Brave the Magic
Bravery is doing
the same thing every day...
Not the marvelous but the familiar, over and over again.
Do that, and the magic will come.
-This Magic Moment, David Kirby
"There's another body," she admits over the line. "He was the last one missing."
Castle hustles out of the dining room, through the living room, and into his office, keeping his voice down. "The last one. Three dead. Kate, that's only three."
His wife's grim determination is palpable, even with all of Manhattan between them. "FBI is saying the threat of a fourth isn't credible."
"Not credible." He rubs a hand down his face. He was actually with her when the call came in that first time. "Are they just not listening?"
"They're saying it's not a serial killer. That it's terrorism or - well, home-grown dissidents. After everything."
"What's the difference?" he sighs. He presses the phone to his ear and steps into their bedroom, as if the distance between himself and his family eating Christmas Eve dinner in the living room will keep death from them. And if his family is safe, and innocent, then maybe by extension, Kate is too. "What are you going to do?"
"Whatever I can." She lets out a noise. "I'm a homicide detective. These are homicides now."
Three members of the law enforcement community abducted and later dumped. Three dead. "They were stalked. Hunted. Taken at the same time." He lets out a breath; it's not his job anymore. He's not supposed to be doing this. "This doesn't bother you?"
"Yes," she sighs. "But..."
There's no but that will make this better. After these disappearances, a shoulder-hunching tension fell over their city. Now the FBI is saying it's the work of agitators or disenchanted youths or the disenfranchised seizing their opportunity.
No, he thinks. This is someone targeting them. Calling it unrest doesn't make them feel any easier. Whitewashing the problem.
"Be careful, Kate," he says finally.
"It's Christmas," she protests.
As if that makes it okay. As if the specialness of the season would somehow protect her.
Kate herself should know better.
But - she's a believer now. Christmas spirit, the power of love, all those cheesy, melodramatic things he's proclaimed to her half in jest, half serious. His dreams come true, he said once, and now she likes to parrot it back to him at the worst times, the best times.
Don't your dreams come true?
"It's Christmas," she says softly. "Be brave, Rick, and I will too."
Kate stands on the sidewalk outside the 12th Precinct with her coat bundled around her, belted tight, but it can't cut the brisk wind. The snow started a couple hours ago, a white smear in the darkness, flickering light through the rent in the sky.
"You should go home," Esposito says to her, a quick jab on her arm as he comes up at her side. But it seems to deflate him, rather than bolster either of them. "We should all go home."
She sighs and scrapes her hand through her hair, forgetting she pulled it back into a bun sometime before lunch. She takes it down again, raking her fingers through her hair until she can get it back together again.
Tendrils fall over her ears, into her eye.
Hopeless. She gives up.
Finally the coroner's van rolls up. A sea of blue on the sidewalk guards the dead man on the sidewalk right in front of the 12th.
Captain Gates strides through the lights, a short conversation with the crime scene guys, and then comes to meet Beckett and Esposito. "You two should've been home hours ago," she says tightly.
But she isn't telling them to leave now, is she?
"No, sir-" Esposito starts.
"You have families waiting."
"I don't," Espo says, grim set to his mouth. They sent Ryan home an hour ago. It's nearly Christmas Day - minutes away from midnight - and Ryan still needed to put out the gifts from Santa. Assembly always required.
For the first time - ever - Beckett doesn't stay quiet. She can't. She can't do this any more, and sticking around in some kind of show of bravery is wrong. For her. So she speaks up. "Sir. First Christmas." And this is over. According to the FBI. Homicide but she wants her part to be over.
"Right," Gates says slowly. "First Christmas."
"I know that he won't even-"
"No. You're right, Detective."
She shouldn't have spoken up; she shouldn't leave Esposito to deal with this one alone, high profile, the victim someone they all knew. Victims. Three with a promise of a fourth. But she longs for home with an ache that has risen suddenly and without warning.
Gates gives a flicker of her fingers. "Go, Detective Beckett."
She sighs and looks to Espo, but he's not objecting. Home, he mouths. Go home.
"Yes, sir," she says finally. "Thank you."
Beckett turns on her heel and heads for the cordon, shoving her hands in her pockets and giving the officer on guard a short nod of her head.
"Knocking off, Detective?"
"Yeah, I'm headed home."
"Merry Christmas. First one, right?"
She smiles tightly, but already the crime scene is falling off in chunks from her soul.
She's going home.
"Merry Christmas," she murmurs to the officer, stepping between the police sawhorses and heading for her car.
First Christmas.
When Kate manages to get inside the loft, the quiet is so surreal, so welcome, that she sinks back against the door and closes her eyes. It smells like hot chocolate and the sap of pine in a sharp undercurrent to the delicious food. She missed Christmas Eve dinner, but she called them.
Doesn't count. She missed Christmas Eve dinner.
