Silver and Gold: Part Two
It's not full dark yet. They started for the Village just after Mia's dinner, and the girl dropped to sleep on the way, but now she's awake. Astonished, as if she's never seen the world like this before.
Rick Castle slides his hand in his wife's and rubs his thumb along the sensitive inside skin of her wrist. A surefire way to garner her attention. She glances at him, her lips parted, and for a moment, he's struck by the nebulous visage of a child they never had, and if that same wonder would have graced their face at Christmas.
He swallows back memories that aren't real, nods his head to the girl on his hip. "She's in love with the lights."
Kate shifts on her feet, her body lit by the soft green of the rope lights that line Court Square. "Who isn't?" She laces their fingers and leans past him to look at Mia, chuckles. "Okay, well, that's about on par with the Christmas train, I think. Actually. She might be more impressed with the Village's efforts. That train will be old news when we get home."
"Shut your mouth," he faux-gasps.
She grins, bumping his shoulder. She startles back. "Whoops, that was your shot-arm. Does it still hurt?"
"It's okay, it's fine now," he promises. "Only aches a bit when I flex."
Hamptons Village has gone all out for the light display: the court square with its English village aesthetics and architecture now looks like the landing strip for Santa's sleigh. The quaint buildings (which are guided by strict building codes to maintain their quaintness, even proscribing which kind of rock face the cottages must have) are detailed in soft white lights with over-sized frosted bulbs, while the sidewalks and curbs are detailed in green rope lights that leave contrails across the vision. Every shop has an over-sized wreath, and on their lawn or in their window displays is an elaborate scene.
Kate reaches over to tug down Mia's jacket. "You like the lights, Mia?"
"Ai, Mikey," she says, unable to tear her eyes away from the lighted Elvis-Santa whose hips gyrate in time to 'Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree' as the reindeer, also in lights, cover their eyes or mouths in shock.
This window display belongs to the pole dancing exercise place that Castle has kept teasing Kate she ought to attend. At least they have a sense of humor. But. "Shouldn't it be 'Blue Christmas'?" he says.
"Hush."
"Mikey, what bew?"
"Blue Christmas is a song, and don't listen to Pops; he thinks he's funny."
"Not funny," Mia says to him, patting at his chest maybe a little harder than is nice. "Bew not funny."
"Easy, easy," Kate warns.
"I'm not being funny; I'm serious," he says.
"He sewious?" Mia says.
"He's not serious. Joking. Funny."
Mia twists back to look at him, as if to gauge the accuracy of Kate's statement.
He makes a face at her.
"Ha!" Mikey slaps her hands together, gives another cheery false laugh. "Ha! Ha, Pops!"
He and Kate both crack up, Kate snorting behind a hand, Castle trying to muffle his laughter in Mia's fur-lined hood, but Mia is hamming it up, not offended, her feelings not hurt. Which is a godsend, considering she usually doesn't find it humorous when they're laughing at her antics.
"I'll take her so you don't have to keep flexing your poor arm." Kate wriggles her eyebrows at him (he'll never tell her she looks ridiculous when she thinks she's being sexy with her puns). "Let's go see the next one," Kate says, reaching out her hands to Mia. "Huh? Enough hip-shaking Elvis."
"Santa," Mia corrects, leaning out for Kate.
"Your back." Castle tries to hold Mia against him, but Kate shoots him a glare and takes Mia anyway, propping her on a hip and heading for the next display. The hardware store, where they've set up a diorama of Santa's workshop with all the elves hard at work. Using hardware store tools, of course.
Kate is already cocking that hip at a bad angle. He sees back spasms in their future, but no telling her that. He wishes she didn't think she always has to be superman; she's not even a cop any longer. What's her deal with putting on a brave face and bulling her way through pain?
Just because the bullet wounds have left their mark doesn't make her somehow less. He has scars of his own, and not just the one from his chest wound—a lingering anxiety with no clear focus or definable trigger, and the horrific sense that all of his life is far too permeable, too easily punctured. The second he was discharged from the hospital, weak, nauseated whenever he stood, he was unable to go back to the loft. Unable to even think of setting foot inside.
His mother and Alexis and Hayley packed up their bedroom, his collectible typewriters, their books, the art prints he named, the laptop and her computer, anything he could remember which might be something Kate would want to have. Alexis and Mother remained; he took Kate to the Hamptons to recover. All of their physical therapists transferred them to others closer to their new home; he was the one to find Kate an occupational therapist; the heated pool is where she took her first steps again; the gazebo is where they grieved all that was lost to them.
