Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7

Sunday, December 1st

Sunlight spills through from between the cracks in the blinds and casts a pool of warmth onto the sheets that makes Kate hum in pleasure as she arches her spine. Falling slack onto the mattress, she burrows down a little closer into the sleepy heat of her husband. Her eyes half-closed against the early morning, Castle is little more than a smudged outline silhouetted against the too-bright light.

"Want coffee?" He grunts into the top of her head, fingers flexing against the stretch of bare skin at her hip where her shirt rides up. They got to bed late last night and Kate's body is still pleasantly loose, her muscles free from tension as if they've come completely unwound from around her bones. Except, obviously, the ways they moved last night are proof enough that that didn't happen.

She lifts up and supports her weight on an elbow to glance at the clock. "No, not yet. They'll be in here soon enough. Until then let's just enjoy the quiet."

"M'kay. Plans for today?"

"The park, I thought. Get them out to burn off some energy." Kate smiles softly, letting the tug of Castle's hands bring her in to lie against his side again. Outside, the air is sharp with winter's kiss so the people that flood the streets bury their faces down into their scarves, touches of vibrant colour at the throats of the city. The cold feels good, invigorating, and even the sting of the wind at her cheeks is easily forgotten in the warmth of Castle's loft.

Their home.

And it is home, now. Half of the strange ornaments and well-loved books that scatter the shelves were vagabonds for a while until she, and they, settled here. Neither Kate nor her husband can remember who first collected the items. Not that it really matters. Their personalities mesh well together, everything in confluence like a chaotically beautiful embodiment of the way their lives are joined.

Kate wriggles a little in the sheets and tips her chin upwards, kisses the stubble that skims her husband's jaw and relishes the burn against her lips. When she catches the thin skin between her teeth he jerks, clutches at the smooth curve of her shoulder. "Don't. You said it yourself, they'll be in here any minute."

"Oh what, so I'm not allowed to touch you?"

"Kiss me nicely." He grins at her, cocky and a little lopsided. It reminds her so much of their son, the mischief that so often plasters his face.

Pushing all thoughts of her children firmly out of her mind, Kate drapes herself over Castle's chest and comes in to touch her mouth to his. He opens for her slowly, his tongue coming out to touch at the seam of her lips, and she has to stifle a gasp.

His hands come around to smooth over her spine, fingertips dipping into the valleys between and cresting the peaks of her vertebrae. The way he touches her is always so tender, so careful. Especially the way his wide hands would spread out across the swollen curve of her stomach, diffusing his warmth all the way through her as he murmured to their unborn children. So in love with them even when they were barely a flutter of life against his palm.

The door opens slowly and Kate presses a last burst of a kiss to Castle's mouth, shifts to sit up against the headboard. In the doorframe, their son watches her intently. "Good morning, sweet boy."

Jack seems to take her words as permission, coming over to climb up on her side of the bed. His pyjamas are too small for him yet again, a good inch of bare ankle sticking out below the hem. Unruly curls fall down into his eyes over and over and he huffs, shoves them back with both hands.

He needs a haircut, and maybe to just. . .stop growing. For a little while. Her baby boy feels almost as long as her when he stretches out at her side, little hand fisting in the collar of her shirt.

"Hey my man, your sister up yet?" Castle says, looming over the two of them. He rubs the space between their boy's shoulder blades, the hypnotic movement so similar to when Jack was a tiny, squirmy thing and only his father's sure touch could settle him.

"She was just using the bathroom." Jack offers, drawing his knees up to press against his mother's thigh. Kate cards her fingers through the spill of his hair over and over, her other hand settling to curl around her son's little foot.

Their daughter appears in the bedroom with the dog her ever-present shadow, Snicket's head nudging at their little girl's hip. "Daddy and Mommy, it's the first day of Christmas."

Bea's shrieking has Jack scrunching up his nose and burying his head half underneath Kate's back, but she doesn't have the heart to try and tamper her enthusiasm. It's too late anyway; Castle already has their daughter gasping for breath in the middle of the bed as he tickles her mercilessly.

On the floor next to her, the dog cocks his head at Kate and widens his eyes. She rolls her own back at him, curling a hand around Jack's waist to keep him anchored in the bed as she leans in to scratch behind Snicket's ear. The silly thing nuzzles into her touch and then curls up on the rug, perfectly content despite the excitement coming from her husband and her baby girl.

It's her only rule, really. No dog in the bed. Not that it stops him from jumping up to join in with family cuddle time on the couch.

"Okay kids, who's hungry?" Kate says, climbing carefully over her son and stepping out of bed. She turns back to watch her family blink up at her, Castle sandwiched between their children and then Jack stretches his arms up towards her and she gives in, comes back to scoop him up.

It's probably time she stopped indulging him so much, but the sleep-warm body of her son feels so inherently right cradled close to her chest that she can't seem to stop saying yes to him. Kate carries him through to the kitchen and sets him down at the counter, takes a moment to make sure he's not going to slip right off the bar stool.

