Scarred Heart
presents:

Making Up Time

Disclaimer: I don't own Castle, any characters and or storylines involved in Castle, or ABC. If I did, I'd find a way to beat the Moonlighting curse.
Summary: Beckett hasn't celebrated Christmas in ten years. For Castle, that's too long. A little cheer there, a little humour here, and maybe even some love.

Chapter 1: Why

Castle knows that he and Lanie aren't the closest of friends. The only see each other at the precinct, or at parties he throws for his 'Gotham City' crew. Which perfectly explains why he was confused when he got a text from her early this morning.

'Come down to the morgue, writer-boy. We need to talk.' That's what it had said. Still, as he rides the elevator down, his mind is racing through wild possibilities about what she wanted to talk about. He'd guessed it would be about Beckett about a minute after getting the text. Maybe even less. He couldn't remember, exactly. It was very early in the morning. And Christmas was coming. So. Beckett and Christmas was the only logical conclusion.

He stands there. He's not quite sure why. Probably waiting for a summons from inside. It doesn't come. He waits a minute. He had thought about not coming, for a brief moment. It was one of those moments that was actually a moment long. Not coming was never an option. A chance to peel the Beckett onion was one he couldn't pass up.

"Just going to stand there, Castle?" Lanie calls from inside. "Normally you'd be in here playing with the light."

Castle chuckles, and walks in. The ME isn't working on a body, for which he is thankful. Castle wouldn't be able to see a body being autopsied this early in the morning. Not on a full stomach.

"How'd you know I was there?" he asks. Lanie smirks.

"When will you boys learn that I know everything?" she retorts, as if she is the premier authority on knowledge.

"Modest too. I'm sure your hearing is excellent as well," he replies. Lanie cracks a grin, and Castle relaxes slightly. "So why the summons? I'm guessing it's not about the case."

"It ain't. It's about Beckett. And Christmas," she replies. Score. Two for two. He's still got it.

"What about Kate and Christmas?" he asks. Lanie's raised eyebrow tells him she noticed the first name. He tilted his head.

"It's got something to do with her mother, doesn't it?" he asks, breaking the strange form of communication they were practicing.

"Yeah. If I tell you this, you won't tell her I told you, will you?" she asks, implication heavy in her tone. Castle doesn't gulp, because gulping is too cliché for a writer of his calibre. But he wants too. He really does.

"Kate isn't big on Christmas celebrations. Hasn't been for just over ten years," Lanie says. Castle is tempted to interrupt with questions and assumptions. Ten years was significant, after all.

"It's partly because her mom died in the same week as Christmas Day," Lanie continues.

Castle knows. He's read the file. Probably more times than anyone. Anyone but Kate. He knows all the facts. Back to front, all of them. He can list how many stab wounds there were, he can recite most of the timeline. Every last snippet of important information in that much-read, coffee stained, light brown file is somewhere in his head.

Christmas was coming. For him, that means childish Advent calendars for his daughter, and Christmas decorations that are decidedly not ignorable. But for Kate… Oh god. For Kate it is a reminder.

"But it's also partly because she couldn't celebrate Christmas with her family for a long time. And Christmas is a family affair for Kate," Lanie says.

Castle understands. He knows that part of her history as well. Enough time spent over take-out on late nights had often led to conversations about their pasts. What's the point of Christmas if you don't have somebody comfortable to spend it with?

"It's long past time she started celebrating again, isn't it?" Castle asks. Lanie smirks. She knew she'd made the right decision in asking Castle to help solve this particular problem.

Kate isn't gonna know what hit her, Lanie thinks as the writer leaves her morgue with ideas already dancing in his mind.

It's been a week since that day. Since that conversation. Since Castle took it upon himself to spread some Christmas cheer. He hasn't been able to touch the topic with Kate. She is tight lipped about it. So, Castle thinks of something different. Which is why he's out in the suburbs, about to knock on a blue door.

"Rick! I'm surprised to see you here," the older man says as he answers the door.

"Hello, Mr Beckett," Castle replies.

"Please, it's Jim," he replies, and they shake hands. A little stronger than Castle's normal handshake.

Five minutes later they're seated in Jim's living room, both with a cup of coffee in their hands. The writer is shifting nervously in his seat every other second, and the father is calmly watching him.

