Silver & Gold: Part Two

—-xxx—-

"Is it the twelve days of Christmas yet?"

Castle glances up, tilts his head. He's still halfway in the book, not quite able to bring his focus to her.

"For Christmas, I meant to—" Kate shakes her head at herself, doesn't reply, wanders out of his office.

Castle hesitates, fingers on the laptop keys. "Kate?"

"Forget it," she calls down the hall.

He gets up, setting the laptop aside, to go after her. "Kate?" he yells. "For Christmas? What were you going to do for Christmas?"

"Don't say it like that," she yells back. He comes down the hall and steps over the baby gate, finds her sitting at the tea table with Mia, a tiara on her head, a tea cup in hand. She's scowling at him. "Why'd you say it like that? Like I don't do Christmas things?"

He waits a beat.

"Okay fine. I don't have traditions because they're all from when my mom died." She glances to Mia as if checking the girl's comprehension. "But isn't the twelve days of Christmas some kind of thing?"

"For the Catholics, yeah, but you actually haven't missed it. It's Christmas Day to Epiphany in January."

"Huh. I guess I thought it was part of Advent? Like the countdown to Christmas."

"No, it's supposed to start on Christmas, and that gift-giving spirit lasts until January 5th, with the Magi and their gifts. Also called Three Kings Day. And the eve of that feast is called... ta-da: Twelfth Night."

"Oh, that's sounding more familiar now. The wise men. Although why a baby needs myrrh? Don't they know it's used in embalming?" She makes a face and Mia giggles, so she exaggerates it until Mia is sailing on giggles.

It's that really great baby laughter that makes them both look at each other, sharing it, and then just watch Mia because that kind of joy is all-encompassing and deserves the moment.

"Anyway," Castle rouses, smiling, "what were you asking about the twelve days for?"

"It's nothing." She makes another face at Mia but Mia is ignoring her now, feeding tea to her big stuffed unicorn.

"Kate."

"Shouldn't you be writing?"

"Ho ho ho," he says.

She laughs, flushing pink as she glances at him. A soft pause, and then she says, as if admitting something personal and embarrassing. "I thought maybe… we could bring dinner to the nurses at St Joseph's."

"Oh."

She leans forward and snags his fingers. "I'm sorry. We don't—"

"Why didn't I think of that?" he interrupts. "That's wonderful. That's a great idea. We can do that now."

"Oh. I don't… is there time?"

"We have all afternoon to pull it together."

"Tonight? We haven't called ahead anywhere. No one will have enough—"

"It might be piecemeal—ha, get it?—but we can do this. And hey, Kate. Thank you. I've wanted to do… I don't know, something. I guess to make it special, make Mother special." She's far too serious; she looks like she expects him to break down. He can't have that. "Hey, it's perfect. My grief got lumped in with everyone else mourning the loss of a loved one to Covid—and you know me. My melodramatic nature just can't abide that."

"No, come on." She still looks at him like he might fall apart. "We can do something else. Just an idea."

"A good one," he insists. He squats down at the tea table with her. "Okay, being serious here? I've been in a funk. I've been missing her, but keeping it to myself because I'm not sure how to deal with both our griefs around Christmas. Feeling like mine's not as big as yours, which Dr Burke has already said isn't the case. I should have believed him. I should have asked you."

She gives him a crooked smile, but it's warm and full—and relieved. "I have been doing it longer than you. But that doesn't make mine bigger than yours."

"Yeah," he says, chest tightening. His mother lived a good long life, and yes, it was too soon, of course it was, he was always going to say that, but Kate lost her mom so young, and has been without her for so long… "I'm sorry for having my head up my ass—um, my keister."

They both glance to Mia but the girl is coaxing her unicorn to drink tea with soft urgency, mimicking Kate's tone when she's trying to get Mia to eat her peas. She doesn't seem to have picked up on his accidental cursing, or the dark turn their conversation has taken.

