Title: It's Tradition, Bro

Disclaimer: I don't own Castle. To be honest, I don't even want to own it because the people who do are doing such a fantastic job with it that I'd hate to interrupt their process. I'll just borrow it for a while.

Summary: A murder with no leads, a Christmas with no snow, a Kate with no sense of wonder… Castle is ready to plunge heart-first into Scrooge-mode. Is there a chance to revive his holiday spirit?

Author's note: This is set in season 4, sometime between Cuffed and Till Death Do Us Part. That being said, there aren't any actual spoilers to worry about. It's just a bit of fluff from someone who loves Christmas and really would like a Castle Christmas episode sometime.

Dedication: To the enthralling Lisa (MistyMountainHop), whose help has brought this story to its full potential. Check out her own work, it's brilliant!

Thanks: To all of my fellow Castle fans, especially Ina (generaladdict), for inspiring me to write this in the first place. Anyway, enough with the rambling and on to the actual story, shall we?

It was the worst Christmas ever.

More white filled the bullpen's whiteboard than the sky outside the precinct, but Castle checked the window again with a hopeless glance. No change, and he sank deep into his chair. The chair's worn leather cushion squeaked against the fabric of his pants. An annoying sound, but not as annoying as what he'd seen outside the window.

Nothing but clear sky.

It had to be about lunch time, judging by position of the sun. He'd forgotten to take his watch from his nightstand this morning, couldn't be bothered to get his cell phone—equally as forgotten in his coat pocket. And the coat? Forgotten in the break room. Damn it... Time was passing way too slowly for his liking.

He yawned theatrically with a full upper-body stretch. The movement made his chair squeak again, twice. Squeak-a, squeak-a.

"Jeez, Castle, will you stop pouting already?" Kate shouted, and he toppled over in his chair. His crash-landing onto the floor would probably leave a bruise or two, but at least some of his manhood remained intact. The girlish shriek shooting up his throat never made it out.

Kate spared him a glimpse as he crawled back onto his chair, "That's better," before returning to her work.

He smoothed down his shirt, sat up straight. Her outburst had startled him and was only slightly his fault. Okay, mostly his fault. However, there was also the body-drop from early this morning. Nothing particularly interesting, a single gun shot wound to the chest. But today of all days—Christmas—was not suitable for dead bodies and most certainly not for body-drop calls at five in the morning. Worse, they had no solid leads to go on, and the lack of direction was definitely affecting his partner.

She stood hunched over her desk, entirely focused on the files. She read and re-read them, likely in the hope of teasing out even a splinter of information, one that could help them find the killer. The few words she exchanged with her co-workers were curt and to the point. No wasting time on idle chatter that was better spent on the case.

Her narrow range of concentration recalled the "Detective Beckett"Castle had met a few years ago, and he didn't enjoy the déjà vu. She'd always been a great cop, but there had been no balance in her life. All work and no play could gnaw at a person until nothing was left, eroding away a spirit like wind did to rock. Kate had enough cutting into her after the last year. She didn't need this no-lead case to do more damage.

She was reading documents on the computer, resting her head against her hand as if the vaccuum of evidence was too much to bear. Every once in a while, she'd glance at the murder board a few feet away, scrutinizing its mostly empty surface. Her eyes narrowed, maybe in an atttempt to sharpen her vision, an attempt to slice through the dense fog covering the case.

"They said there'd be snow," Castle said. He peered at one of the windows yet again, and the still-flakeless sight outside made his shoulders sink.

"When it all comes down to it," Kate said, "meterologists only guess. Sure, they have their scientific methods to have a better chance of being right—but it's still a guess." She angled her chair toward him by a few degrees, speaking as if he were a child asking why the sky was blue or how a ship could possibly go into a bottle. "It's called statistics," she continued. "Past is prologue. When they see weather patterns like those that have historically led to snow, they predict the patterns'll produce snow again..."

A smug, little smile ghosted over Castle's face. She might've spoke to him like a condescending school teacher, but he wasn't stupid. He had her attention now. It was the little things, the way she'd turned her chair toward him, that upward tug on the corner of her lips. Oh, yeah, she thought she was so subtle, but he spotted more than she could possibly imagine.

