The loft was silent as he shut the door behind him.
He ought to be sitting at brunch, sipping mimosas with his mother and daughter as the Christmas crowd bustled around them, credit cards humming in his wallet, ready for a day of shopping. And Kate was supposed to have the day off. Two Saturdays before Christmas. Their first married Christmas. This was supposed to be the day Christmas magically materialized inside Big Brown Bags and very small boxes. It was a day of make-up counters and fitting rooms, gadget stores and bookshops, and that amazing wine store on Lafayette.
He padded through to the kitchen aiming for a coffee to drown his sorrows, remembering the string of excuses he had heard since he had awoken this morning.
Alexis had panicked about a last-minute project due Monday. His mother called an emergency rehearsal because Friday's run of "A Christmas Carol" had been "an abysmal failure" with her students. At least Kate had made it to brunch, but she left him at the restaurant before they had even ordered when she was called to the precinct.
"Go finish the trains. We can still roast marshmallows in the fireplace tonight. Besides, Christmas doesn't have to be about shopping."
Was this how it would be from now on, every body drop like a punch in the gut?
As if being kicked out of the precinct for the foreseeable future hadn't been bad enough, Kate always worked Christmas Eve. The past two years she had managed to be off Christmas Day, but last week she had mumbled something about having to pay Karpowski back. She had sworn she would have some shopping time during the holiday season, but as he finished frothing the milk for his latte, his faith in her dedication began to falter.
The towering, ornament-laden Frasier fir twinkled mockingly at him from the living room.
He rounded the counter to head for his laptop, where he could at least get some writing accomplished and possibly hit Amazon or ThinkGeek for some online gift finding. The buzz of a text from his phone halted him mid-stride to retrieve it from his pocket.
"Sorry about getting called in. Go look under the tree."
There was a small pile of presents already approaching the edge of the felt and satin tree skirt. He used his free thumb to type a response.
"No early present-opening allowed. You know that."
"This isn't a present."
Fine. Now he was intrigued.
Kneeling before the fragrant fir, he scanned the boxes, most of which he had wrapped himself. Apparently all the women in his life liked to wait until the last minute.
A sparkling gold envelope inscribed with "Castle" in Kate's distinctive lettering sat on top of the box that contained Kate's "Nebula Nine" signed commemorative plaque. Another buzz sounded from the phone in his hand.
"Open it."
Sliding a finger under the sealed flap, he couldn't help the little flutter of excitement in his chest at the prospect of a surprise.
A single sheet of cream-colored paper was tucked inside. He unfolded it to find a whimsical script printed in black ink.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung BY THE CHIMNEY with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
Okay, "The Night Before Christmas." He felt around in the envelope and found a Polaroid picture, probably from the camera he had given her last year. The image was of his own fireplace.
Turning his head to the left, he felt his phone buzz again.
"Have fun."
What the hell?
Castle's knees popped as he rose from the floor, coffee mug now forgotten beside the boxes.
Another gold envelope was peeking from the top of his otherwise empty stocking.
This time he tore through the flap to find another folded piece of paper with a photo tucked inside.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of SUGAR-PLUMS DANCED in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
And pictured was the unmistakable white-columned facade of Lincoln Center.
Thumbing the message one-handed, he set both envelopes and their contents on the granite island and went back for his mug.
"But am I supposed to -
His iPhone buzzed again before he had finished typing.
"You're a mystery writer. Figure it out."
Okay then.
He took a long swig of caffeine and returned to the clues she had left him.
Sugarplums… Lincoln Center… New York City Ballet Nutcracker.
The resounding snap of his fingers and little victory shuffle didn't seem to impress the trio of snowmen that smiled up at him from the center of the kitchen counter.
Stuffing the papers back into their envelopes with their corresponding photos, he crossed to the door and slipped on his wool overcoat. Another vibration from his pocket interrupted his scarf wrapping.
"Check your iTunes."
Jogging to his office, he snagged the ear-buds out of his top drawer and scrolled through his playlists.
Listen to Me
Clicking obediently, a broad grin spread across his cheeks as the first jaunty piano notes from the "Linus and Lucy" theme from "A Charlie Brown Christmas" filled his ears.
The attendant was just sitting down at her perch inside the box office of the Koch Theater when Castle trotted up at 10AM. "Janice," as her nametag identified her, simply raised an eyebrow and handed over the now-familiar gold envelope when Castle asked if anything had been left for him at Will Call.
The first thing he found inside was a smaller ticket envelope containing tickets to the Nutcracker. Five tickets. For 2pm on Christmas Eve.
"Taking both days off. Forgive me for today?" was scrawled on the back of the final ticket.
Warmth bloomed up his spine and he pulled out his phone to type.
"Best Christmas present ever."
Her answer was almost immediate.
"Just you wait."
He opened the next clue.
When OUT ON THE LAWN there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The photo was taken from the top of Belvedere Castle, looking out over the expanse of the Great Lawn at 79th street in Central Park.
It was a gorgeous day. He could use the walk.
A very synthesizer-heavy version of "Carol of the Bells" was rolling through his head as he climbed the steps to the uppermost lookout in the castle. Scanning the tiny room, he doubted he would miss the bright metallic rectangle, but there was nothing. Looking up at the ceiling, behind old fixtures, still no clue.
He felt an overwhelming sense of defeat as he sent the text.
"I'm afraid someone took the next one."
He made another visual sweep, and offered to take a photo of two well-dressed Japanese tourists looking out over the Great Lawn from the same vantage as his own Polaroid.
"Too much texting, not enough hunting," came her reply.
He rolled his eyes. Fine.
But where…
His eyes narrowed in the direction of the round window. As the tourist couple headed back down the narrow stairs, he stepped over and peered through the glass.
There was no glass in his clue photo.
He was in the wrong spot.
