Chapter 8

"Let's go back out and stargaze," Castle said. "Once we get back tomorrow, you won't see a thing over the streetlights and pollution."

"At the pool?" Beckett queried.

"Yes. It's too cold anywhere else." He leered cheerfully. "And anyway, I like gazing at you in skimpy shorts or a bikini."

Beckett glared. As ever, it had no effect. She still came back out in shorts and a t-shirt knotted under her breasts, though.

At the pool, Castle had done some rearranging of the loungers. Wide enough for two they might be, but it was still a little cramped to fit both of them on one side by side, so he'd moved the table and put them together.

Once she'd disposed herself appropriately, Beckett, without looking, sneaked her hand across to find Castle's. It wasn't hard, since it was sneaking over to find hers. Their fingers linked, but nothing more occurred.

Beckett stared up into the dark, star-sparkled void above them. "Wish upon a star," she murmured.

"What would you wish for?" Castle asked, unwontedly serious and quiet.

"I don't know," she said. Peace, she thought. A Christmas that doesn't disappoint.

Castle said nothing, extremely loudly. Beckett said nothing further, also extremely loudly. Wishes were private, and (superstitious though it was) telling anyone would ensure that it would never come to pass. Instead, she leaned over, and kissed him, which effectively prevented any questions in favour of a delightfully slow, sensual exploration of mouths, then bodies. Afterwards, they simply held hands, until they went inside together, to Castle's bed.

"Thank you," Beckett said, just before she lifted her small case into the car. Castle, who had tried and failed to be allowed to carry it, smiled.

"It's been fun," he said. "I'm glad you came."

"I am too." She looked away, and blinked, and looked back again, eyes suspiciously bright. "Time to go, though."

Beckett didn't say anything almost the whole way back, but as they crossed the bridge back into Manhattan, she spoke, not looking at him. The veteran of many car-drive confidences from his daughter, Castle kept his gaze on the road.

"Tomorrow night – Christmas Eve," she began, as if he didn't know that, "uh…I was going to the midnight service at Trinity Church on Wall Street." She hesitated for so long that he thought she'd changed her mind about talking... or whatever decision she was making right now. "Uh…if you weren't busy…" His fingers gripped the wheel, his teeth clamped down on his tongue to prevent him jumping in. "Uh…would you like to come with me?" There was a half-second of silence. "I mean, obviously you'll have something to do with your family" –

"Not that late," Castle said before she could retract her invitation. "I'd like to come."

"I'll meet you there. St Paul's Chapel, eleven-fifteen. It'll be busy," Beckett said, closing the subject down completely.

She wished she hadn't offered. Surely her unhappy Christmas company would be a disappointment. But Castle seemed to be completely happy with her unexpected invitation, and had the good sense not to say anything more.

He pulled up at her block.

"Do you want a coffee?" she asked.

"No, thanks. I need to get home. But I'll see you tomorrow night." He kissed her hard, before she collected her case and waved him off.

In her apartment, she was glad he'd refused. The air was chilled, though the heat was set exactly where she liked it. Already, she missed the mock summer of Castle's Hamptons home. She made herself a coffee, and unpacked while it was brewing.

Hands wrapped around her oversized mug, Beckett left the lights very low, and wandered to her windows, to look out at the city. She couldn't see the stars: in fact, the clouds were heavy, pregnant with more snow. She supposed it was fortunate that they'd returned when they did: another blizzard would have trapped them in the Hamptons over Christmas Day. A tiny, selfish thought said you'd have liked that. A far bigger, stabbing thought said you'd have hated that, but only because Castle would have missed out on the Christmas he'd enjoy because he was doing something nice for you. She shivered, put her mug down and went to don a warm sweater.

