Christmas Future (part one of three)

"Last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice."

—T.S. Eliot

When Alexis came into New York for the holidays, she was a whirlwind: taking over the loft, taking on projects, leveling some hash criticisms, and bringing that same can-do attitude the Kate remembered from her project inside the Twelfth. Since Kate felt something like a lost item herself, she didn't much mind.

Two nights later, she was taking the baby out of Kate's hands and scolding her father. "Why do you let this happen? You know better. You guys have a million people who would help you out, and yet here you are, holed up inside, and not even a Christmas tree up yet."

It was astonishing how her vital energy and perhaps newness stilled Gabriel and held him entranced. The baby, at four months old, was too much a Beckett to sleep at night and too much a Castle to be pacified during the day. Kate couldn't remember the last time she'd had her arms free. Or looked to her right and saw Castle with his arms free.

Oh, he did look haggard. Did she look that bad?

"You're going out," Alexis said. How did Alexis become such a professional at handling a baby? "You're going out and doing date night or Christmas shopping or whatever it is you have to do to fix this." She waggled her fingers towards them, Gabe gurgled in what looked like awe.

If Kate had only known a very much older sister was the magic key, she'd have flown the kid to Alexis.

"We're not going out," Castle huffed. He looked ready to snatch Gabriel back from Alexis; he shifted on his feet like a vulture, chest puffed in that same way.

He had dark circles under his eyes and that ring of bruised skin at his neck, just like a vulture.

She couldn't remember if he'd slept last night. She had managed two hours, near midnight, and then… "We're going out," she croaked. She clawed at his arm and snagged his flannel, felt the sticky remains of baby spit up. "We're going out. Castle."

It was likely she hadn't called him Castle in four months. Not since the hard and sharp consonants made Gabriel startle, or wake, or cry, or caught his attention right as he might be about to fall asleep. Most often it was Rick, with the hard 'ck' as more of a soft breath and a grimace.

"We're going out? Without him?"

Alexis rolled her eyes. "At least four hours. I'd like more. After all, I haven't even gotten to hold him. You two are like lampreys."

Kate blinked.

Castle cleared his throat. "Are those… vampire eels?"

"Ancient fish, actually, not eels." Alexis turned her back on them and began marching away with their baby boy.

Kate totally let her. "Come on. I need a shower."

When Castle didn't budge, she left him there.

"Where should we go?" he said to her as they waited for the elevator. She had washed her hair. He shouldn't be so enamored of the glossy shine and the wave of it, but he was, lifting a hand to touch.

She batted his hand away. "Your son does enough of that. And I don't know, Rick, anywhere."

Anywhere. "We have a low bar, don't we?" He was weary to his core. He wished it was possible to lie down on the hallway carpet and sleep those four hours. "Is there a nap bar?"

"A nap… ha." She gave a rather pitiful noise and swayed towards him. "Don't even talk about sleep. I'm nearly delirious."

The elevator doors opened. They shuffled on. The interior of the car was decorated for the holidays in blue and white swag around the metal bar, actually tasteful. "Happy Hanukkah," he said idly, flicking the velvet sash. "I think it is, actually Hanukkah, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

He glanced at her; she had her eyes closed, her head tilted back to the wall. Shiny hair, cheeks mottled pink with the heating system and the scarf around her neck.

The elevator doors opened in the lobby, more beautiful blue and white and silver decor. A silver menorah graced the security desk where a guard sat—one he'd never seen before. They waved, he gave a head nod in returned, and Kate actually took Rick's hand as they exited the building onto the street.

For a moment, they were lost. Suspended on the sidewalk as the world pushed past them, everyone else in a hurry to get somewhere else. He felt the way he had after signing his first book deal, giddy, scared to his bones, and carrying the expectations of people he did not want to disappoint.

"My breasts are killing me," she muttered.

He laughed, though he probably shouldn't have. He gave her an apologetic grimace, side eye, but she was smiling now. A nod of understanding. Her hand in his squeezed once and let go.