Nearly toppling another group of tourists on his way down to the level below, he burst out on to the little square observation turret, open to the air on all sides.
Still nothing. The key connection he must be missing tingled at the base of his brain.
It was not outside the realm of possibility that some tourist or local had come upon a fancy Christmas envelope and absconded with said souvenir.
But Kate would know that.
As he leaned against the rough stone ledge overlooking the turtle pond, and the Lawn beyond it, he dropped his head, and then he saw it. The golden edge was peeking up just below him, taped to the outside wall of the turret.
Genius. Of course, no one could see it from inside, so no one would steal it.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a MINIATURE SLEIGH and eight tiny rein-deer,
The photo showed one of the Central Park carriages, obviously done up for Christmas. It had a bright red facade, strung with hundreds of tiny white lights, and the horses wore jingle bells on their harnesses and bridles.
Kate had refused multiple attempts to let him take her on a carriage ride through the park, claiming it was for "tourists and saps." Hmm.
Castle headed for 79th street, trying to decide on his route to Central Park South, where the carriages would be lined up waiting for riders. Just as he was considering whistling for a cab, he heard the unmistakable clack of hooves on pavement, accented by a riot of chirping jingle bells.
"Lookin' fuh sumpthin'?"
Turning, Castle found the source of the horses and the Brooklyn accent. The driver of the carriage pictured in his photo was dressed in a bright red Santa suit, but he had foregone the hat and beard in favor of a Mets cap minted for their last World Series win and a day's worth of stubble.
Closing the distance between them, Castle walked alongside the ambling ponies.
"I think so? I'm Rick Castle. Did someone leave one of these," he held up his most recent envelope, "for me?"
He laid a hand over the neck of the horse nearest him and gave her a pat as the driver halted the horses and thumbed back over his shoulder.
"Hop in. It's on yer seat."
As he clambered up and settled himself on the leather cushion, his new friend whistled to his team and headed east on 79th.
"I didn't think you guys came up this far?"
"Mista Castle, you evah seen that wife a' yours? I'da flown Lucy an' Ethel to the North Pole fuh that smile. Lucky bastard. How'd you get so lucky, anyways?"
He couldn't help the smile that flashed bright across his face. It still sent little fizzing goose bumps up his spine to hear people call her that.
"I ask myself that every day."
Tearing the gold paper, Castle uncovered the next verse of the poem:
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be ST. NICK.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
Well, "St. Nick" was certainly not referring to Mr. Brooklyn. The photo showed what appeared to be the dome inside a church.
"So, where are you taking me, anyway?"
"Your lady said you had tuh figure that out."
Of course she did.
St. Nick. There must be at least one St. Nicholas cathedral in Manhattan other than the Greek orthodox one destroyed when the Towers fell on 9/11…
His Google search brought up two more, one so far north that not even a full-blown sparkler from Kate would ever tempt his driver to go. But the second was a Russian Orthodox cathedral just off the park at 97th. A closer look and one of the images matched her Polaroid.
Bingo.
Fred had told him most of his life story by the time he dropped Castle off in front of the scaffolded grey facade - the man was definitely worthy of a character in the next Heat novel, possibly a recurring one. The Santa in question turned back with a mischievous wink as Castle dug in his wallet for cash.
"No charge. Detective Beckett took care of it. Yer on yer own from here, though, Mista Castle. An' from what yer missus said, you've got a ways ta go."
"Wait, you know where I'm going?"
He hadn't meant to sound quite so needy, but how many places was she sending him, anyway?
"Donchu worry, she said yer smart enough to find 'em all. See ya next time."
He handed Fred a $20 as he hopped down.
"That's for Lucy and Ethel."
"Much obliged."
Turning toward the church entrance, he stopped in his tracks and spun back.
"Wait, next time?"
But Jake and his girls had already trotted off toward the park. Onward and upward, he climbed the stone steps beneath the awning labeled "15 East 97th Street."
Just inside the notice-covered door (all in Cyrillic, of course), the inky darkness left his glare-accustomed eyes mostly blind, making his first impression all the more dependent on the sweet plume of incense that flooded his nose.
A narrow face, features sharply creased by time and disposition, peered out from the doorway to his left.
"May I help you?"
The slight accent crisped her consonants.
"I hope so. Did someone leave a gold envelope for me?"
Stepping closer, he saw stylish black frames around significant lenses, impeccably parted silver hair, and knife-sharp collar creases bracketing the distinctive three-barred gold cross.
"Well, that would depend on who, exactly, you are."
How could five feet of septuagenarian inspire his sudden straightening of spine and shoulders?
"I'm Richard Castle... ma'am."
The gathered purse of her lips bowed up at the corners.
"Then your wife would be the lovely Katerina."
Her eyes seemed to soften as she reached behind her into what appeared to be an office and produced another envelope.
"Here you are. A service is nearly finished. If you like to wait, you may see inside."
Though his carriage ride had been slower than public transit, and from what Fred had said he probably had a lot more ground to cover today, he felt that this woman's invitation was not something offered lightly to outsiders.
"Thank you. I'll just open this while I wait."
"You may sit there," she turned her hand over, the cup of her palm directing him to a heavy wooden chair off to one side of the large doors leading into the nave.
"Katerina said I should remind you to look, don't touch."
He smiled sweetly through his glare, and nodded gingerly.
Pulling out his phone, he thumbed the screen to life to tell her just what he thought of her little warning.
"And no telephones allowed."
His head snapped up to see lowered eyebrows looming in his direction, quickly stuffing the offending device back in his pocket.
Opening the envelope, he found an old fashioned ticket, with the hand-written words: "Good for one Christmas night special. -Fred."
So that was "next time." Kate must have changed her mind about the touristy uselessness of carriage rides.
His next stanza was just a list of all the reindeer.
Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and VIXEN!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!
Hmm. But there were no actual reindeer in Manhattan, not even in the Rockettes Christmas show - he had checked every year. All for Alexis, of course.
The Polaroid showed the front entrance of the St. Regis, a straight shot down 5th avenue from the cathedral.
Just as he closed his eyes to puzzle out this latest clue, the doors opened and the worshipers filed sedately out. Several gentlemen with impressive beards and ladies wearing hats were the last to step through the doors. He could imagine them all climbing into more sedate versions of Fred's rig for the ride home over 100 years ago.
Before he had time to fully indulge in his time travel fantasy, Elena appeared beside him and with a glare remarkably similar to his wife's, cleared her throat and inclined her head toward the now vacant main room of the church.
Castle rose and stepped inside, where he was immediately struck by the depth of color highlighted by the warm glint of gold. Every surface, every wall glowed. His toe caught in the thick carpet of the center aisle, nearly tripping him as he craned his neck to take in the towering stained glass windows on either side.
When he reached the transept, his eyes were drawn upward again, and this time he couldn't suppress the quiet, "Wow."
The dome above him matched his Polaroid, but two dimensions couldn't possibly do the painting justice.
"Some have said it is the most beautiful dome in America."
Elena had crept silently up to his shoulder, and now she joined him in his upward gaze.
"I'm no expert, but I'd have to agree."
"Katerina said you would like it. Also, she thought you might like the crypt."
His head snapped around to find her heading down a side aisle toward an ornate wooden door. When she reached it, she produced a key from her pocket and turned back, quirking an eyebrow at him.
He was stepping behind her into a tiny hallway in ten seconds flat, practically bouncing on his toes as they descended the steep stone steps. The air temperature dipped as the humidity climbed, until he found himself face to face with the veined marble likeness of a saint, standing guard outside a dimly lit alcove.
"You are a mystery writer, yes?"
She ushered him inside what appeared to be a tomb, curving stone walls lined with buffed brass plaques.
"Yes."
Stuffing his hands deep in his pockets to keep his promise of not touching, he scanned the names. Most were Russian with some Eastern European mixed in.
"You will like to use this for your next book."
Turning toward a creaking noise, he watched Elena swing open a low door, previously hidden behind a tapestry that was now draped to one side.
She motioned for him to come closer, but when he started to duck through, hairs raising down the back of his neck, eyes practically bugging out of their sockets in excitement, her fingers closed viselike over his shoulder.
"Only look. Katerina said she will bring you back later to explore. You have places to go today."
Did everyone know where he was headed but him?
He could see a bare bulb on one curving wall, filling the passageway with orangey light until the turn in the path hid the rest from view.
A low growl escaped as he stepped back, following Elena back up and out to the front door.
What other stop on his list could possibly be better than a secret passageway?
A quick trip down 5th on the M2 bus took him to the Saint Regis. His thoughts were buzzing with possibilities for Nikki's underground adventure. He was considering the merits of bleeding over into the sci-fi genre for a little time travel as he approached the main entrance and threaded his way through a crowd on the sidewalk.
It wasn't until he heard a pair of emphatic snuffs that he realized the focus of the throng of people, most of them with children on their shoulders.
Giant furry antlers.
Stopping dead in his tracks, he stared wide-eyed at this holy grail of Christmas magic.
Real. Live. Reindeer.
Vixen and Blitzen were holding court in midtown Manhattan.
And from the breast pocket of the taller of the two handlers shone a golden paper edge.
He made his way along the wall, closing in on the elf-costumed lumberjack, who had a few inches on Castle in height and biceps girth. Exactly who would one hire to be a reindeer handler, anyway? Job qualifications probably included barehanded reindeer wrestling.
When he finally broke through the tourist horde to get a spot at the rope line, Castle raised a hand, waved it in the direction of Reindeer Dude Number One. No acknowledgement. This guy was all business, scanning the crowd for line-jumpers, tending the press of wriggling children who leaned ever closer over the rope, eyes alight with joy.
"Ahem." Castle tried clearing his throat with another wave. Still nothing.
So he went with plan c, arguably not the most well thought out strategy.
He whistled.
Loudly.
Apparently Santa whistled in the poem for a reason.
Two chandelier-topped heads swiveled around, liquid brown eyes zeroing in on Castle as steam snuffed from matching wide, furry snouts.
Reindeer Dudes One and Two eyed him with similar intensity, flannel-clad arms uncrossing from their chests in perfect synchrony.
Crickets. Pins dropping. How was there suddenly not a single squealing child or honking cab?
Castle tried for a disarming smile and a repeat of his earlier wave. Third time was the charm. Reindeer Dude One strode over, pointy green felt shoes jingling with each step across the cold cement of the sidewalk.
"Can I help you?" he bellowed.
Pointing at the man's pocket, Castle went with charmingly confused.
"I think that may be for me?"
RD1 raised an eyebrow as he looked Castle up and down, and then back up again.
"You Rick Castle?"
He wasn't all that sure he wanted to be, as RD1's shadow eclipsed the stream of sunlight slashing between high rises.
"Uh, yes?"
Where was his police squad when he needed them?
And then RD1's face broke into a broad grin.
"Get outta town! You look taller on the back of your books." The good-humored smack to Castle's shoulder reverberated in his teeth. "My mom loves you."
The breath he hadn't realized he had been holding whooshed out.
"When she thought you killed that Storm guy off, I heard about it non-stop for weeks. She swore she was never gonna read another thing you wrote. Thank god for Nikki."
His bristled brows bowed skyward as the man genuflected, then shifted his focus back to Castle.
"When your wife asked us if we'd keep this for you, first we said no - against company policy." He slid the envelope out, glowered as he held it an inch from Castle's nose. "But then she said your name, and I saw her badge, put two and two together..." Suddenly RD1 ducked his head, leaning in and lowering his voice. "Do you think I could get your autograph?"
