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Castles
firefly
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"Richard, darling. What on earth have you done to this room?"
This seems like an absurd question.
Seated on the floor, Castle straightens his back and lowers the paintbrush, his brow creasing as he takes a long, appraising look around at the dainty, freshly-lilac walls. He thinks it's fairly obvious what he's been doing, though the tone she inquired with makes his insides squirm self-consciously.
"There's nothing wrong with this room," he says, defensive.
"Well, there's nothing wrong with it," Martha says, her hands held aloft as if she can't quite believe what she's seeing, "But it's... It's - "
"It's pink!" Castle says, "Little girls like pink."
"Bright pink, dear, loud pink. This is an ambiguous, dour smudge of purple - it looks more blue than anything else." She falls silent for a moment, her arms crossed, then she points around the top of the walls, where there are several lines of curling silver words. "What's this?"
Some uncertainty creeps in here.
"I... wrote Alexis a story," Castle says slowly, tapping the bristles of the brush against the bottom wall and darkening the lilac paint there.
Martha doesn't say anything.
"I thought it was sweet," he insists, a little defensive again as his mother turns and steps across the room, over buckets and trays, newspapers and spare brushes, to read the words her son, the expectant father, has spent all day meticulously painting around the walls.
(It starts with, "There was once a dark man in a dark, dark world...")
Castle rubs the back of his wrist against his forehead and watches her, eventually returning, half-heartedly, to painting around the bottom trim. When Martha has circled the room eight times, when she's finished the story, she steps back into the middle of the room, her hands on her hips, and gives the four walls another look. Glancing up from the trim, Castle catches her eye.
"You could have let Meredith pick a better pallet," she says. There's a pause. "But it is sweet."
A small smile crosses his face.
"Well, thank you, Mother."
He continues painting.
(And it ends with a thank you, "To my little firefly, for the fires you light in my heart.")
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(A/n) For the first time in my life, I think, I have absolutely nothing to say other than I really hope you guys have as much fun reading these as I have writing them. C: I'm such a sucker for good dads doing their best. Must have been because I didn't have one of my own.
Reviews are appreciated!
-Motcn