"Thanks, Detective," he said, "I was aware of that. But don't you feel like something is missing? The magic?"

"Snow in New York?" She raised one of her eyebrows with deliberate slowness. "Yeah, it's really magical when it turns gross after five minutes, and I slip on the damn stuff in pursuit of a suspect."

Her sarcasm slammed into his gut like a bullet train. The impact contorted his face before his glum pout reasserted itself. After all the time they'd spent together, his belief in magic should've rubbed off on her at least a little bit. Many were the moments when he thought it had, but he found no sign of his influence now.

He stood from his chair, "I'm gonna grab a coffee," and headed for the breakroom. A murder with no leads, a Christmas with no snow, a Kate with no sense of wonder... If this crap kept up much longer, he'd be plunging heart-first into Scrooge-mode.

It was almost time to head home for the day. Castle hadn't moved much during the last few hours. He still sat in the squeaky chair next to Beckett's desk. A few leads had cropped up, but Esposito and Ryan must have gone to check them out. They disappeared about an hour ago, along with Karpowski and a few other cops. The precinct had grown quiet in their absence—especially in Esposito and Ryan's. The hallways were hallways again, having been turned into their own little war zone while they battled it out with nerf guns, their Christmas gifts to each other.

Castle, though, was sad to see them go. Their departure had left him quite bored. Sure, he could've helped with paperwork, been that perfect partner he claimed to be, but he was afraid he'd fall asleep in the midst of it. And Gates probably wouldn't be thrilled to learn he'd touched any of the paperwork, either.

He'd grabbed his cell phone along with that coffee back in the breakroom, but now the phone was lying abandoned on his lap. Even Angry Birds got old after a few hours, so he watched Kate, beautiful and radiant as ever. Her loose bun was slowly coming apart, strands of hair falling over her cheeks. He adored her hair, but her eyes held most of his fascination. They were always rich with emotion, whether it was sympathy for a victim's family, her terror during that sniper case a few weeks back, or something as simple—and as disarming—as her amusement at his cheesy puns.

A piece of Kate's hair caught in her eyelash. His finger twitched, but she brushed the hair away before he had a chance. To console himself, he flicked at a stray piece of tinsel clinging to his coat. It was a poor substitute.

The snowless hours had bored him, all right, but Kate seemed happier. The new leads must have lightened her mood. Her shoulders seemed less tense, lowered to a more natural state, but they still called to his hands and begged him to knead them properly. Maybe add a bit of the Castle Special, letting his lips brush against every inch of her muscles to ease the remaining tension away away...

A sigh fell from her lips, and her shoulders relaxed further, causing him to blink a few times. He'd only imagined massaging her shoulders, right?

"Let's call it a day," she said. "I don't want you demanding a holiday bonus." Then she sat up straight and stretched her arms above her, tempting him to say the sight was all the holiday bonus that he needed.

"Oh, you couldn't pay me enough to meet my demands anyway," he said. He sounded cocky, but he considered himself lucky to be in this place—with her. Besides, he made millions with the Nikki Heat series, so most of the time he felt like he owed her something for that.

Kate smirked. "Don't flatter yourself, Ricky. This is the NYPD, not one of your book signings. They don't set your value as high as your worshippers do." The witty comebacks flew from her so easily, and he returned her smirk in kind. She'd used "they" and not "we," as if she didn't include herself among those who didn't higly value him—and that thought unleashed an army of butterflies inside his stomach.

"So," he kept his tone neutral but leaned forward in his chair, "how many of those booksignings have you been to?" He'd recognized her fandom on the first day they met. She was better versed in his work than someone who'd only seen it in book stores or read about him somewhere. Not to mention she knew his lesser writings. Only a real fan would've read those, and yet he remained in the dark as to just how deep her fandom reached. "And did you get your chest signed?" he said with an unveiled glance down her blouse.