A "Rick Castle" bookmark and a black sharpie materialized from some hidden pocket.
"Sure. Who should I make it out to?"
When he flipped the tasseled rectangle, he saw "Nikki Heat" already written in Beckett's loopy handwriting. He would be filing that one away for future harassment purposes.
"Gertie Anne. That's 'Anne' with an 'e.'"
Castle traded the signed likeness from his last book jacket for the envelope with a smile, reaching out to shake RD1's hand. Instead of the crushing grip he expected, Castle got a tug into a bone-crunching bear hug. On releasing him, the smiling giant lifted the rope and nodded in the direction of his two charges.
"You ever met a reindeer?"
"I can't say that I have," Castle smiled.
"Well, come on then."
He ducked under to a muffled grumble from the queue.
After learning that domesticated reindeer don't mind a little nose rubbing, Castle had posed for a quick photo with the two animals and their handlers and reluctantly exited the display. And he had certainly not squealed like a little girl when Blitzen licked his hand. That had been some actual little girl behind him in the crowd. Right.
The next clue had him jogging across the 34th street heliport, pictured in the photo that accompanied his verse:
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane FLY,
When they meet with an obstacle, MOUNT TO THE SKY;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
The tinkle of a bell sounded when he pushed open the glass door, and a flash of Clarence and George Bailey made him smile. A disembodied voice sounded through a door to his left.
"Just a sec - I'll be right there."
The tiny office was strung with multi-colored lights, and a miniature tree leaning slightly to the left stood sentinel in the corner.
A mustached man in denim overalls appeared, stirring a steaming mug as he crossed to the counter.
"Sorry about that - Jeanette is out today. Can I help you?"
"I hope so. I think someone may have left an envelope for me."
"Hmm. Jeanette would be the one to know about that kind of thing. I'm not much of an office person, but let me see. What did you say your name was?"
Setting his coffee down, the man ducked and began pulling open drawers.
"Rick Castle."
On the fourth or fifth drawer, he reached inside and drew out a box with a gold envelope taped to the top.
"I guess that's an envelope. Come to think of it, I remember the lady that dropped this off. She a friend of yours?"
He set the package on the counter and Rick wasted no time ripping through the paper.
"You could say that. She's my wife."
His lips curved up at the man's answering whistle.
The package held a new remote controlled helicopter, but Castle withheld his victory dance in favor of maintaining his manly image in front of a stranger. Kate had sworn he would never be allowed to have another when he drowned the last one in her bathtub… while she was in it.
The envelope on top held his next clue and a smaller envelope containing a voucher for... a moonlight helicopter ride for two?
Warmth bubbled up in his chest, his heart clenching hard with the sudden rush of emotion. Grand gestures were not Kate's thing. But they were his.
This wasn't a scavenger hunt for Christmas presents, it was a quest for an entirely different sort of gift: time. Kate had remembered every sappy, cheesy, romantic thing he had ever suggested they should do, and come up with some of her own, and strung them together into his own perfect holiday trek across Manhattan.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Rick blinked back the moisture that was blurring his vision and looked up, stuffing papers and envelopes into his already overflowing pockets.
"No, no, I think I've got everything I need."
Tucking the boxed helicopter under his arm set off a cascade of falling paper from one pocket of his coat.
"I think I've got a bag around here somewhere."
"Actually, that would be great."
As he handed over a red drawstring bag with: "Runways are for beauty queens," printed in white, the man held it open for Castle to drop all his goodies inside.
"Thank you again so much. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
Rick held out his hand to shake.
"I'm Reggie."
The calloused hand clasped firmly around his, and the man's jacket split to show a pair of dog tags strung around his neck.
"You don't happen to be a -"
"Pilot. Yes, I fly that bird right outside. Usually do the moonlight bookings, too, so I'll be seeing you and your lovely lady again."
Half an hour and one hotdog, extra onions, later, Rick stood on the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ice-cold wind whipping at his hair, and scanned the wood-planked patio. The cafe was sealed up tight for the winter season, white wire chairs stacked in a corner under a vinyl drop cloth. In warm weather, this was the home to a large and usually avant-garde sculpture exhibit, one of his must-see destinations every summer.
The shivering docent he had coaxed into accompanying him up here cleared her throat from the door.
"Just a minute - I promise," Castle assured her as he began to walk the perimeter of the space, hunching inside his coat to fend off the fierce gusts that blew unobstructed by buildings, glancing down at the Polaroid and verse in his hand.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard ON THE ROOF
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
The smooth, painted metal of the railing chilled his ungloved palm as he looked down into the neatly trimmed evergreen hedge circling the rooftop garden. He was standing just where she would have been to snap the photo of the iconic view of Manhattan high-rises ringing Central Park, lined up like unruly fence posts hemming in the city's front lawn.
But his trick from Belvedere Castle didn't work a second time; there was no envelope stuck down on the other side of the railing.
"You looking for this?" the docent's voice rang out behind him.
Twisting back toward the door, his eyes followed the pointing finger of the docent, and he caught sight of a gold corner sticking out of one of the wooden supports for the arbor covering the bar area.
Of course. That was the spot where they had gotten tipsy on good champagne and made out like teenagers one sweaty summer night at the start of her suspension. He had found tiny splinters down his neck and arms for weeks afterward, but the chance to misbehave together with her, sun-kissed skin barely covered by those teenie-weenie jean shorts and halter-top, had been so worth it.
"Ah hem."
More throat clearing from the docent.
He snagged the clue and smiled a thousand-watt thank you at his guide, following her in and down the elevator. Stopping near the base of the towering Christmas tree in front of the medieval choir screen, he opened his envelope.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A BUNDLE OF TOYS he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
The photo of the cube-like facade of FAO Schwartz, windows festooned for the holidays, sent him off down Fifth Avenue yet again.