They have scars. Ugly scars. And yes, when they returned to the city, they were stronger. But being stronger doesn't mean she has to carry Mia through the holiday onlookers like she's not forty-two, like she hasn't been shot multiple times, like her body hasn't been through some seriously rough and nearly unsurvivable experiences.
Kate turns, and he catches sight of the absolute delight on her face, the beaming of her smile and the sparkle of Christmas lights in her eyes, and she gestures him to hurry up, slowpoke, while Mia giggles and bounces on her hip.
Yeah.
Castle swallows back his anxiety masked as concern, reminds himself to breathe.
He's winding himself up for nothing. The past has a way of sinking its claws into him, but he should be here, now, like she is; he should take what's offered and run with it.
Be grateful they're here. Tattered but alive.
Castle follows them to the candy cane forest set up in front of the courthouse, where Kate lets Mia get down and run through the tunnel made by tinsel candy cane. (He ignores when Kate tips her hips forward to ease the ache at the small of her back, instead races after Mia.)
He chases Mia through the candy canes until she's giggling and red-faced, her curls bouncing on her cheeks. "Castle, your knee," Kate says, and she must hear herself, because their eyes meet and she laughs, shakes her head. "Alright. Well."
"Pot kettle," he shrugs. And jogs back through the forest after Mia until she's shrieking in sheer terrified delight.
Kate scoops her up, 'saving' her from Pops, swinging her around and conspiring over cupcakes they see in the bakery windows. Castle takes a couple of candy canes from the basket at the exit of the forest, taps Mia's nose with the end. "How about a peppermint cupcake?"
"No toof-paste!"
Kate smirks at his wounded face; he loves peppermint and Mia hates it. As much as she hates brushing her teeth at night.
"What about cotton candy cupcakes?" Kate says, jostling Mia from her scowling. "Or bubble gum?"
"And peppermint is the gross one?" Castle huffs.
"No teef!"
"Fine, fine. What about broccoli cupcakes?"
"Ewwwww!"
Kate hides a laugh.
"No? No broccoli? I'm shocked, Mia. So very shocked."
"No bock."
"Okay, but what about fish?"
Mia rears back in Kate's arms.
"Fish cupcake," he says, keeping a straight face. "Delicious. Tastes like chicken."
"No Poppy! No fish." Mia makes a disgusted face.
Poppy, Kate mouths, mocking him. He kind of hates/adores when Mia calls him that.
"No fish? Wow, you're a hard customer to please. What about—"
"You be quiet. I not like you cupcakes!"
"Oh, wow, no, baby," Kate says immediately. "Dad—Pops was just teasing you. There aren't any cupcakes like that." She gives Castle a grimace and he's not sure if it's because Mia is suddenly super-tired and upset, or if it's because she keeps almost calling him daddy. "We'll get you a chocolate cupcake; we know that's your favorite. Okay?"
Mia's bottom lip trembles. She's every bit of diva as his mother was, and it comes out in these less than stellar moments, moments when he's not even thinking of Mother and then there she is in the ringlets-and-brown eyes of his littlest girl.
"Okay, now Poppy has to make up for it, doesn't he? Poppy?"
He shoots Kate a dark look but immediately reaches over Kate's arms to take Mia into his own. "I was only teasing a little, Mia." He cuddles her against his chest, humming her Moana song a bit off-key, cupping the side of her face. "We can get you chocolate, of course."
He forgets sometimes that she's not his little girl. She's Alexis's.
And Alexis is too far away.
—-xxx—-
Probably, it's the storm whipping the waves, the lightning quietly playing havoc with the night. Probably it's the incessant drumming of rain on their balcony and the wind howling. No thunder, just the moon of her face as she watches him, studies the way he cradles Mia on his chest.
Watches him as if she thinks he might be asleep.
He's not asleep. How could anyone sleep with that ruckus out there? Well, anyone other than Mia.
Probably he should be; it's always an early morning.
And yet he finds himself reaching for her from the rocking chair, curving his hand to the point of her chin, brushing his thumb across her lips.
Her tongue touches his thumb. Her eyes lift to his face, smiling that way which has nothing to do with her mouth, just the feeling in her eyes.
"She sleeping?" he murmurs.
"Yeah, but wasn't looking at her."
"Oh?"
"You're beautiful."
He laughs without sound, a rumble in his chest that makes Mia stir.
"Don't laugh."
"I wasn't going for beautiful when I put on this ratty pajama shirt."
"Doesn't matter, still beautiful." She rises to her feet, bends over to brush her lips against the corner of his eye. "Put her down. Come to bed."
He does come. The lightning—the storm electric—always brings them to each other.
—-xxx—-