"Yeah, right." Kate rolled her eyes at him, but as she got up, a faint blush colored her cheeks. Interesting.

He helped her into her coat, as he so often did. The act had become natural to them, a habit, and it always brought a smile to his face. But now her body moved closer to him, and her finger trailed down the length of his arm, drawing a playful swirl every once in a while.

"But, Castle," she said, "I'd like to think that you'd remember if you had signed it..." Her warm breath puffed against his lips. He could almost taste them, and—damn, every fiber of his body pleaded for her to close the last bit of distance.

But, as usual, she did the opposite and sauntered toward the elevator, hips swaying provactively. There she was, Katherine Beckett, tease extraordinaire. Her eyes spoke words her mouth was too afraid to let loose. They spoke of unquenched lust and passionate nights not yet spent together, of skin aching to touch skin...

His throat grew tight, and he tried to swallow. Her effect on him never lost its jolt. A few words from her could melt him into liquid, and those were only words. It scared him to think what her actions would do. Only partly, though. The bigger part of him was dying to find out.

"You coming?" she said, thrusting him from his reverie. He hurried toward the elevator where she waited for him. A knowing smirk spread on her lips as she let him step inside first. Then she pushed the button for the parking deck.

They were inside her Crown Vic a few minutes later and on the streets of New York. But instead of heading east to his loft, she made a turn and drove west.

"Are we going somewhere?" he said.

Only the mischevious glint in her eye offered any clue.

They fought their way through traffic in the police cruiser, an unbearable crawl. Castle always seemed to be waiting these days for what he wanted, And now, he wanted to get to wherever the hell Kate was driving them to. Despite his nagging to put the gumball on the roof and abuse her police authority a little, she flat-out refused. No surprise there. She valued her integrity as a cop and wouldn't throw it away because of his impatience.

They eventually made it to their destination, him grumbling and her ignoring it, but he climbed out of the cruiser's passenger seat in hushed awe. In front of him was The Old Haunt, covered in Christmas lights and reindeer and other decorations he couldn't recall telling his staff to hang up. The adornment was over the top and exactly the way he liked it.

But something else really blew his mind—snow. Every inch of the boardwalk belonging to him was caked in snow, white and magnificent. Some even dusted the ledges, and the tiny roof above the stairs was entirely blanketed. The street looked as if, by some unknown magic, a snow storm had blown through there and only there. Someone had even built a freaking snowman! It was perfect, and every single one of the muscles in his face would be sore tomorrow because he was grinning so widely. He just couldn't stop.

Of course, he knew the snow wasn't real. He'd kept track of the weather all day, after all, and not once had the sky looked like it was going to snow. But that fact made the fake snow on his street even better because it was just for him. His grin deepened as his left side grew warmer. Kate was standing beside him now to admire the sight. His heart skipped a beat—she had done this. She had created this Winter Wonderland... for him.

"You like it?" She sounded unusually timid, and a chuckle broke free from his throat. His laughter earned him a glare and a gentle bump of her shoulder, which he didn't mind in the least.

"You need to ask?" he said. "And here I thought you were a detective." It was easier to tease. He wasn't sure what would leave his mouth if sincerity took over, and he didn't want to scare her off. What she'd done for him was big. They both knew it. He tilted his head and quirked up an eyebrow to defuse the tension further. "Time to brush up on your observational techniques—"

"Shut up, Castle." Sarcasm tinted her voice, but a smile was fighting its way to the surface of her lips. The embattled expression super-heated his insides. Even in conflict, she was damn adorable.

His gaze returned to the snow, but his mind stayed on her. They were standing so close together, and the backs of their hands warmed each other where they touched. His finger slid between two of hers—the opportunity was too tempting to pass up—and she hooked it with her fingertips. The contact was surprisingly tender. The rest of her hand slipped over his palm and grasped it—

And a fiery red flash made her hand partially retreat.

"Richard," his mother said, red hair shining in the The Old Haunt's Christmas lights, "how much longer are you going to stand out there? I'm sure Detective Beckett is freezing." Without another word, she disappeared inside The Old Haunt. Yeah, she excelled at shattering a moment, and he yet he chuckled. She was right, too. Kate had to be freezing.