Kate sighs, the sound of her own guilt so loud that she misses his approach.
"Hey, there's mommy."
His soft voice brings her eyes open, and she smiles, stepping away from the door and shedding her coat as she comes to them. Castle winks at her and cups the back of the baby's head, holding him with just one arm, managing to catch her coat before it can hit the ground. While she takes her son, her fingers replacing Castle's at his soft nape, Castle tosses her coat to the back of the chair.
Kate hums as the baby cuddles into her chest, brushes her smile to his temple. "Why's he awake?" she whispers. "Rough night?"
"No, just fine. Mother woke him when she came in - caroling - and then he just wanted to play. Got him to sleep again only minutes ago."
"And you can't stop holding him," she murmurs, giving Castle a sly look. He only leans in, kisses the corner of her smile in agreement.
"You can't either," he whispers. "Six months old and you're still besotted."
"What can I say? Love at first. Unlike with his daddy."
Castle scoffs and the baby stirs, but Kate sways with him, moving towards the living room and the wide windows overlooking their city. The boy is warm, skinny arms and legs after his last growth spurt, and she gently tugs down the onesie covering his back.
"See the moon?" she murmurs at his temple. His mouth is open at her collarbone. Asleep for sure now, what a beautiful boy. More entrancing than the blue moon.
Snow in slushes below, the night sky illuminated with blue beams, her heart both heavy and full, contradictory things tonight.
Castle slides his palm at her back and leans into her side, kissing her cheekbone. "What about you? Rough night?"
"Yeah," she sighs, throat closing up. She drops her lips to her son's head, and Castle draws them both into his arms.
She leans at his chest with the baby at hers, and he begins to dance them to some music that only he can hear. As he always has.
"Let's still call this still Christmas Eve then," he murmurs into her hair. "Postpone Christmas Day magic until we all wake again."
"Good plan," she sighs.
His fingers draw up her shoulder and bury in the hair at her nape, working the rubberband free until the whole thing comes down. A lock of hair swishes across the baby's face, but Castle carefully tucks it back behind her ear.
"Bed time, Mrs. Castle."
"Also a good plan, Mr. Beckett."
He shoots her a rather sizzling grin and she can't help the little laugh, wincing when the boy stirs. Castle shushes her with an exaggerated motion and mimes tiptoeing. She can't help but be caught up in it, tiptoeing herself towards the stairs.
They climb together, the lights strung up along the railing blurring in her eyes as they move. Every step sees some of that heaviness lighten so that when they make it to the boy's room, the darkness has enclosed the second floor - but not her. A little blue moon, a light snowfall, and the warmth of her son in her arms, her husband leading the way down the hall.
Castle blazes a trail inside the room, the one to stub his toe on whatever toys are left on the floor, the one to make it to the crib first after his hazardous trek. Kate can't suppress the smile and she moves fluidly towards him, missing every toy, every pitfall, until she reaches his side.
"Let me," he murmurs.
She allows her husband to take the baby from her, easy, gentle, the transition graceful after six months. Finally.
She lays her hands on the railing as Castle lowers the boy into the crib. Their son stays on his back for only a moment before rolling over and snuggling down into the cool sheet over the mattress. Castle sighs but doesn't try to change his position. Kate rubs the boy's back, her thumb at the small ear, and then she withdraws from the crib, steps away.
Castle takes her hand and they move out of the baby's room, back down the hall for the stairs.
Castle holds her hand all the way to the bedroom. She's quiet tonight but not sad; he likes the soft smile on her lips as the moonlight slants along her face. Once he tugs her over the threshold, he stops her beside the bed and begins to unbutton her blouse, one at a time, until she sways into him.
He peels the shirt from her shoulders, down her arms, and then his hands find the waistband of her dress pants, making her breath hitch.
Her eyes were closed but now they open, staring back at him. "No funny business, Mr Beckett."
He smirks. "I'm dead on my feet. Wouldn't be any good to you anyway."
She hooks an arm around his neck and steps in close, their cheeks brushing. "Liar. Always good to me."
"Exhaustion has made you delirious," he whispers. He loves the soft rise of her hips under his hands.
She laughs, but he still hears her weariness. She nudges her nose to his jaw. "Take me to bed, Rick."
"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm working on it."
Her kiss is sudden and sharp, a bite of her teeth at his bottom lip. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"All the little things. The laundry and the dinner I missed. Singing him to sleep."
"I didn't sing. We played."
"Playing him to sleep, then," she sighs. "All the things I said we'd do together."
"Your turn tomorrow," he winks, but her eyes aren't convinced. He frames her face in his hands and kisses her lightly. "And don't worry. We're doing it. I promise."
"And Christmas?"
"That too." He drops his hands and pushes her towards the bed. "Merry Christmas, Kate."
"Tomorrow." A glance of her tired eyes over her shoulder.
"Until tomorrow."