just like he accepted calls at strange hours, sitting shotgun in her cruiser, and the appalling chair by her desk which had been all that they could find him; just like he accepted the banter – and gave it back with interest – or O'Leary's meddling. He wasn't trying to change her, as she – oh, admit it, Kate – didn't want him to change, however much she muttered darkly about his childish ways, or annoying commentary, or insane theories. She wouldn't want him to change.

Because when it mattered, he was there, doing the right thing in the right way.

She turned her head a fraction, and pressed her lips to his neck. A deep, happy noise emerged from his chest, and his hand slipped to her face, tilting it upward to meet his kiss. She leaned in, and kissed him back, deep and sure, taking his mouth as though she'd always known it would be there, waiting for her. She melted into his broad form, and let him take back the kiss, as strong and sure as she had been, and then they allowed each other to touch, and taste, and play.

"Bedroom?" Castle asked.

"Comfier. Yeah."

He swept her up, and there was no more talking, only touching, and teasing, and then triumphant climax and peaceful, close-cuddled quiet: his arm around her, her head on his chest, their legs tangled.

"The choir clapped," Castle said happily. "We must have been great."

"I don't know. I just sang. I wasn't thinking of anything else except us doing the duet."

"All I was focusing on was you," Castle admitted.

Beckett squirmed. "Um…me too." She hid her face, though Castle could feel the blush against his skin.

"We are great together. Songs – and this."

"Mmm. Yes." She snuggled up, and hugged him around the shoulders. "Do you have to go?" Underlying it, he heard I'd like you to stay.

"Yeah. I can't guarantee Mother is home, and, well…"

"I get it." She smiled sleepily. "When it's important, you do it right." Castle goggled. "What you said earlier, about giving, that was right – it really helped. You helped."

He was still digesting that statement when he arrived home, grinning like a fool.

Just over a week later, the choir assembled, formally robed and ready for the Christmas Eve service. The church was packed, but the choir, facing each other in the choir stalls, were deterred from looking around by Ben's dictatorial gaze and growl.

The candles on the altar were lit, the minister gave Ben the signal, and Ben gave the upstroke. Beckett's mezzo soared through the church, glorious and clear, summoning the Christmas story and conjuring Bethlehem on a cold winter's night, far away and long ago, but present now, here, in the small church. The rest of the choir and the congregation joined for the second verse, and when the hymn finished and the service began, a reverent hush fell. The lessons and the hymns and songs had never sounded so clear; never carried such expectancy. When the cantata began, and then within it Castle's rich, velvet baritone rang to the rafters with his solo, the glory of the Child who was awaited began to swell; and the minister's sermon was heard with awe and respect. Finally, before the blessing and the closing hymn, Castle and Beckett stood, the others stayed sitting, and the duet filled the church. Tears could be seen on some of the congregation's faces, and Ben's eyes filled. As they finished, there was utter, absolute silence, as if some greater Power was listening too.

And then it was over. The organ voluntary ushered the minister out, followed by the choir, to remove their robes and shed the reverence and glory of their songs. Castle, Beckett and O'Leary were slower to disrobe than the others, each of them lost in thought.

"There's mulled wine and mince pies in the vestry," Ben said. "Are you coming?"

"In a moment," Beckett said. Ben left, and only the three of them remained.

"That was wonderful," Castle said softly. "I didn't expect the church to be so full."

"Christmas," Beckett said. O'Leary didn't comment, shifting uncomfortably from massive foot to massive foot. She cast him a suspicious glance. "O'Leary? What did you do?"

"Nuthin'," he muttered. Beckett glared. Castle glared. "Um, well, I might have mentioned the choir to" –

"You did what?"

"An' I think they might've come," he added. "They'll be waitin' for you two to come out."

"You can go out first. Give us a minute," Beckett said decisively. O'Leary, slightly hangdog, shuffled out, and the cheerful noise level in the vestry rose noticeably.

Beckett turned to Castle, now that they were alone in the choir robing room. "That was amazing," she murmured. "I couldn't have sounded like that without you." She stretched up a little and kissed him. "Thank you."

Castle grinned. "We were superb, so let's go take our bows."

"Do we have to?"

"Yeah. C'mon."

She smiled, rather twisted. "Let's go see what O'Leary's done. I'm never going to be allowed to forget this, am I?"

"Nope."

They emerged into bedlam. As Beckett looked around, she was surrounded by – oh, hell – Lanie, Ryan, Espo – oh fuck, Montgomery – and at least two-thirds of the bullpen. All of them clamoured at her until she couldn't make out a single word. Castle stood, solid and sure, at her back. Lanie's twang soared over the hubbub.

"Thought you hated Christmas, girlfriend! What's this you been hiding all this time? Why didn't you tell me?"

Beckett looked around, at the throng of amazed, admiring looks: the warmth and the joy – and her heart soared. She took a breath.

"Shush!" she yelled, and everyone fell silent. "Ben? Where are you?"

"Here," he said. "What?" She whispered in his ear. "Okay. Colm?"

"Yeah?" Colossus asked, and bent down. Beckett whispered in his ear. "Okay," he said, and hummed.

Beckett opened her mouth, and sang.

God rest ye merry, Gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

For Jesus Christ our Saviour

Was born this Christmas Day

To save this world from Satan's power

When we had gone astray

Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

And then everyone joined in.

"You're my comfort and joy," she whispered to Castle, and stepped back into his waiting arms.

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

I don't have another Caskett story in mind yet - note, yet - but if you're missing my writing and you haven't yet tried the Casey books, Death in Focus and Death in Camera, give them a go. Search SR Garrae on Amazon.

I don't have another Caskett story on the go yet, but if you haven't ye