"Let me buy you a drink?" he said and moved to offer Kate his arm, but his arm found resistance. Her fingers were still curled around his. She hadn't let go. His muscles relaxed, and she allowed their palms to press against each other again. Uncharacteristic, somewhat miracle-like, and way better than linking arms. "So... that drink?"

"Only if you let me buy you one, too."

"Sure..." He winked. "But make it special."

They headed down the few steps toward The Old Haunt, but what the hell had he meant by "make it special"? It couldn't have been the first time she'd insisted on keeping a tab even—or paying for a man's drink. That was the kind of woman she was, independent and proud. Was he jealous when he thought of her with another man? Definitely, and he wanted to hit himself for it. He knew exactly what Kate would think of his territorial attitude: "How caveman of you, Ricky." Then again, she'd once said that his envy was sweet too, hadn't she?

The Old Haunt's insides were decorated just as well as its outside, and Castle leaned against the bar as his gaze wandered the taproom. The overhead lights had been dimmed, allowing floor-standing candelabra and strands of twinkle lights to do their job. Tiny silver stars were scattered on the wooden floor. They glittered festively, as did the tinsel draped over the photographs on the wall. It was the prettiest some of those famous writers had looked in a while.

The stereo system played a mix of the classics like Sinatra, Fitzgerald, and Crosby, along with newer tunes by bands Alexis had recommended. Most of the music, though, was buried beneath merry chatter filling the air.

Lanie and Esposito were among the chatterers. They occupied one of the wooden booths along the wall, entirely wrapped up in each other, and Castle watched them for a moment. Was that what he and Kate looked like when they were lost in their own world? Subtle changes of expression that spoke volumes?

Lanie and Esposito's attention broke free for a second, their eyes seeming to take Castle in before returning to each other. A brief disruption for them, but a definite signal for him to move on.

His gaze drifted to a different corner of the taproom and fell on his mother. She was swaying to Otis Redding's version of "White Christmas". A glass of red wine sloshed in one of her hands while her other held Alexis hostage around the shoulders. His daughter seemed happy, though, despite her predicament. She danced to the music, and laughter bubbled from her easily. No need for a rescue, so Castle stayed put at the bar.

The bartender passed him a cup of eggnog unasked for, but Castle didn't complain. The scent of it was less like nail polish remover than eggnog usually smelled. Someone must have spluged and bought some decent brandy. He took a sip, and the sweet taste confirmed his suspicions. Someone had spluged. The brandy used for the eggnog was more than decent. It was expensive.

Not someone. Kate. He remembered now. Apparently, the Becketts used to have a tradition of making eggnog every Christmas, and for the first time since the death of Kate's mother, they'd revived the tradition. The eggnog tasted delightful, just enough nutmeg. Thick with cream, but not too thick. And whatever brandy they'd used had to be spectacular on its own, probably a family secret—but his mind was set. He'd pester Kate until she budged and told him what it was.

It was the best Christmas ever. And for all the right reasons too. The last time he'd made such a pronouncement was the year he'd gotten Alexis one of those pony sticks. They'd spent the entire day galloping it around the loft. It had been a wonderful time, but when Alexis went to bed, the loneliness crept up on him.

Being famous wasn't always amazing. So many people claimed to be his friends, but when it came to acting on that friendship, they were nowhere to be found. This Christmas, though, he was surrounded by people who genuinely cared about him as much as he cared about them, and loneliness was nowhere to be found.

His gaze passed over his mother and daughter once more to land on the other woman he loved. She was standing in a circle with her father, Jenny, and Ryan, and sharing a story. Whatever tale it was, it seemed to be a splendid one. She used a wild array of hand gestures to help tell it, and Castle's heart warmed at the sight. She'd come so far since their first meeting. She used to be stiff and closed-off, entirely focused on her job and nothing else. But, lately, she seemed to have opened herself up.