"Alright so, we're doing this?" Kate looks expectantly at him. That shine of resolve is in her eyes again, and he's only seen it a handful of times since she left the Twelfth: when Alexis was packing her bags and putting Mia in his arms, when Robert was reluctant to impose the boys on them, and just a few days ago, when she claimed Mia as their own.

"We're doing this," he answers, nodding. "We have some calls to make."

—-xxx—-

"Church Kitchen does this every week," she says. "Call Dan."

"Last resort," Castle says. "I don't want to use their resources when we have our own."

"We have the resources, but we don't have the contacts," Kate counters.

He checks on Mia, the girl sitting in her high chair smearing shaving cream across the tray, clapping her hands together so the 'snow' sprays up and catches in her hair, her clothes, the window behind her head.

"Castle," his wife says, drawing him back to the kitchen island where all their battle plans are ranged, plus both the iPads. They've struck out on multiple fronts and it's past lunchtime.

"I know a guy who—""

"Knowing a guy would come in handy, but let's face it. The guys we know don't regularly donate massive amounts of food to homeless shelters and soup kitchens."

"Okay, no, but. We're not asking for donations. We're going to buy it. And we do know the businesses in Hamptons Village, East Hamptons, all the way up the coast. Heck, you searched for me up and down this coast; they know you for sure."

He's made her uncomfortable. She doesn't like recalling his missing months, or how desperation left a taste in her mouth that still sometimes returns—

Okay, stop.

She really hates it when he pokes at her with these comments about their past, as if they weren't painful, as if they didn't suffer. Ever since the shooting, he does this more and more: distances himself by becoming the observer to his own life, creating a cushion of isolation wherein it is safe to make comments and pronounce judgments and he need not feel so out of control and drowning.

Plus, he's foolishly stubborn when he wants it so badly to go his way.

"You're right," he says abruptly, before she can marshal her careful argument. "I did it again. I don't know why. It makes me… wary. I'm wary. Because it feels like we need to do this, like it makes something right. Because that hospital is where she died, alone but for those nurses—"

"I know." She comes around the kitchen island and grips the front of his shirt in her fist, a soft plaid that's so thin he feels the heat of her knuckles against his sternum. "I'm wary too. It's why I almost didn't bring it up, almost let it go. But we're going to do this, for them, and for us. I'm calling Dan."

"Actually," he hesitates, trying to fight his way through the emotional deluge. "I'd like to call him."

She flattens her hand against his chest, nods. "Call him."

—-xxx—-

Kate cradles the phone against her ear as she hand-feeds Mia slices of pineapple. It's all the girl will eat for snack these days, and when she's feeling needy or lacking in attention, she'll require this kind of one-on-one, her mouth opening like a baby, one of them presiding over the meal.

Rick said Alexis did it too, as a toddler, because she was so insecure over her mother's constant absences. It's how 'baby bird' became his nickname for her.

Some things don't change, some things are inherited like genetics.

We're breaking the cycle, she whispers to Mia.

"Mrs Castle?"

She straightens, pushes the phone up with sticky fingers. "Yes? I'm here."

"Good news," the woman on the other end says. "I talked with my Charity Manager, and she we're good to go."

"Oh, it's not charity," Kate says. "We're paying for it. We'll pay the hourly wage as well, whatever it takes to make the green beans."

"You did say that," the owner says. La Baguette is one of the 'fancy' eat-in restaurants in the Village; she and Rick had their anniversary dinner there a few years ago. Right before heading to Hawaii. "But we have the ingredients on hand, and our staff has been looking for a way to help out the community this year, especially now. You're doing us a favor by providing it."

Kate flushes hotly. This wasn't the idea, and she understands more why Castle wanted to avoid using Dan's contacts. But how do you deny someone the chance to give? "Okay, well. We have a kind of tight schedule to get this all delivered—"

"Yeah, that's our only problem. We'll keep calling the staff, but this is too last minute. If you said tomorrow, have it ready by tomorrow night? We could do that."