"We should probably Christmas shop," she said hesitantly.

"Oh."

"I haven't gotten you anything. Or anyone anything. I did some online stuff for Gabe, but we used those burping cloths the moment they got here."

"That was supposed to be his Christmas present?" He was horrified.

She wrinkled her nose. "He's four months old."

"It's his first Christmas."

"I don't think it matters. He won't remember it."

"Yeah, but I will." He gestured down the street towards the general direction of the subway. "Come on, we'll ride until one of the stops looks promising, and we'll at least get our kid some Christmas presents—decent presents—for his first Christmas."

They fell asleep on the subway.

No idea when or how long, only that they were awakened by an older woman in a red dress, grey bun neatly pinned on top of her head, and spectacles. "New parents?" she said kindly.

They sat up. Kate rubbed her eyes, Castle could only stare.

"You look like Mrs Claus," she blurted out.

"Thank you, my dear," she said, patting the apron on the dress. "Perhaps this is your stop? It's mine."

"Sure," he croaked. He had no idea how far they'd gone, where they were. It smelled like fresh paint and airy damp concrete, the same as almost any other station in winter.

"Yeah," Kate said. "New parents. You can tell?"

"You can tell," the grandmotherly woman smiled. She was gesturing towards the open doors where now people were getting on and off, doing that swift exchange every native was familiar and adept at.

Castle got to his feet, gripped Kate's upper arm and hauled her upright as well. They followed the woman out of the subway car and onto a massive platform, far larger than any of their usual stops.

"Did we switch lines?" Kate murmured. Her voice sounded raw.

"I… don't remember." Had they switched lines? They couldn't be… "Did we fall through the wardrobe into Narnia? This doesn't look like any subway stop in New York."

"It's the Hub," the Claus-esque woman replied, gesturing them onward.

His brain raced, trying to connect Hub with anything he'd seen or heard of otherworldly adventures. The floor was marble, the ceiling was high and white with exposed ribs lit up in cool blue. Information kiosks, digital message boards, all were done in white, very sparse, some images framed on the walls but all of it surreal.

"The Hub," Kate echoed, but her face was just as blank as his brain felt.

"We've crossed a portal into another dimensions," he shrugged.

They followed their guide, as all good characters were required to do in stories like this, and found themselves in a maze of connecting passageways and underground concourses. They were, he knew, going up, up, up, through the various levels. Shops with luxury goods, discrete vendors, and a general buzz of conversation and trains on their path echoed through the marble halls.

"Wait, we're at Vesey?" Castle said, catching sight of text blurred as they set a quick pace. "Vesey Street."

"The PATH—"

"The World Trade Center," Castle choked.

"Wow. This is what… how have I never been here?" Kate gripped his hand as they began gawking like tourists, but they kept up with Mrs Claus as she made her rabbit's way through the warren. "This is real marble. Hey, watch it, the floor is wet here."

They hopped over a puddle just the same way Mrs Claus had and found themselves copying her moves exactly: shift for that janitor, detour to this set of stairs, avoid the influx of disembarking passengers.

And they walked in under the Arctic stars.

"It's the Fortress of Solitude," Kate whispered.

Mrs Claus turned back, found them just behind her. "It's the Oculus, my dear. I'm late for Santa's Workshop. You all have fun."

And then Mrs Claus had disappeared inside the Christmas Village that occupied neat rows of white tents along the white marble floor. Above their heads, the ribs of the Oculus soared to an impossible height, and at the seam, where the curving should have met, was a glass roof, sparkling.

Each rib was bathed in blue light, and little stars were projected in white against that deep blue. As he watched, the color changed and shifted as if they were experiencing the aurora, moving from blue to deep purple to pink and then again to blue, not just in those stark bands, but in waves, rippling waves of color.

And below that magic was a snowy field of marble and canvas, tents erected semi-permanently along the main walkway of the concourse and decorated in a shimmer of blues and silvers, royal bunting and cool sophistication.

"I need to sit down," Kate said.

"Me too."

—-