A/N: A HUGE thanks to Nik47, who did a most wonderful beta on this chapter!

And again for Chezchuckles, whose Spy Universe is still totally rocking.

Story: ABC

{ D }

(December 2015)

Her father hasn't left his side. Ever since they arrived earlier today, Jim has not left her son's side, following after the toddler like an all-too-eager shadow as Sasha lurches around the cabin on his still too-wobbly legs.

She barely recognizes her dad, doesn't know this side of him, not really. So easy-going and relaxed kind of a silly dork, offering endless piggyback rides to her charming, energetic boy.

And her son adores him right back, stretches out his arms towards him, loves to talk to him in his baby gibberish, laughing at his grandpa's jokes despite not understanding a word he says.

It's a tinkling sound, Sasha's laugh, loud and unhindered, a sound that can conjure up a smile on her face, at any time, be it day or night.

It all feels right. This is the first year when everything just feels right. At last, the season is finally what it used to be, so long ago. Life and warmth and family and peace.

Nostalgia runs through her as she sips her cocoa, her hands growing warm against the hot dark ceramic of her mug.

It was Castle who had undressed the ever-twisting toddler a few minutes before, departing their company temporarily to hang up the wet, frosty clothes to dry while her father continues to entertain their son. Which gives Kate the wonderful opportunity of grabbing a moment for herself, sinking gratefully onto the couch as she languidly drinks her hot beverage, all the while soaking up the relaxed, festive atmosphere.

It's the 26th of December, the day after Christmas. They had made the drive upstate to her dad's cabin this morning and were staying the night as well. It's the first real Christmas they've all spent together, her new family of three plus her father, even if, technically, they're actually a day too late.

Still. It's better than last year. Last year had been…different. So different. Nearly nine months pregnant, extremely emotional and more than just a little scared of Sasha's impending birth, she had asked her father over to the loft to celebrate Christmas with both her hormonal, nervous self and the rest of the Castles.

Only to hear him politely yet firmly turn her down.

She had never told him this, but at the time, his refusal and his absence had felt like a harsh slap in the face, almost a reproval of sorts, despite the small, logical section of her brain which insisted that he hadn't meant it like that, not at all. Still. She had been just a couple of weeks shy of giving birth to her first child, had felt like nesting, and having all of the people she loved surrounding her for what would be the last peaceful, child-free Christmas over the next couple of years. It had only been her second Christmas with Castle, at least as husband and wife, and it was the very first one she hadn't dreaded, or just wanted to skip altogether. On the contrary. She had actually been excited for it, had really wanted to cherish and enjoy it for what it was. Something she hadn't felt in over two decades.

His rejection, the decision to spend Christmas alone rather than with her – and then later, to go ice fishing with one of his buddies somewhere up north – had felt unbelievably personal, like he was throwing all of her newfound joy for the winter season back in her face. It was like her dad was making a silent statement, a wordless yet vocal protest that he didn't want any part of it. Of her new life or of her new family or of her moving on, betraying him and what this season used to be about for the two of them. Mourning.

And, in a way, that's exactly what she was doing. She didn't want to mourn what she had lost anymore – she wanted to celebrate what she gained. She wanted out of her shell, wanted to move forward. Not to forget, no. Never to forget. She'd always remember. But she had a new life now, she had things to live for. A new family, with their own traditions she wanted to be a part of.

But her father hadn't wanted that, be any part of that. And it had hurt, more than she had thought it could.

Maybe it had been the hormones, or maybe it was just easier to blame them than her own inner sense of guilt, but she had spent that night in tears, massaging her protruding belly while the baby had kicked viciously, trying to convince herself that her father's absence wasn't about blame, or disapproval; it wasn't even about her. It was about him. Logical, yes. But not at all convincing.

But Castle had been.