He was slightly disappointed that he didn't have to go inside to find the next verse - one of the toy soldier-costumed doormen had the envelope tucked into his belt. He also produced a tiny stuffed lion, seemingly out of thin air.
The envelope contained an online order printout showing a photo of the "35 inch Big Lion," with Kate's handwriting at the bottom.
"A peace offering for Linus. I would have loved to see you haul him around Manhattan, but you've got an appointment to keep. He'll be waiting under the tree on Christmas morning."
Huh. Giant stuffed animal. Not usually Kate's thing.
Flipping to the next folded page, he found his verse:
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The photo of Macy's at Herald Square was accompanied by a second image, this time of Santa himself. Written in red marker across the white edge of the photo was the time "4:30" in large block letters.
Pulling out his phone, he saw it was already almost four.
Waving a quick "Thank you" to the toy soldiers, he tucked the tiny lion in the breast pocket of his coat and crossed Fifth Avenue to catch a cab heading downtown.
Fifteen minutes later, traffic had him wishing he had walked the handful of extra blocks and taken the subway. His phone buzzed with a text message, but instead of Beckett, he saw an unfamiliar number. Thumbing in his passcode, he found an alert.
"Macy's SantaLand Express Pass: It's almost time for your visit with Santa! Come to the 8th floor, SantaLand Express Check-in at 4:30."
Scanning for a street sign, he saw he was still five blocks uptown on Fifth. He pulled enough cash from his wallet to cover the fare and a generous tip and called to his cab driver.
"I'm going to walk the rest of the way."
"Your choice, mistah."
The cabbie took his money as Rick slid his arm through the straps of his red bag, filled with his collection of papers and the toy helicopter, and opened the door to the cacophony of car horns and swirling wind.
Almost 14 minutes later, he nearly toppled over a four-year-old dressed in her Frozen princess dress in his hurry to exit the elevator on the eighth floor of Macy's.
The last time he had been to SantaLand, he had brought Alexis and Paige, and waited almost two hours to have a photo with the man in red. The girls, understandably cranky after such a long line, had perked up at the prospect of candy canes and told the bearded elf the contents of their Christmas lists, but he had vowed from then on they would find a better Santa with a smaller line.
But as he approached the Express Pass Check-in, he was pleased to see an iPad displaying an organized list of visitors, with "Rick C." listed near the top.
He had half expected to find his next clue waiting with the desk attendant, but the jingle bell on her red hat tinkled jauntily as the woman shook her head - nothing left for him there.
When his name came up, he found himself mildly embarrassed to be walking up to the velvet-and-faux-fur-clad gentleman without the benefit of an adorable five-year-old as his cover story. He gave the bearded man his most disarming smile as he approached.
"Well, hello there, Rick. I've been expecting you."
"You have?" Rick asked, as he breathed a small sigh of relief.
"Of course. Have a seat right here."
Santa's glove-covered hand directed Rick to the "parent stool" just off to his left. At least he would be spared the humiliation of sitting on this guy's lap.
"I hear you've been on quite a hunt today. Have you found what you've been looking for?"
The blue-gray eyes framed by unruly white eyebrows had a certain… twinkle about them.
"I haven't missed a clue yet, ten so far."
The rosy cheeks peeking out from their fringe of whiskers pinched up in a broad smile.
"And I have number 11 right here," he pulled a gold rectangle from the bag beside his chair and held it out to Castle. "But Ricky, what I meant was, have you found what you really want for Christmas this year?"
His eyes narrowed at the older man, whose whole expression seemed to have sharpened, boring into his soul…
The photographer chose that moment to interrupt with a cue to smile, and Rick defaulted to his best media persona, pasting on his camera face.
As his eyes recovered from the industrial flash, he blinked in Santa's direction. He had found exactly what he wanted most for Christmas. If his non-shopping trek through the city today had taught him anything, it was that the thing he missed most about his planned shopping extravaganza with his family was not the slotted slide of plastic or the jumpy flourish of the electronic pen, but the time itself.
He wanted time with Kate, with his daughter and mother. Time to appreciate everything he had been given back when he returned to them after months away. Time to make them understand how much he appreciated that no matter what the evidence said, they had never given up on him. Time to show his wife exactly what it meant to him that she had stood with him, held his hand, made those vows, even if he was still missing a chunk of his life he might never get back.
But rather than the whisker-framed, soul-searching gaze he had seen only seconds before, when Castle looked at the costumed man sitting in the gilded chair, he saw only the wink of a veteran actor, the nod of someone familiar with playing a role in front of the camera.
Shaking his head, he rose from the stool, crossed back to the elevator and rode down without a glance at the next clue. For just a moment back there, he had been sure – but no, Kate would say he was crazy.
It wasn't until he reached the cologne sprayers on the first floor that he pulled himself out of his thoughts, slid his thumb under the thick flap and read the next verse.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a BOWL FULL OF JELLY.
The photo showed the rainbow-covered glass walls of Dylan's Candy Bar. Just down the street from Serendipity, and across the intersection with 60th from Bloomingdale's, Dylan's was a well-known destination since they opened their doors when Alexis was seven. It was another place Kate had yet to visit with him.
Still not fully back to himself after his stare-down with Santa, he flagged down a cab and rode in relative silence along the almost 30 blocks to his next stop. Pushing through the doors, he headed for the checkout counter, halted mid-stride as a flock of five-year-olds already covered in chocolate from dipping treats into the fountain had been herded through toward the exit.
A few minutes with a chipper, black-shirted staff member left him with an envelope and a bowl-shaped container of jellybeans. This time there was a business card for Dylan's Corporate Events tucked in with the next clue, with a note attached.