She must have felt his gaze on her because she turned her head and met his eyes. Her latest hand gesture called him over, a playful wiggle of her finger. A few strides across the room brought him to her side, the only space he ever wanted to occupy.

"Hey," was all he managed to sputter. Oh, yeah, she reduced him to an awkward, lovesick teenager at times. Her lips quirked up in response but didn't hold, her latest failed smile indicating she'd noticed.

"Oh, Castle, by the way," Ryan said, "the apartment Javi and I got a warrant for was a gold mine. We found the murder weapon, and uniforms are surveilling the building. Our suspect wasn't there, but he won't get away now."

Castle nodded. So that was why Kate seemed at ease now. The boys must have told her the good news already.

"Come on, Honeymilk," Jenny's voice and eyes were pleading with her fiancé, "no shop talk. You promised."

She'd used Ryan's abhorred nickname, and the look on his face was priceless. The expression—caught somewhere between humiliation and shock—elicited chuckles from both Castle and Kate. But Kate being the kind soul she was put her amusement aside and helped her colleague out.

"I was just telling Ryan and Jenny here about the first time my parents took me ice skating," she said. The words fell so easily from her lips, and Castle made a mental note to get that therapist of hers a big basket filled with delicious treats, just as a thank you for all he was doing.

"Seemed like quite the story," Castle said, and he meant it. He hadn't heard the tale, but her enthusiasm in the telling, her bright expression, the way her eyes glittered in the Christmas lights—it led him to believe her story was the best one ever told. Sure, maybe he was a little biased, considering the storyteller. Nevertheless, he shared his sentiment with Kate silently, letting his eyes speak for him.

Her eyes answered in kind, and she and Castle spoke wordlessly to each other, revealing secrets their mouths could not yet confess. He became blissfully unaware of other people, of their chatter, and the Christmas music blasting through the speakers. The Old Haunt faded away, leaving only him and Kate in their personal universe, one they were both frightened of but aching to embrace.

"Mistletoe, bro."

Kate's eyes pulled away first, and the shock of their absence yanked Castle back to the outside world. He'd heard Esposito's voice, heard the words, but his mind couldn't make sense of them. Kate's father had slipped off somewhere. Jenny and Ryan were a by the bar, pretending to be incredibly distracted by a conversation with Lanie...

"You gotta take advantage of it," Esposito said. "Tradition." He nodded toward his hand. Mistleoe dangled from it, hovering a few inches above Kate's head. Castle was standing on the other side, and his pulse quickened. That tiny, parasitic, provactive plant could close the lingering distance between them—or widen it into a gaping maw.

Castle swallowed and watched for Kate's reaction. Her face was impassive—or were those hidden thoughts in her eyes? Her mind had to be in overdrive. The prospect of a mistletoe kiss had to be too much. She was going to step away second now. He mentally prepared himself for the blow, as gentle as it might've been, and glared at Esposito. Esposito's expression should've been apologetic, but the little shake he gave the mistletoe and the glance he exchanged with Lanie demonstrated the opposite.

Castle inched backward to spare Kate the misery of shooting him down, but her fingers once again curled over his palm and held him still. Her mind must have stopped racing because she was peering up at his face, her warm brown eyes taking him, a smile finally breaking free before she leaned up to meet his lips.

It was the most gentle kiss he'd ever experienced. Their lips barely brushed together, and yet the contact sent crazy tingles deep through his body. Their last kiss hadn't been anything like it, but that had been a cover. This one was real. Because this was Kate kissing Rick. Not Castle and Beckett. Not Nikki and Rook. Not partners, not fictional characters. They were real and simply themselves.

She broke the kiss slowly, as if she'd been sharing his thoughts, and pulled him into a hug. "Merry Christmas, Rick," she whispered. Her breath heated his ear, and he shivered at the sensation. Maybe her choice of words was to blame, the intimacy of her using his first name. Or maybe it was her uncharacteristic embrace, bringing their bodies close and tight together. Either way, she'd shrunk the distance between them, thawing him to happy puddle on the taproom floor.

"Merry Christmas, Kate," he whispered back.

Yup. Best Christmas ever.