He had been there with her, right there lightly stroking her hair as he silently cradled her to him, whispering soothing words into her ear as she wept into his shirt, miserable and more than a little overwhelmed by it all. It had taken some time before his voice had sneaked its way through to her, until his assurances had started to make sense. Murmuring gently, he told her what she'd already been telling herself: that her father just wasn't there yet, wasn't ready to let go, and that they had to respect that, that they didn't have the right to ask otherwise of him, that they just needed to be patient, wait him out, allow him the space to heal in his own way. It was hard, and it hurt, but it sure as hell wasn't about her moving forward, or about her finding happiness and leaving her dad behind, sad and alone. She wasn't a bad daughter, she wasn't to blame, and she wasn't going to lose him. She wasn't.

And slowly, so slowly, she had allowed herself to believe that too, although it did cost her a little to continue to enjoy the season since that one disastrous phone call.

She had never told her father how much his refusal to spent Christmas with them last year had haunted her – it was already in the past. But she is glad that she didn't have to face the same situation again this year.

No. This year was absolutely different, right from the start. In fact, she hadn't even had to work up the courage to pick up the phone and begin the conversation, because it was her father himself who had called her sometime in early December, tentatively asking what their plans for the holidays were and if he could possibly be a part of it this year.

Kate looks at her son now, laughs softly when she sees her father offering Sasha a piggyback ride, again. The boy immediately gives his answer by grabbing the bottom of Jim's shirt and trying to climb on top of his grandfather's back.

She can't understand how the little guy is still standing, not after the day they've just had. Already an hour and a half past his normal bedtime, and the boy is still chock-full of energy, even after a long walk through the woods, roasting marshmallows in her dad's fireplace and making s'mores with a ridiculously delighted Castle, and then a good two hours of fooling around outside in the snow until darkness fell, both mother and father too engaged in pelting each other with snowballs – with accompanying cheers and laughter from both Jim and their son – to ever get around to building the promised snowman.

Looking at her dad and Sasha now, Kate knows that it's her son who has made this year's holidays so vastly different from the previous ones, for them all. Busier, messier, and yet so much happier, full of ease and laughter. Eating, drinking, relaxing, having heaps of fun, taking care of the baby in every way and enjoying that priceless quiet when he finally falls asleep. Stealing a kiss or a couple of moments alone with Castle here and there when no one seems to be looking. And of course, pulling presents from beneath the twinkling Christmas tree, watching Sasha's eyes grow huge with each and every brightly-colored package placed before him, helping him unwrap his new surprise, laughing as he clapped his hands in mirthful delight when the paper finally fell away to reveal its shiny treasure. Just magical.

And the loft. Wow. As always, Castle had outdone himself with decorations. She had helped in the process here and there, but mostly she had contented herself with keeping quietly back out of the action, satisfied with merely watching, a smile teasing her lips as she'd basked in the glow of her husband's excitement, not to mention her son's, his big blue eyes reverently following every move Castle made, his little ears attuned to every word spoken and every direction given, his clumsy fingers proud and eager to tackle every task which his father enthusiastically gave him.

They had spent Christmas day home with Alexis and Martha, who had, of course, endlessly oohed and ahhed over Castle and Sasha's decoration efforts. Both women were, as always, completely taken with the boy. They had fed him and then taken turns helping him open his presents, playing and laughing and entertaining him with his new toys until Sasha had finally, finally fallen asleep.

Then today, they had taken the car shortly after breakfast and driven upstate to her father's cabin, which had actually been Jim's idea. He wasn't quite ready for the full Castle Christmas carousel ride yet, and Kate didn't blame him, knowing only too well how very overwhelming it could get, even for herself on occasion. The important thing was that he hadn't completely given up on Christmas, not this year, choosing instead to reach out and spend at least a portion of the holidays with them, still reserving Christmas day for himself but inviting them to his cabin on the 26th instead. And there was snow, he'd reasoned, Sasha would love that, along with the lake and the woods and fire and hot chocolate with marshmallows which they could roast over the fire. She had grinned into the phone at his earnest bid to sell the trip, her eyes shining.

As if his daughter and son-in-law needed persuading to come visit him for Christmas.

