So I have a secret santa and a dear friend who I promised a story for Christmas to and so I'm being lazy and making them split it. . .because life is hectic, people die, and I'm leaving for New York tomorrow—oh! And it's Christmas so please cut me some slack. Aaaand they both kinda asked for about the same thing.

So this is for kissmecaskett and my little-baby-Tabs. Hope your Christmases were wonderful and your New Years' filled with joy.

"If you're sad, do like I do and just think of the other 'verses. The ones where I believe in love and where I don't hate myself and where I never feel the need to kamikaze relationships. A universe where wecanhave nice things. It's helpful, right?

Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you."

-Gaby Dunn (Maybe in Another Universe, I Deserve You)

Richard Castle had been coming to the park to sketch for the past few weeks and he had fallen into a wonderful afternoon routine. He'd sit under one of the oak trees lining the park, letting the harsh sunlight filter through the canopy and sprinkle his crisp sketchpad with dancing shadow. With distinct finesse he'd begin to outline and smudge with whatever utensil he had brought that day; making the scenes before him come to life. Today he had brought his charcoals and he began outlining and detailing the Dalmatian before him. An older man was throwing the yellow ball across the grassy landscape while his wife and their daughter bumped shoulders and smiled while catching up on the missed events of the week. His fingers swiftly skittered to capture the scene, although if he was being honest, he couldn't focus on the features of the older couple and he found himself flipping to a new page to capture the young woman's face alone.

He started with her jaw and smudged his thumb along the line he had made in such a tender motion that it could have been a caress, as if hoping his drawing would allow him to touch her real skin with such a reverent motion. He quickly moved on to her hair and then pulled back to the harsh line of her neck. With each stroke on the page the picture of the young woman across the park blossomed on his canvas and he finished with color of the harshest green and the deepest brown coagulated together to enrich his art with the soul that poured from her eyes. He let out a drawn sigh as he looked down at his finished sketch.

It was perfect.

She was perfect.

He slammed his sketchpad closed in frustration, grabbed his utensils, and walked out of the park in the opposite direction of the wonderful little family and the amazingly alluring woman whose laughter rang out as she called for her dog as he briskly departed.

It had been months since he'd been back to the park; months since he'd been able to "slightly creep" (as his daughter had put it) on the elegant face of his mystery woman. Rick had been too busy with his newest exhibit opening up and had been doing tours and interviews across the state promoting it. His mother helped him with the tie and then he kissed both her and his daughter good night as he exited his Tribeca home for the swanky display on the upper east end.

It was so different now that he had "been discovered" as his PR manager had put it. Everything was elaborate; people wearing gowns and sipping thousand dollar champagne couldn't seem to get enough of his art. He fiddled in his suit, slightly wishing he was back to his rugged days trying to make it in the bowels of the Bowery, when he felt fingers tap his shoulder. He turned with a plastered smile, ever trying to seem interested, when his eyes met with a face he couldn't place but seemed to know from a dream. The older woman offered him her hand and introduced herself as Johanna Beckett and he was captivated by her honest face and symmetrical features. They talked for a while about where he started painting, his early work and touched on key points in her life. It was refreshing to find such a charming, realistic person in what he had come to assume was a more frivolous and fabricated high society event. He was used to people going on and on about their multiple homes, vacations, and designer elements; what he got from Johanna were stories of her family and how his art inspired her.

After talking for quite a bit, Rick was introduced to Johanna's husband Jim as he brought his wife a drink back from the bar. They continued to get along swimmingly throughout the evening, and Rick continuing to feel a strong sense of déjà vu from his two new companions. They eventually parted ways with the exchange of numbers and his promise to call them about meeting up for dinner in the future.

He had seen her at the park again.

And his mother had chastised him for stalking her even after he had explained to her that all he was doing was going to the park for inspiration and happening upon the same woman almost every day. He left out that in his early efforts to learn her schedule he may have plotted his hours a bit and spent entire days at the park waiting for her; but he wasn't being voyeuristic about his sketching, he was just fascinated by her existence! His mother had thrown her hands up and walked away from him but he continued to get ready for dinner at the Beckett's after they had called to see if him and his family would like to join them for dinner a few days prior.

They arrived a few minutes late, his mother had had a fashion faux-pas and needed to change (twice!) before they had left the loft, and he was now spewing apologies as Jim ushered them inside and took Martha's fall coat. Introductions were made all around and a calm conversation permeated the apartment. It was more spacious than Rick had expected, and as his eyes roamed the bookshelves he heard the front door open and warm greetings announced the arrival of another Beckett. Jim came around the corner from the kitchen, arm thrown over the shoulder of the newest arrival and Rick turned to greet them. His breath caught, his heart seemed to be having palpitations, and he suddenly felt extremely confined in this beautiful—but cluttered—space.

There she was.

His park girl.

She was no longer a corporeal entity of all of his fantastical ideologies. And as she stuck out her hand in salutation, she seemed oblivious to the life altering micro-second fractures that were collapsing and reassembling an acceptable reaction to seeing the woman he had been sketching and painting for the past five months.

"Hi," she started, her voice kick starting his blood to pump harder and hotter in his veins. "My name's Kate."

He had blundered out his name and he noted a slight pinkish stain to her cheeks as he fumbled to impress her. The three of them returned to the dining room at Johanna's request and dinner had gone much more smoothly that the floundering spectacle he had made of himself at their introduction. There was laughter and hearty conversation and he watched her from across the table and was caught more than once by her brilliant eyes. At the end of dinner, while his mother and daughter walked the hallway, he asked her to dinner outside her parent's door. She smiled, a gorgeous thing that put the stars to shame.

"How about coffee instead?"

Oh, he could do coffee.

Anything for her.

She was going through some old sketch books as he coiffed his hair for his newest exhibit when she found them. He stumbled for words to try and explain how five months before they had met, almost two years ago, he had been filling up sketch books with her face. She understood. Or, at least it looked like she was trying to. It helped that all of his pictures were of her completely clothed, and there wasn't anything overtly sexual about them. She believed, with his insistence, that she was simply his muse before he knew her name, and that brought an exquisite smile to her lips. She kissed him as she straightened his tie.

"I'm just glad you finally asked permission."

They arrived at the event and the blush at her cheeks burned down her throat as he showed her around the gallery. His theme was Other Lives but all of the women in the pictures were her. The inspiration for his theme came with an article she had found about multiple universe theory. That there are an infinite number of universes differing with every decision ever made with multiple hims and hers for each universe living with those different decisions.

With this idea he drew her in every world he could think of. All Kate Beckett, not as a lawyer, but as a chef, a writer, a cop, a mother, a lost soul; he had painted them all. And with each new piece completed he only hoped that the him in each bubble universe found their Kate Becketts. His eyes roamed back to her, her face bursting with excitement and still stained with a rosy blush. His life was not complete without her in it.

And somehow he knew that the other hims wouldn't ever be truly satisfied without her.

Fin.

I really hoped you guys liked it. Happy Christmas to you both, and to everyone who reads. Be safe and warm.