Kate grimaces, and Castle looks at her from across the kitchen where he's apparently having the same problem—again. This is the third place to say they can't do it tonight, even though Kate was hoping that parceling out the items would make it more feasible.

"You know what?" Kate answers. "Let's do that. Tomorrow night. Can we—"

"Oh, that's magnificent!" The owner shouts off the phone, probably to her Charity manager, they'll do it. "This is great, so great. Thank you for this. We're so excited. Thank you."

"Me?" Kate laughs, shrugging at Castle. "Not me. Thank you."

—-xxx—-

"No, start making bread now, Castle. You told the guild you would make a hundred of those quick rolls."

He pulls a face but puts down his phone. "We have until tomorrow night though. Now that you've pushed back the timeline, surely I can—"

Kate points her finger at the counter until he fully surrenders, turning to the cabinets to pull out his mixing bowls.

"Good boy," she says.

He squawks indignation and Mia laughs, but suddenly she's chortling like a wheezy old man from her high chair.

"Runny nose," Castle says, because they both freeze whenever Mia does any of the normal snotty baby things that occur on a daily basis with any child below the age of five. "You have that rag?"

"Right here," Kate says, pulling it out of the back pocket of her jeans. "It's a clean one." She puts the handkerchief—a square of plaid from one of his old shirts, soft and worn—up to Mia's nose and mouth and tickles her neck with her other hand, making her sneeze. "Ha, oh gross, that was a thick one."

Castle laughs from his safe spot measuring out flour.

She makes faces at Mia as they blow her nose, mostly work Kate has to do digging around up there, a fact of life no one ever bothered to explain to her when she was romantically lamenting babies and motherhood. There are a great deal of bodily fluids when it comes to children.

Funnily enough, there were also a great deal of bodily fluids when it came to being a cop. Different fluids, and very few joys.

"Shoot, I left the recipe in the box," Castle says. "Can you grab it, my hands are coated."

She snorts and gives him a look.

"Oh, yours are too. That's gross."

"I'll wash my hands, give me a second." She shakes her head and Mia shakes hers back, tugs out of Kate's reach when she tries to go digging again. "Alright, you can be done. Want more toast?"

"No! Down!"

"Um, Castle?"

"Yeah, I mean, we can't trap her in there. She'll pitch a fit."

"I have two more contacts left on my list and we have no main. That can't be put off until tomorrow."

"I can watch her."

"Not with the oven going."

"She's not tried that since the first time. It'll be fine. Go."

Kate fists the rag and unbuckles Mia from the high chair, lifts her up and out while the girl squeals and kicks her legs in happiness. "I haven't managed to get all the pineapple out of her hair."

"Won't hurt," he offers. "I think we're about ready to wash her hair anyway, so we can do that tonight. Since tomorrow we'll be... huh."

"Yeah," Kate says. "I didn't think that through. Either we run the risk of bringing her—"

"No. Not to the hospital."

"Then we have one of us stay home tomorrow?"

"Oh." He winces. "We could ask Robert, bring the boys. I hate doing that to him, but they're in our bubble, the boys can sleep in the bunk beds in the far room, heck they can stay the night—"

"Yeah, they've done it before. Okay," she makes a quick calculation, "I'll call him first. We'll also have pick-ups to do tomorrow. If he can't make it, maybe Dan?"

"Yeah. Set her down," Castle nods. "I'm on duty."

"Careful with the oven," she murmurs, kissing his chin as she leans in. Mia takes a swipe at the flour and Kate has to back away fast. "Whoopsie. Not for you Mia. Let Pops get you some if you want to make bread with him."

"Make, Pops!"

"Okay, here we go. Scoop you out some flour right here." He pulls out one of the plastic mats where he rolls out dough and puts it on the floor, where Kate settles Mia right down. She's making her escape, phone in one hand, rag in the other, as Castle taps a little pile of flour on the plastic mat for Mia to 'make bread' too.

—-xxx—-

"Dan," she says quickly, darting her head into the hall to make sure Castle can't hear her. "We've struck out. No one can get it done."