Kate smiles again, knowing that this particular Christmas miracle is completely Sasha's doing. The sneaky little guy has had his grandfather wrapped around his finger since the moment he first laid his still-unfocused, newborn eyes on Jim at the hospital. He had him.

Such a wonderful change had happened in her father over the last year. He wasn't merely surviving anymore; he was thriving. Visiting them more often than ever before, coming over unannounced just to see them all, or offering to baby-sit when she and Castle were both working, or when they just needed a night off alone together.

He's been so amazing, so good with Sasha. It has all been really good; him, them, their life. So good. And as the icing on the cake, this year they're all spending their first real Christmas together.

Her father had even dragged a tree in from the woods, decorating it with lights and some old ornaments that she recognized from her youth, plus some new ones that she didn't. And he'd stuffed about a dozen Christmas gifts under the tree, his eyes glistening with pride – and something else that made Kate's chest squeeze – when he saw how his grandson's face lit up with amazement and joy when he first spotted the decorations, how his wobbly yet speedy legs had churned, immediately making a beeline for the colorful, softly winking tree.

Even now, after a truly exhausting day, her father is still playing with the energetic toddler in front of the fire and the brightly lit tree, and Kate can only smile a bit wider, feeling a deep sense of contentment and rightness at the picture the two make together. Her father is completely captivated by her son, chuckling in anticipation as he grabs for the boy to tickle him, Sasha writhing and howling with laughter, all the while trying to escape his grandfather's firm grip.

And with a start, Kate realizes that her father really is a completely new man. He is still her father, the one she knew before her mother's death, as well as the much quieter loner who fell to the bottom of a bottle, whom she had to pull back out. But now, there's another part, the most intriguing of all, the one that's brand new. The role of grandfather. The playful, boisterous, yet gentle man she'd never seen before Sasha was born, the man who pulls silly faces and sings lullabies when he thinks no one can hear. Her mother would have been so proud. Joanna would have adored this new side of her husband.

Kate's throat closes up over the taste of hot chocolate, her eyes filling suddenly, her father and her son blurring before her. Her mother would have adored both of them. So much.

She doesn't even know how, but her nose is suddenly stuffed and a single tear is already rolling down her cheek. She quickly wipes it away, discreetly hiding her face behind her mug.

Not the right time.

Sasha's still squealing with laughter, making unsteady circles around the room while her father retreats before him, pulling ridiculously silly faces, imitating…oh God: a horse? Kate's maternal alarms suddenly go off, attuned to the fact that this situation surely can't end well. Sasha is beyond tired, and his near-delirious zeal combined with his unsteady legs, along with his uncanny ability to crash into absolutely every object in a given room – or to simply trip over his own two feet – have made for some spectacular crashes in the past.

She is just about to put down her mug and stop this madness when Sasha, true to his reputation, trips headlong at full speed, his body pitching forward, straight in the direction of the coffee table. Kate's breath stops in her lungs, because it's too late, her heart already preparing for the sight of the painful impact, ears ready to hear the pitiful cry. But shockingly enough, that moment never comes. Because Jim's hands are suddenly there, catching Sasha in midair even as the impact sends him stumbling back. But his firm grasp on his charge never wavers, securing the boy safely in his arms with a shocked "Whoa!"

Kate's hands are still gripping the mug, her breath still halted, but she consciously forces herself to relax, to lean back, to not make a big deal of the fact that her son nearly cracked his head open against the edge of the coffee table. And of course, Sasha's not even aware of the danger he so narrowly escaped. The boy merely holds tighter to his grandfather's shirt, then moves his hand to the back of Jim's head and abruptly grabs a fistful of hair, making the older man howl with pain as Sasha cackles madly.

She bursts out with laughter then, mirth and elation both. She momentarily considers coming to her father's rescue, breaking up the two of them before somebody actually does get seriously hurt, but she's too amused by the situation, and too intrigued to see him solve this one on his own. Sasha roars with glee, still pulling at his grandfather's hair, his head turning to his mother with a huge grin, saliva running down his chin.