"Paula promises to book your next launch party here. I'll even be your date."
He dug for his cell phone and typed the text with trembling hands.
"HOW DID YOU DO THAT?! I HAVE BEEN TRYING FOR TEN YEARS!"
Her answer came almost immediately.
"I have my ways. Keep going, Candy Man. More stops to make."
Scanning the next verse, he stepped back into the sea of shoppers on 60th.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A WINK of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
The photo showed a storefront in SoHo not too far from the loft. He thought he remembered Alexis mentioning shopping at "WINK," but he couldn't remember what sort of clothes they sold.
After the cab fiasco on his last trip downtown, he decided to take the subway, walking along 59th, skirting the south end of Central Park. As Castle passed the line of carriages, he grinned when he caught sight of Fred in the distance, his strings of Christmas lights twinkling in the gathering dusk.
The final notes of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" in the Indigo Girls' plaintive, sorrowful harmony echoed in his ears. Though he had paused the music for his stop at the cathedral, the playlist had otherwise provided the perfect soundtrack. An unfamiliar tune started up, a mellow contralto singing about Christmas time in the city that reminded him to throw something in the next caroler's guitar case he passed.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled open the glass door to find a pair of very helpful employees standing before a white wall filled with huge pink block letters, spelling out quotes from famous women. Both of them looked him up and down with little knowing smiles playing across their lips. They had his envelope, along with a very small wrapped box, ready to hand over as he finished the last syllable of his name.
Something told him they knew too much about… something. He turned to leave, planning to open the box and clue out on the sidewalk, when the one on the right - Shayla, Leyla… Kayla - piped up.
"It's gotten awfully cold outside, Mr. Castle. Are you sure you don't want to stay in here while you open everything?"
If his instincts had suggested a swift exit before, now they just screamed, "flee." But Misty and Kayla had been helpful, did this favor for Kate. He wouldn't want to snub them now. Turning back to face them, he eyed a pink chair off to one side of a display of chunky metallic necklaces and matching bracelets.
"That's probably a good idea. I'll just have a seat so I don't drop anything."
Their eyes moved in sync to follow him to his perch, then dropped to the table of merchandise before them just as he turned to sit.
Sliding his finger quickly under the flap, he nearly gave himself a paper cut from having his attention focused on the Bobbsey Twins. Inside was his verse and a small folded card with "WINK" printed in pink on the front.
"You pick the week."
Cryptic.
A glance up showed the two women straightening the already perfectly arranged earrings laid out in the case before them. Blushing.
Ripping through the pink paper on the small box, he lifted the cardboard lid and pushed the tissue paper out of the way to find… panties?
Lots of panties.
Seven pairs, to be exact.
Labeled with the days of the week.
On closer examination of "Monday," he realized these were not just the regular bikinis Kate normally chose.
These were itty-bitty, completely see-through...
A titter of laughter had his head snapping up to see two very busy employees dusting the glass shelving facing the opposite wall.
...thongs.
He tried to release the pair he had held up for inspection, but the strings and gauzy fabric had somehow twisted around his knuckles, and soon he was shaking his hands attempting to fling the offending garment off his fingers but utterly failing because this attack underwear had formed knots any sailor would covet and they would not come-
It wasn't entirely clear to him how the sparkly emerald green scrap of satin ended up across the room, dangling from the end of Misty's feather duster, but her broad grin never faltered as she sashayed over to where he sat - frozen in the overstuffed pink velour armchair - and slid "Monday" daintily back into the box on his lap.
"This set is one of our best sellers this season."
It was her parting wink that finally snapped him out of his cheek-flaming stupor. In five seconds flat he had the lid crammed on the box and everything stuffed into his now burgeoning red sack, himself already halfway out the door, calling back with a muffled, "Gottarunthankyouhappyholidays."
It took him a block and a half of chest puffing, biceps flexing strides to work up the courage to stop and dig the envelope out to find his directions for the next location.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled ALL THE STOCKINGS; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
Oh god. Ohgodohgodno. He didn't want to look at the photo. Stockings. No way she meant the kind you hang from the mantel.
Castle was no prude. He had bought lingerie for women before. He had bought lingerie for Kate as a matter of fact. But his little encounter with Seven Thongs a-Soaring just now had him rattled.
He was being ridiculous. After 12 clues, he only had this one and one more to go. He couldn't give up now.
Flipping the Polaroid over, he fully expected to see the looming marquee of the huge Victoria's Secret several blocks uptown. But he was surprised to find a photo of a demure brick storefront, script curling out "Dora's Ladies Boutique" across one window.
Huh.
Castle had passed that place a million times and never gone in, figuring it was some old-lady-store.
Heading in the direction of his loft, he inhaled the crisp night air. If he could survive Misty and Kayla, he was sure he could handle this Dora.
With the soft chime of the bell over the door, he stepped inside the warm, tidy shop. Tables and displays were tastefully laid out in the main room, an antique cashier's desk off to one side. At first he thought the place was deserted, until a honey-warm, Southern lilt called out from behind the curtain at the back.
"I'll be right with you."
The petite woman with silvering blond hair who hurried out smiled immediately and extended her hand.
"I'm Dora. Forgive me for bein' in back. I had my two girls call in sick today, so I'm runnin' around like a chicken with my head cut off keepin' up with the holiday rush."
The handshake certainly made an impression, as did her impeccable forest green wool suit and string of pearls.
Before he could reply with his name, her head tipped slightly and her eyes narrowed.
"Well, now. You're my special delivery for the day, aren't you?"
His mind, primed by the predatory Misty and Leyla-Shayla-Kayla, jumped to the worst possible conclusion, as he snatched his hand out of her grasp and squeaked.
"Uh, I'm not sure what you mean?"
Dora smiled even wider if that was possible, and held up both hands as if in surrender.