As she returned to the dim main room, the star that she'd left hanging in another window caught her eye. Wish upon the star, she thought. She wished with all her heart and soul that, somehow, she could recapture the sense of peace, comfort and even joy that she'd felt the previous day, and preserve it throughout the Christmas season. As soon as she'd thought it, she felt stupid. Of course a glass star couldn't grant wishes; no more than could a flaming ball of gas light years away. Even the Star of which this was a poor imitation hadn't granted wishes, though, if you had faith, it had heralded the world's salvation.

She turned away. In three days, it would all be over, anyway. A few more days of misery after that, and she could get on with her life for another year. Tonight, she'd simply think back over her short break, and enjoy that memory, rather than older, unhappier times.

It should have worked perfectly. She should have thought of the warm happiness that Castle's brilliant idea had brought to her; she should have thought of how good he – they – had been together. Instead, every memory simply showed her how her apartment, her solitude, her ready-meal microwaved dinner were each a disappointment in comparison. She drew a bath, and added a glass of wine; and all that she could remember was enjoying the pool and then the sweet taste of sangria. Underneath it all, her body remembered every expert touch, every kiss; and longed for it again, but that yearning didn't hit her conscious mind. Restlessly, she flitted from one thing to another: TV that didn't hold her interest; a book on which she couldn't concentrate; music that sounded cacophonous, not harmonic. Too late to run, to work off her fidgets: eventually she tried a yoga session, but even there she couldn't focus on the slow stretches and formal poses.

She tossed and turned, desperate not to call Castle, though she'd sent a thank you text almost as soon as she opened her apartment door. He would be with his happy family, and she'd see him tomorrow. Late tomorrow, her errant, unhappy thoughts reminded her, because you can't work. Eventually, she slept, badly, and woke earlier than she'd have liked; still dark, and the white snowflakes falling, drifting through the sullen orange streetlight illumination.

Despite the snow, she dressed to run: thermal base layer under warm gym pants and fitted top with a high neck, warm gloves, thermal socks and her expensive, snow-safe, shoes. She shouldn't do this before the sidewalks were cleared, but she couldn't stand the silence and loneliness for another second, and this was why she'd bought the shoes. Replaced the shoes: she'd first bought them more than ten years ago, and worn them to destruction in the first three months; since then, had to replace them annually. As her salary had increased, so had their quality. These were top of the line, and had cost her accordingly.

As she ran, not trying for speed but for smoothness, she thought only about the placement of her feet – a sprained ankle wouldn't help anyone; the length of her stride, the corresponding movement of her arms for peak efficiency, regular, unstressed breathing. As long as she kept her mind solely on her movement, there were no memories, no mementoes. She couldn't see the decorations in shops and streets, or above her head, strung across. She could ignore the season, and drop into a state of physicality: not thinking, not stressing, not…anything.

She kept running. Finally, long after she should have been chilled to the bone, she turned for home. Once there, she ran a long, hot bath, filled with a scented muscle relaxant, and floated, deliberately still not thinking, for almost an hour: until the water had cooled to tepid and she couldn't ignore the world any longer.

After a grilled cheese lunch, she spent some time reading, grimly concentrating on a book which didn't deserve it, finally throwing it down in disgust. She raked through her bookshelves and finally picked out an old book: gentle, but somehow speaking to her: the hot-tempered priest, the equally hot-tempered mayor of a small Italian village, both trying to do the right thing; and the priest's unwavering faith in his Christ to guide him. Today, tomorrow, the next day: she needed the reassurance that there was good in the world: that the devoutly Catholic priest and the staunchly Communist mayor could paint the village's Nativity figures of the Holy Family together, in peace despite their differences: waiting and preparing for the Child Who came to redeem the world.

She wiped her eyes, had her dinner, and went to dress for the midnight service: warm, stylish but loose soft sweater; dark dress pants, heeled boots. She'd add a warm cashmere-mix coat over all of it; a dark beret on her smooth waves of hair; fine leather gloves and a warm scarf.

At eleven-ten, she was waiting at St Paul's Chapel; looking out for Castle's so-familiar shape and height.