"Hey, kiddo! Let go of your poor grandpa while he still has a couple of hairs left!"

She jumps at the sound of Castle's voice right next to her, didn't expect him to get so close without her noticing, hadn't heard or seen him approach, that sneaky weasel. His fingers come to rest over Kate's shoulder, his palm warm and sure, and she immediately relaxes into the couch's cushions while instinctively leaning closer to her husband, her hand reaching up to his.

Both Jim and Sasha turn at Castle's words, and Sasha's tiny face screws up into a look Kate recognizes, knows all too well, because she's seen it plenty of times. On Castle. It's his 'how much can I get away with here?' look. Yeah, she's all too familiar with that one. And Sasha is just as mischievous as his namesake, if not more so. His little fingers twitch, experimentally tugging once more on Jim's hair, his blue eyes carefully assessing Castle for his reaction. Kate bites her lip, hiding a grin. Like father, like son.

"C'mon, Sasha," Castle chides. "Don't you think Grandpa's had enough for one night?"

He's aiming a pointed look at Sasha, who stares back, momentarily frozen, his grandfather's hair still locked in his painful, solid grasp. Her dad's head is at an odd angle as he tries not to move too much, a light moan leaving his lips, and the image is so funny somehow – it shouldn't be, but it is – that Kate is really having a hard time keeping a straight face long enough to support her husband's parenting. Somehow, she manages to strangle her laugh and gather what last shreds of authority she can muster.

"Yeah, baby. Let go of Grandpa's hair," she calls softly.

Sasha tilts his head to the side, kind of a like a dog trying to understand what its owner is saying, before finally, agonizingly slowly, looks back at his grandfather and lets go, one sticky finger after another untangling from Jim's hair at last. Castle purses his lips and glances down at her, grinning ruefully, as if he can read her mind, and then heads towards the duo on the floor.

"Good boy," he praises, taking the toddler from Jim so that his father-in-law can massage his sore scalp in peace. "And now that we've freed Grandpa," Castle teases with a warm smile, "I think it's time to call it a night." Kate's gaze shifts to her father, who is finally getting to his feet, and looking a little bit…disappointed? She purses her lips, and brings the mug to her mouth, once again hiding the grin that's threatening to escape. She'll leave it to the boys to sort this out.

"Already?" Jim asks, his casual tone belying his eagerness for more time with the toddler.

As if in answer to his grandfather's question, Sasha lets loose a sudden, enormous yawn. Both men smile and Castle pulls the boy more snugly against his hip. "Yup. Someone is definitely ready for a bath and then bed." He gently ruffles his son's hair. "What do you say, buddy?"

Sasha's eyes go huge, horror stealing across his features. He might not understand much yet, but bath and bed are a well-known word combination to the one-year-old. He shakes his head once, then again, quicker this time.

"No! Nooo noo noo, da, no ba! No ba, da!" he blabbers.

He can't really talk yet, not real words anyway. Some syllables he does get right, but otherwise, he doesn't actually speak. There's the occasional ma-ma-ma-ma, sometimes a da or a pa for Castle. But mostly, it's just the typical baby gibberish, the language only he – and apparently, other kids that he 'chats' with at the park – understand.

"Grrrrrr!" the boy roars, raising both his hands in the air and baring his teeth at his father. Like a little tiger, or her very own lion cub, she muses with a slight shake of her head. "Grrr!" he repeats, curving his fingers like little claws, imitating a tiger with everything he has. His favorite animal has recently turned into a favorite game. She suppresses another laugh, understands what he's trying to say despite the funny way he's expressing himself. They've had this "conversation" numerous times already – Kate knows exactly what it means.

No bed time, Daddy – or Mommy, depending on who's putting him to sleep - not yet! I wanna play with my tiger – his favorite toy - first! Please, let's play with my tiger!

"No-no, buddy," says Castle resolutely, shaking his head. "Enough play-time. It's bath time!"