"I'm here about Christmas," Rick says eventually, breaking the silence. Jim exhales, looks down at the floor. When he looks up, his eyes are haunted.

"It's hard for Katie. Christmas… it was something she did with her mother. So much. It was a family thing for us. And the Johanna died… I don't know if you this, Rick, but I didn't… I wasn't in much of a state to look after Katie. Much less to celebrate Christmas," Jim explains. It is not just his eyes that are haunted. His voice isn't very strong. Or calm.

"I know," Castle replies softly. There is no judgement. "I want to bring some cheer back to Christmas. For Kate. And for you."

Jim looks directly at him, his eyes slightly wider than before. They settle and take on an apprehensive look.

"I just… it's Christmas. She shouldn't be working. Just because murder never rests doesn't mean she can't," Rick says. His voice isn't particularly strong either. It never is, when he is talking about Kate's pain.

"You're right. But I'm not sure you can just put the cheer back in Christmas for her," Jim replies. Castle gives a small smirk.

"I'll think of something, don't worry. But I had an idea. Even if I can't get her to celebrate the coming of Christmas time….

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Who's the gift for?" Alexis asks, startling him. He is sitting on one of the high chairs, wrapping a gift in highly multi-coloured gift-wrapping. He thinks that it has every colour of the rainbow.

"Guess," Castle replies, not looking away from his task. Gift-wrapping requires his full concentration.

"Beckett," Alexis replies instantly. He looks up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Good guess," he says simply, before looking back down. Alexis sits down opposite him, playing with a letter that was lying on the table. She doesn't open it, merely twirls it around on the smooth white of the table.

"Why are you sending Beckett a gift?" she asks, trying to keep any emotion from her face. Trying to seem blank.

"I'll be sending her a few, actually. Beckett isn't that big on Christmas," Castle replies. Alexis nods. The sentence explains everything, exactly as Castle intended.

"So you're trying to spread some cheer," she finishes. She knows how her father thinks. More importantly, she knows what he thinks about Christmas.

"Everyone should celebrate Christmas," he says, almost childishly. "It's Christmas."

Alexis grins. Her father had always been heavy on Christmas. Every year, with Advent calendars and somewhat ostentatious decorations. If you walked into the loft during Christmas time, you'd be hard pressed to find a room, closet excluded, that wasn't decorated.

"Is that the only reason you're trying to spread Christmas cheer?" she asks her father, mischievous. He looks up at her with a raised eyebrow again. This time, his gaze completely leaves the wrapping. He's finished anyway.

"And what does that mean?" he replies. Alexis smirks.

"Come on, Dad. I know that you aren't just trying to spread Christmas. That's not all this is. This is Kate we're talking about," Alexis says, her tone loaded. Castle lets out a breath.

"You're right," he admits after a moment of silence. "It's more than just cheer."

She smirks again. Of course she's right.

"Wanna go into a bit more detail there, vague one?" she asks. She knows she's poking at him. She's curious though. She knows that her father feels something for the good detective. She wants to know how deep these feelings run.

"I… I can't bear watching her wade through unhappy memories," Castle says. His voice is soft. Not soft, quiet soft. Soft, gentle soft. It's weak. Not all quiet and meagre. Just weak, like it could break at any moment when talking about this.

"So you're going to help her make new memories," Alexis surmises. Castle nods slowly. "There's more, isn't there? There's something you aren't telling me. You said you were happy with what you had with Kate."

Her voice trails off slightly at the end. He can read the question between the words and her tone. There is a pregnant pause. Castle alternates between looking speculatively at his daughter and out the far window, at the rain coming down from the sky.

"I love her," he whispers finally. The words are so quiet and yet, Alexis hears them perfectly. She expected her father to use his wordsmith skills, to say as much without saying those three words. That he couldn't, or wouldn't, was big on its own.

"That's… that's something," she replies. He nods. He knows. He's been carrying around.

"You're good with words, Dad. But I think you might have a chance to show her. Really show her. It is Christmas time, after all," Alexis says, smiling.

AN:

The usual. Review, if you can. I appreciate all comments, from writing tips, to plot errors, to typos. The lot. If you want to tell me you hate it, please tell me why as well.