"Hey, Beckett," sneaked up from behind her. She swung round, and Castle caught her into a massive bear hug and then kissed her hard. "Shall we go in?" he asked, as if it were a witness interview, rather than he'd staked his claim in front of half a congregation. She should be irritated, not to say outright annoyed, but instead her toes were curling in her boots and she was, for the first time since they'd returned to Manhattan, warm all the way through.

"Yes," she said, and reached for his hand. He startled for a second, then gripped hers, interlocking gloved fingers as they walked into the church and found seats upstairs in the gallery. The organist was playing softly. When they sat down in the pew, Castle's arm snaked around her back as if that was the natural order of things, and she simply snuggled into it, safe and warm, all fretfulness gone, sinking into the music.

The congregation stood, the minister entered, and the service began with the call to worship. The first chords of Hark the Herald Angels rang into the silence, and then the packed church lifted their voices as one in the familiar tune.

Castle blinked as Beckett's voice soared beside his baritone: a perfectly pitched mezzo of power and harmony. He noticed that she didn't look once at the hymnal in her hands: her eyes raised above the minister and looking far, far away: back into that long-ago town of Bethlehem, on a winter's night: the inns full and the stable the only place for the Holy Family to stay; the shepherds watching their flocks on the cold hills; the Magi travelling, following the bright Star to the end of their quest.

He bent his head for the prayer, and then listened attentively to the first reading, by an elderly black man with a beautiful, deep, resonant voice. And it came to pass that in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed…And all went to be taxed, each one in his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth into Judaea, unto the city of David which is called Bethlehem…To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child…And she brought forth her first-born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room in the inn.

Beckett lost herself in the words, taken back to the true meaning of Christmas: thinking of the first time she remembered coming to this same midnight service with her parents: her mother's words, when I was young, Katie, we called it the Watchnight service. Why?, she'd asked. Because the world was watching the Star, and wondering what it meant: the shepherds, the Magi, everybody. Everybody watching as Jesus was born.

The strains of In the Bleak Midwinter pierced through that memory, and she rose to sing: the words as fresh on her tongue as the first time she'd learned them; as familiar as her own hands. Castle had a good voice, she vaguely thought, smooth and velvety; sure of its pitch and tone.

They sat again, for the second reading, given by a middle-aged woman with a clear-spoken soprano. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the Angel of the Lord came upon them…Fear not: for, behold, I bring tidings of great joy…

Great joy, Beckett thought, and wished that she could have found joy in the season. Her eyes fell upon the Christmas decorations, and saw the star, gleaming in the light. Wish upon the star, she thought again, and once more hoped with all her might that she could find the magic of Christmas once more. She glanced at Castle, and saw that his attention was firmly on the beauty and power of the words: the evocation of the wonder and hope that the angelic host had brought. Somehow, in his face, she saw more than just presents and too much food; more than playing happy families and trying to pretend it was a wonderful day. As far as she knew, he wasn't religious.

But he gives, she thought suddenly. He loves to give. Maybe that was what she had just seen? He'd given her joy and peace over the last three days: sure, she'd found some of it hard, but he had opened his home and his generous heart to give her exactly what she'd needed.

Her chain of thought was broken by the opening of O Little Town of Bethlehem, but as she stood she moved a little closer, and found his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. He flicked her a surprised look, but wriggled his fingers closer.

The hopes and fears of all the years, she sang, and suddenly heard the words of the hymn. Her hopes and fears, over all the last ten years. And reprised in the final verse: the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight. Time to face her fears, and in so facing them, pass through to hope.

She should have listened closely to the Christmas sermon, but though she heard each word of a sincere and faithful address, her mind was working over her revelation: face her fears, and find hope. What did she fear?

Disappointment. But whose? Hers, in her Christmases spoiled forever by murder – or was it? Was it the knowledge that her father had fallen, or that she couldn't save him, or that she had thrown her life plan over and become a cop: a career in which an unsolved case was a disappointment to someone –

To her. Her unsolved case. Her – oh God. Her guilt that she'd never solved it, her guilt preying on her so that no matter how hard she tried she always felt that she was the disappointment, searching her father's face for signs. She'd always felt the sting of disappointment because first she'd been disappointed in her father, but then, when he'd defeated his demons, in herself for never solving it.