"No!" cries the toddler stubbornly and Kate nearly rolls her eyes. No. Well, that's one word Sasha's already mastered to perfection.

The boy turns to his grandfather with an adorably pleading expression, baby blues stretched wide, asking his buddy for help in the most convincing way he knows how. Which, judging by the hesitant, wavering look plastered all over her father's face, is probably working. And just for good measure, Sasha extends both his hands towards her dad, disregarding his father completely, repeating his plea.

"GRRRRRR! Pa-pa. Grrrrrr. Papapapapapa. Grrr-papa. GRRR-pa-pa!" he emphasizes, trying to get his point across over and over again. Kate is about to step in, backing up her husband for what looks like the start of one of their son's temper tantrums, but then the absolutely awestruck look on her father's face stops her in her tracks.

"Did you hear that?" whispers Jim, shock and incredulousness lacing his voice. "He just said my name!"

What?

"Papapa! Grrrr!" affirms Sasha, repeating the words that seem to be getting him what he wants. To her bewilderment, her dad is already extending his hands towards the baby, taking him from an equally confused Castle.

"Yeah, that's right, buddy," beams Jim. "That's me! Grrrrr-papa! Grrrrrrpapa Jim!" he half cries, meeting Kate's eyes with uncensored happiness, such utter astonishment.

"I can't believe it! I'm his first real word!"

And he is lost after that, completely smitten, all over the moon, cuddling and cooing over the squealing toddler again, as if Kate and Castle weren't even there.

She's a bit lost, trying without real success to process her father's words, trying to figure out a way to let him know the truth of the matter, but then she catches Castle's eyes, and her husband is shrugging in that "what can you do?" way, and throwing her a secret smile, accompanied by a knowing look before he gives just the tiniest fraction of a nod.

And she feels her lips curving slightly as she nods back. An agreement then.

They won't tell Jim. They won't tell him that all Sasha had been doing was expressing his reluctance to go to bed, combined with his enthusiasm over his favorite tiger toy, and his personal fondness for pretending that he's a tiger or a lion himself, especially near bedtime. No, neither has the heart to, because Jim looks like he's just discovered the moon. Like there is nothing more important in his life than the fact that he gets to be the first word of his grandchild.

Her throat closes up again and all she can do is exchange a meaningful look with her husband, silently asking him for support. His eyes soften and he catches the cue, taking over. "Well, we all know that he adores you, so there you go. Now it's official. I'll even pretend it doesn't hurt that much, huh, Sash?"

Count on Castle to make a melodramatic comment to ease everyone out of an emotional situation. There are only a handful of occasions where her heart has felt this full for him, like it might burst from the love she harbors for him there. Her wonderful, dorky, drama-queen of a husband.

Kate puts down her mug on the table with a slightly shaking hand, rises from the couch and makes her way over to Castle's side. Her hand slips into his, their fingers intertwining before she gives his a firm squeeze, extra tight. He throws her a sideways look, carefully gauging her reaction, but she's just happy. So happy and filled to the brim with it all. With how time can heal, how things can move on in the end.

She buries her head in his shoulder, slowly embracing the man who's made it all possible. Who's mended a whole family, knitting it back together again.

Her lips press a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just behind his ear, an unspoken thank you. She takes a moment, her nose tucked into the softness of his shirt, his smell, fresh from the shower, enveloping her.

Finally she withdraws, catching his eyes. "Hot chocolate?" she suggests, throwing a pointed look at her father playing with their son. "Something tells me we won't be getting them to bed anytime soon. Besides," she shrugs in playful defeat, "it is Christmas."

Castle gives her a slow grin before coming closer to press a warm kiss against her mouth.

"Put a double dose of marshmallows in mine and I am game," he says with a sassy look, watching how her teeth come to bite at her lower lip.

"Deal."

A/N: I know it takes me ages to put a single update to this story, since my writing time is so limited and my sweet beta extremely busy, but I haven't abandoned this fandom and especially love this particular story/universe too much. So cross fingers for more writing time soon.