"Darlin' you look as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I don't bite. What I meant was, you must be Rick Castle. I have a special delivery for you in back."
His lungs emptied in a whoosh.
"Oh, right, of course. Yes, I'm him - he is - I'm Rick Castle."
"You wait right here and I'll just be a minute. Have a look around, if you like."
Giving his head a shake to clear the fight-or-flight adrenaline, he scanned the room. Polished stone tables displayed bras and panties of all colors and fabrics. Racks on the honey-toned walls held nightwear and what looked like somewhat racier items. Toward the back was a row of satin and leather bustiers that sparked a flashback to a very wild night in the old west…
Her voice just off his right shoulder sent him jolting back to the present.
"See anything that tickles your fancy? Or hers?"
Turning to meet her twinkling eyes, he noticed the gold envelope and two small boxes she held.
"I think I'll hold off for now, but maybe I'll come back before Christmas."
"I would take it as a great compliment if you did." Dora leaned in and dropped her voice as she passed the items to him. "I'm a bit of a fan of your books, you see."
That brought a genuine smile to his face.
"I'd be happy to sign one for you next time."
"I've always thought Nikki Heat ought to have a little more in her lingerie drawer, something for those steamy scenes you write so well. But there I go tellin' a best-selling writer how to write. Don't mind me, darlin'. Now Katie told me to tell you, you are only to open the envelope here. Save the boxes for your next stop."
So he wouldn't have any further embarrassing lingerie reveals after all. The muscles along his spine and shoulders relaxed as he tore open the golden rectangle.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
"Happy Christmas to all, and TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"
The photo showed his own bedroom. Oh, if he was right, and god he hoped he was, he was going to get to put the contents of these two little boxes to use very, very soon. Time to go find out.
"It was lovely to meet you, Dora, but I think I should get going." Castle shoved the boxes and papers into his bag and reached for the older woman's immaculately manicured hand.
"Katie said you might be in a hurry once you saw that. You two have fun, now, and Merry Christmas."
The few blocks' walk back to the loft barely registered, any weariness from his day of roving across Manhattan dissolving at the prospect of spending a quiet night in with Kate. Stepping off the elevator on his floor, he nearly jogged down the hall, keys already in his hand.
When he pulled open the door, expecting darkness, maybe a few candles, some music, a trail of ruby rose petals leading him to his wife, laid out naked except for a red satin ribbon knotted and dripping across the duvet from her tiny, taut, waist… he found a sparkling-eyed, smiling… Jim Beckett? Dancing across the entryway with his daughter?
Alexis' laughter rang out as Jim led her through a complicated series of spins and twirls to Chuck Berry's "Run Rudolph Run."
"Where did you learn this, Jim? Or should I call you Fred Astaire?" his mother called out from her perch on a stool at the kitchen counter.
The man in question cut a neat U-turn past the piano and led Alexis around the Christmas tree.
"When Katie was thirteen, her mother signed us up for swing dance lessons. My very teenaged daughter thought she was being punished for something."
Kate popped out from the office with a small stack of wrapped gifts and attempted to defend herself.
"Dad, that's not true! I loved those classes."
"Once your mother practically dragged you to the first one. Didn't she threaten not to let you buy that jean jacket with the rips in the elbows if you didn't go?"
Pink reached the tips of Kate's ears as she knelt and placed the presents among the growing pile.
"Questionable fashion sense aside, Katherine, it seems you made the right decision in the end," Martha declared, just before catching sight of her son where he stood staring just inside the door.
"Well, look who survived his decathlon of Christmas merriment. Richard, come have some eggnog and watch twinkle toes here teach your daughter how to jitterbug."
Dropping his bag of loot, Castle crossed to where Kate was just rising from the floor. Meeting her warm, grinning lips with his chilly ones, he spoke for her ears only.
"How did you-?"
"Family dinner. It's a thing now – every weekend. Did I forget to mention it?"
Just then a beep sounded from the oven timer, drawing Kate's attention. Her fingers interlaced with his and pulled him along after her into the kitchen, where she turned off the timer and peeked at a pan of lasagna bubbling cheerfully in the oven.
"Martha, could you grab the salad and bread? Sorry to break up the championship round, but dinner's ready, dancers."
Kate dropped his hand in favor of mitts, and opened the oven, filling the room with a fragrant tomato-y, cheesy cloud.
A few minutes later, as everyone gathered around the table and began dishing up their feast, Castle leaned in and spoke in Kate's ear.
"Today was amazing. Dinner is amazing. You're amazing."
He only got a sly smile in response, as she cut into the pan of her famous lasagna Bolognese.
It was hours later when the loft door snacked closed on Jim's exit, Martha and Alexis having just headed up to their respective rooms. Kate was extinguishing lights around the room as Castle locked up, but she left the tree for last, face lit by only the soft white glow of its lights as she looked up toward the twinkling star they had chosen for this year's top.
"Don't forget your bag," she intoned, her eyes never leaving the tree.
Castle snagged Reggie's helicopter tote, pulling open the drawstring as he joined his wife.
"So when do I get to open these boxes from Dora's?"
"Boxes?" Kate turned lowered brows on him.
"Yeah, two wrapped boxes. What's wrong?"
"I only got you one thing at Dora's. Did you get me something?"
He fished the two small packages out and held them up for her inspection.
"No, I was in too much of a hurry once I saw the photo you left me. Maybe there was a free gift with whatever you got?"
"A store like Dora's doesn't do holiday gift promotions, Castle."
Ducking to flip the switch on the power strip, Kate sank the room into darkness.
"Only one way to find out," Castle arched an eyebrow as he backed toward the bedroom, boxes held out in her direction.
Kate followed with a naughty twinkle in her eye, eventually sitting beside him on the mattress and taking one of the two boxes.