But hope was standing right there next to her.

The address had finished, and the organ played the introduction to Still the Night. She stood and sang, but all the time she was turning over the realisation of the last few moments. Unnoticed, she was still holding Castle's hand.

The minister lit the candles, and the flames blazed up, reflected in the star that she'd seen earlier: the final prayer was said, and then the organ chords rang out triumphantly with O Come, All Ye Faithful. Suddenly sure of herself, she lifted up her voice in celebration: all the verses, now that the hour had passed through midnight and it was Christmas morning: the Child was born.

The minister closed with the Benediction, and the organ crashed out the voluntary as the service concluded. Beckett didn't move immediately, though Castle began to stand, and then sat down again with his arm around her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes. It's all good." She stared at the star, and the candle flames reflected within its glass. "It's all good," she repeated, and smiled at him, open and happy: rose to walk out with him, hands locked.

While they'd been in the service, the skies had cleared, and even over Manhattan stars twinkled in the sky. "Have you time to come back for coffee?"

"Sure," Castle said, understanding that she didn't mean it as an invitation to bed.

Beckett was quiet all the way to her apartment, but Castle wasn't offended. Her silence was soft, and a smile played on her lips; she snuggled into his arm around her, and when they walked, her arm also came around him as it had in the Hamptons.

She made their coffee, and squared herself to face him. "Castle…" she began, a little uncertainly…"uh, would you help me put my Christmas decorations back up?"

He stared at her, dumbfounded. Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been that. "Sure," he said. "I'm great at that. Point me to the boxes and I shall flex my chiselled muscles as you direct." She rolled her eyes, but he saw relief in them, and more, glints of happiness. "Lay on, McBeckett, and damned be he who first cries 'Hold! Enough!'"

"It's not a duel," she chided, but affection sneaked through her tones. "The boxes are all here."

With two of them, everything was up in no time, finishing with the tree, lavishly covered with lights and tinsel, baubles and bells. Finally, Beckett handed Castle another star. "Put that at the top," she said. He did.

When he turned back around, she was staring out – no, she was staring at the star in the window. "It was the star," she said softly. "Lighting the way to salvation." Castle waited. "I realised…I just had to meet my fears and pass through. Following the star." She didn't turn to him. "But if I hadn't – if you hadn't taken me up to the Hamptons, I wouldn't have invited you to the service, and I wouldn't have realised…"

Castle made a tiny noise. He didn't see what she meant at all.

"When you were listening to the second reading. Something in your face. You give. Gave. You gave me what I needed when I needed it most and when I didn't even know I needed it."

Castle picked the key point out of Beckett's incoherency. "All I wanted," he said softly, into a moment too important for cheap quips, "was for you to be happy."

"And you gave me that," she said, and turned to him. "Peace and happiness." She took two steps. "Fear not," she quoted. "That was what I needed. Joy." One more step, and she cupped his face. "I wished for the magic of Christmas to come back, and it has."

She looked up him. "You brought it back." She swallowed. "There was one carol they missed."

He waited, arms loosely about her.

"Love Came Down At Christmas." And she kissed him.

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers, especially guests whom I can't thank by PM.

The service described is taken from the Church of Scotland's Watchnight service, to which I used to go. The readings are taken from the Gospel of St Luke in the Authorised Version, also known as the King James Bible. Some of the translations are now known to be a little off, but the language is still the most beautiful.

The year has been difficult-to-horrible for everyone. I wish you all peace, joy and comfort in this Christmas season, whether or not you celebrate and whichever faith, or none, you follow. And I wish you all health, wealth and happiness, in the old Scots phrase, for the New Year.

Joy to the world, and peace to all on earth.

See you all in 2021.