"I was afraid of that," he says softly. "Tonight is just too soon—"

"Oh, no. We pushed it back to tomorrow night. But now we've told all these restaurants we're picking up vegetables and side items, plus Castle and his baking buddies are making rolls for tomorrow—"

"Oh, tomorrow."

"Yeah?" She hears something in his voice that makes her hope. "You know of—"

"Tomorrow these college guys are starting a BBQ grilling competition. They're going up against a team in Memphis to win… oh, I've forgotten why they're dong it, but the point is—they're donating all the meat they grill to us."

"Oh." She feels her hope shrivel. "No. Dan. We can't take—"

"Sure you can!"

"Not food intended for the homeless and those actually in need."

"It's not a few containers of burgers, Kate. It's pounds and pounds of food. I was seriously at a loss what to do with all they're promising, because you know how it is here. It would wind up being peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Just because it's free doesn't mean people want to eat leftovers for two weeks."

"Two weeks?" she asks. "No. They're grilling enough food for two weeks?"

"Yes they are. It's a competition. Here, let me give you their name and number. They start tomorrow morning; I'd call tomorrow because, well, you know college kids. I do believe they're having a party tonight."

Well, it's better than nothing.

—-xxx—-

Castle snags her right before she heads into Mia's bath, waylaying her so she doesn't take that downcast face into their bedtime ritual with her. "Come on, it can't be that bad."

"I don't think we're going to have a main course," she sighs. "Some college kids? I just don't see it."

"All else fails, we'll bring in pizzas again with a bunch of healthy side items. And rolls. It's—"

"Don't you dare say it's the thought that counts, because we both know it's not."

"It is though."

"A real meal is what counts, Castle. Because we have both worked straight through the night on a case and looked at that cold pizza, or the fifth takeout carton, and wanted to vomit."

He laughs, and she moans at him, but he collars her around the neck and brings her against his body. "Mia is about to crawl right out of her bath seat, I can feel it," he says into her ear. "So you gotta make the pity party quick, Beckett."

"It's not pity. It's just a severe and crushing disappointment."

"Ouch. Dr Burke did warn me you have abnormally high expectations for yourself."

She slaps at him, but he goes on holding her, jiggling her side to side. She resists for a minute, apparently wanting to wallow, before sinking into chest with a sigh. "I'll just really have to sell it, get them pumped for the idea. It could work. Dan says it's a competition, so maybe I can use that angle."

"Can't hurt to try," he agrees. "Now, head down to the kitchen for me? I left hot chocolate sitting out for Mia; should be nice and cool. I'll finish bath time, make sure the flour is out from between her toes—"

"And her hair."

"And her hair," he promises. "Meet you in the rainbow room for bedtime."

She's still pouting a little when she detaches from him, but he's pretty sure what he left downstairs for her will do the trick.

—-xxx—-

Kate pushes the hair back from her head with a sigh, taking the last few steps down the servants' stair and into the butler's pantry. Used to be Martha and Alexis's half of the place, and it pushes a thorn of frustration into her heart.

She's angry instead of sad when she pushes through into their kitchen; she's halfway worked herself into texting Alexis to give her a piece of her mind when she stops abruptly at the kitchen island.

A… stack of bread?

Kate frowns and rounds the island to clean up—

Bursts into laughter.

Oh, Rick.

She laughs so hard, she thumps back against the kitchen cabinets, hot spikes from her back reminding her she can't make sudden movements, but wow. Worth it.

"I can hear you all the way up here!" he shouts from the top of the stairs. Mia calls something similar after.

"You're a complete dork!" she yells back.

He's fashioned four pieces of bread into a house, and inside, on the 'floor' slice of bread, is their container of ginger root, which she was quite proud of purchasing at the winter market a few weeks ago. Clutching the ginger is that stupid Elf, and the index card below reads: I made a gingerbread house for Christmas. Let me know if you want the recipe. Your favorite naughty Elf.

—-xxx—-