The one he had chosen held a puddle of red satin edged in airy lace.
"That's what I bought," Kate supplied as he lifted the nightie from its tissue paper nest.
"It's stunning, Kate. Are you saving it for my Christmas present?"
Though he gave her his most hopeful face, secretly he wished she would say no.
Glancing sideways with a smirk, Kate used her best bedroom voice.
"Actually, it's your prize for finishing your scavenger hunt today."
Shuffling the box and wrapping to the floor, he turned toward her and held out the gown.
"Well, in that case, I think it's about time I got my reward."
But Kate had gotten through the layers of paper inside the other box and at that moment was lifting its contents held very nimbly between thumb and index finger of each hand.
Kate tipped her head left, then right.
"Does that go -?"
"Oh."
He took in a breath, eyes going wide.
"On second thought, can that be my prize instead?"
Kate dropped one strap, and to call it that was a bit of a stretch, to elbow him in the ribs.
"What? It's a legitimate question."
Pulling a tiny folded card from the box, Kate read aloud.
"A contribution to Nikki's top drawer. Merry Christmas, Dora."
Plucking the paper from her fingers, he tossed it in the pile of wrappings at his feet and leaned in to feather his lips along the porcelain curve of her neck.
"Sounds like we have some literary research to do, Mrs. Castle."
# * # * # * #
Castle's eyes wouldn't focus far enough away to see the hour on the bedside clock as he collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of his wife.
"Oh god, Castle. Holy hell – where did that even come from?"
Panting against the ridge of her collarbone, he did his best to answer his breathy, gasping Christmas present with something other than a squeak.
"Inspired by the Christmas spirit, I guess."
"Yeah, well, Christmas," she paused briefly to suck in a shuddering breath, "just became my favorite holiday."
Dragging himself off to one side, he curled his arms around her naked body and tucked them both under the covers, forcibly cuddling her so she had no choice but to settle into him.
As both of their heart rates slowed, and her breath came in gentler puffs against his chest, his brain began making semi-coherent connections again.
"What's with you and Christmas spirit this year, anyway?"
Kate didn't open her eyes at first.
"Mm. Yeah. Want it to be special."
"Not that I'm not grateful, but why this year? I mean, in the past you always worked for at least part of the holiday. Now you're taking time off and planning family outings, and sending me to meet actual reindeer…"
Her ribs expanded under his spread fingers and her exhale warmed the skin over his heart as her head tipped up to rest on her chin there. The deep brown of her irises caught a stream of light filtering through the window, lighting up to greenish gold as she looked up sleepily through her lashes.
"I want us to be a family."
"We are, I mean, I think we have been, even before we got married."
Her gaze dropped at his answer, focused intently on the point of his chin.
"I want us to be a bigger family."
"Well, we have the boys, and Jenny and Sarah, and Lanier, and –" he stopped mid-thought as her meaning sunk in. Her look was so dark, eyes hiding behind hooded lids, mouth pressed tight.
"That's not what you meant, was it?"
"No."
His hands stroked gently up and down, trying to get her eyes back up to his so she could see his smile, the liquid pooling before he could blink it back. He gave up and voiced his reaction instead.
"I could always go bigger."
The note of humor in his voice finally drew her attention back up, and when she registered his smile, a gentle one of her own spread across her face.
"Yeah?"
"Kate, if you're ready, then so is I."
"I don't know if I'm ever going to feel ready - qualified - to be a mom. I'm not going to have any backup."
"No one feels ready. But take it from the RhD," that won a huff of a chuckle against his ribs. "You're more than qualified. You're going to make an amazing mom. And of course you have backup - I know it's not the same, but that's what partners are for."
There were tears shining up at him when she whispered a gruff, "Thank you. And you're right, it's not the same, but it helps. Enough that I think I want to try."
Kate burrowed closer into him, limbs intertwining with his, body sinking boneless into his side through the silence metered only by their still-measured breaths. He felt a smudge of moisture where the high curve of her cheekbone nudged.
After such an amazing day, a day she had spent so much time and effort to orchestrate for him, and now her admission that she wants to start the next chapter of their story, she shouldn't end it with tears.
Working his fingers gently over her scalp and through her hair, he tucked his head down to speak against the crown of her head.
"So as my first contribution to this effort - well, actually I'm sure you recall my first and second contributions a few minutes ago, but as my third contribution to this effort, I've been working on a short list of possible names. Sets of three, of course, because you can't just start naming kids willy-nilly. They have to go together. How about Kayla, Leyla, and Shayla?"
His high-pitched screech filled the silence as bony fingers dug into his sides, tickling relentlessly.
"Okay! Okay!" He caught his breath during a brief pause in the torment, then tried again. "What do you think of Reggie? Dora? Ooo - Vixen!"
More tickling, but this time he caught her wrists, flipped them so he hovered above her, where she now lay sinking into the sheets, panting as she answered him with a smirk.
"I think you should stick with your first and second contributions."
Dropping his lips to the patch of skin just below her ear, he lowered himself to settle between her thighs and let out a little moan.
"Merry Christmas to me."
Her legs intertwined with his as her teeth nipped at his ear, soothing the sting with the warm wash of words.
"Merry Christmas to all."
The flash back to his final clue brought a smile to his lips as he finished the verse.
"And to all a good night."
# * # * # * #
Author's Note: I win the award for SLOWEST writer to fill a prompt from #ThankYouTerri. Prompt: "Kate sets up a sexy scavenger hunt for Castle. Either Christmas or Birthday present." Filled as a gift to Hawkgal08 for her generous contribution to YoungStoryTellers dot com slash ThankYouTerri. See all the prompts and fills at ThankYouTerri dot tumblr dot com. Hope it was worth the wait! Also, if you want the m-rated scene at the end, let me know… ;)
Twitter: Kate_Christie_
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