Those are a recent reacquaintance, the kids having been drilled over and over on the importance of being careful. Jack takes it very seriously, sitting up straight and proper with his hands clasped tight between his knees. The same cannot, unfortunately, be said for his sister. Bea very quickly figured out that the adrenaline rush that comes with only just managing to prevent the stool from toppling is the most exciting development of recent times, and now breakfast time is often fraught with tension as she tests just how far she can push both the stool and her mother's patience.

Taking a deep breath, Kate tugs open the refrigerator and tries not to think about it. It's Christmas, and she wants to give her kids the magic that sparks in her husband's eyes when he talks about it all. Their very first Christmas, Jack barely five months old; she was probably a little hard on Castle.

So now every year is a chance to make up for it, every decoration and frosted adventure thick with apology. It's actually. . .fun. More so than she expected. The marriage of her traditions and his and the new ones they forge for their own children, the ways that Papa and Gram and Alexis are brought into it, all of it comes easier than she ever anticipated.

"Jack-Jack. First day of Advent. Shall we make pancakes in celebration?"

Her son grins at her, delighted and maybe a little shy. "Chocolate ones?"

"Sure."

"Katherine Castle, did I just hear you agree to chocolate chip pancakes?" Her husband's voice rings out from across the living room, an eyebrow raised when she turns to look at him. She shrugs, opening her arms for the little girl in Castle's arms as they round the counter.

Seeking the warmth at her daughter's neck, Kate blows raspberries until Bea squirms, breathless giggles pushed into the hollow of her mother's clavicle as she buries her face close against Kate. "Beanie Ella, how about Daddy gets started on the pancakes and you and me and Jack can go open your calendars."

"No, Mommy!" Bea huffs, screwing up her little face so it might be comical if Kate weren't so hyper-aware of her daughter's sensitivity. Her baby girl is very, very serious about certain things, and trying to laugh her out of it has never been a good idea.

"No?"

"I want to open my calendar with my daddy too." She says quietly, glancing over at her father from underneath the smoky fringe of her lashes. So long for a four year old, fragile and captivating.

Certainly, it helps her keep Castle wrapped securely around her little finger. "You want me and Mommy both?"

"Yes. And too my brother. And, Mommy? And my dog." She insists, folding her arms so they rest atop Kate's own wrist as she circles her daughter's waist.

"Everyone, then. Let's do advent calendars. Come on, Snicks." Kate calls to the dog, letting Bea down to her feet and guiding her with her palm cradling the back of the girl's head. She clutches at her brother's hand and Jack straightens up a little, takes his role as big brother very seriously.

"Daddy, you can take them down for us? They're too high." Jack says, tugging at the leg of his father's pyjama pants.

Castle grins, curls his hand around Kate's waist to bring her in against him and press a smacking kiss to her temple. In gratitude for their beautiful family, she knows. Often she does the same to him, soft touches and a shared smile whenever one of the kids does or says something wonderful.

An occurrence so frequent that she can't help the slow-spreading warmth of pride in her chest. They made some really, really great kids.

"Mommy's almost as tall as me, you know. Why don't you ask her to help you?" Rick raises an eyebrow at their son, grinning widely at the boy.

Jack turns wide eyes to her, his face opening up into joy as she smiles back at him. "Mommy?"

"I got you, baby. Here, let's try this." She says, scooping him up from the floor so he can reach the calendar. He scans the little doors, row upon row of delicious opportunity spreading out before them and carrying them right through until Christmas.

Jack finds today's door faster than his sister does, turns to watch Bea leaning so close to her own calendar she looks as if she could topple right out of her father's arms. Eventually, she finds the right door and the two of them push in the little cardboard semicircles and curl tiny fingers into the space, tugging open their doors.

Kate has to cut through the foil that keeps them from the chocolate with the hard edge of her fingernail so they can peel it back and then both of them have the candy tipped out into their palms.

"I have a Christmas tree, Mommy, look." Jack shows her the shape carved into his little chocolate square, and then Castle's laughter has Kate and her son both turning to look at him.

"Oh, Beanie Baby, you didn't look at your shape. She just shoved it right into her mouth." Castle meets Kate's eyes, his own soft with mirth. He wraps his arms a little tighter around their daughter and kisses her cheek, grinning wider when she frowns at him.

"Now I not know."

"Sure you will, baby girl." Kate hums, shifting closer to her husband's side so she can lean in and inspect her daughter's calendar. "Look, see. It has a little picture of whatever your chocolate shape was behind the plastic. Do you see?"

"Oh, Mommy, it was an angel. Like you."

Kate's cheeks flame and she leans in to kiss her baby girl, hums quiet words of gratitude in the translucent shell of her ear. And then Castle brings his free arm around her so both of their children end up sandwiched between his chest and her own, Snicket nudging his way in between their calves.

Of course the kids get impatient and wriggle to get free within moments, but for one peaceful, lovely second her whole world was just-

Yeah. Perfect.

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