2022 / Dash Universe

"I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year."

-Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

"Hey, what's going on?"

Kate glances up, realizes she's wandered into the office without acknowledging either of her children or the fact that she's arrived home.

Finally. It's Christmas Eve. She's the Captain of the Twelfth Precinct and it is such a well-run machine that she should never have to leave her family on Christmas Eve.

Barring emergencies. Terrible, stark emergencies.

"Kate?" Castle stands from his desk chair, a tumbler of scotch in hand, coming around the desk to touch her shoulder. "You look dazed."

"I... had a meeting at 1PP."

A slight raise of his eyebrow. "And it... didn't go well?" He offers her the glass and she actually takes it, a strange numbness in her fingers. She might have just given poor Ella the brush off in the hallway. Did she do that? She's still in shock. "Kate?"

She rouses, takes a healthy swallow of his scotch. Her face blanches. "What is this?"

"Oh, darn. It's from the batch I just finished. Not good?"

She presses her lips together, hands it back.

He gives the drink a short sniff, makes a gruesome face. "Yeah, I'll have to try again."

"Is this what you planned on giving Espo and Ryan for Christmas?"

"Might have to come up with Plan B."

Her lips twitch, first real stirring of feeling since her meeting today.

"So what's happened at headquarters," he says, settling back against the desk, arms crossing over his chest. "That's put that look on your face."

"Well, first," she drawls, feigning a dry wit she doesn't feel. "Someone grabbed my ass in the elevator."

His jaw drops; he's on his feet. "You're kidding. And they're still standing?"

She should feel better. "I was in the elevator with a councilman, a deputy commissioner, a captain, and one of the commissioner's people. All white males. I turned around and they were all smartly facing forward, eyes up. Wouldn't look at me. Pretended nothing had happened."

"Wall of blue," he comments.

She curls her hands into fists, shakes her head. "I'm used to that. Normally, I'd have dragged their sorry behinds off that elevator and torn them a new one until someone confessed. But I didn't." She catches the concern brimming in his manner and hates herself. "I... took it. I turned back around and I didn't say a word."

Castle sinks back to the desk, his eyes fixed on her face.

She looks away, finds the bleak cap of grey sky past the windows. She wishes it would snow, some kind of relief from the relentless dome of clouds. "Any other day. Any other time. These past few years have felt like... there's this unspoken permission for people in power to do what they want, take what they want. It's no longer under the surface."

He clears his throat, but he doesn't speak.

She tries to let it go. "It's always been like that. I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be used to it. I don't want to ever hear Ella say, I'm used to it."

"No," she whispers. Battles back the burn in her eyes. "That's not even the worst of it. The worst is why I was there in the first place, the meeting I had. About four of my own officers. In my house."

He takes a rough breath, nodding. It's been all over the news. When the story broke, he called her immediately; she had to send him to voicemail, already getting a dressing down from the Commissioner about the blowback.

The blowback.

"That little boy is dead," she whispers. "He was barely twelve. You know how ridiculous Dashiell can be, how he won't listen, but he's a good-hearted kid and given time—"

"I know." Quick, and his hand closes around her wrist. "Ten isn't that far from twelve. Every parent of a boy is feeling this one."

She shakes her head. "They're not. Because you know what they said to me, two of my officers? The little punk deserved it."

Castle's face shutters. As it does whenever she brings the administration bullshit home, whenever she's been patted on the head and told to take it, whenever the policies trump the good that could be done. Should be done. He never comments; he lets her decide.

But this time, he speaks. "Do you remember when the NYPD shot up that car outside a club in Queens? The bachelor party."

"Yeah," she whispers. "2006. Not too long before you came to us."

"I knew Sean Bell." He winces, shakes his head. "No, no, I knew of him from a poker buddy, a basketball coach. He was talking up his nephew, Sean Bell, because he was this really excellent baseball pitcher. I don't know the stats; it was impressive to hear him talk about this kid."

"You knew Sean Bell's uncle."

"Those cops unloosed fifty rounds into that car and killed that man for… what? For being in a strip club at a bachelor party."

Their eyes meet.

"For being black," she says finally.

There's a beat.

Castle sighs. "New York City has a long history of police brutality. Why do you think I was so… impressed by you?" His lips twist into something like a smile. "You wrote a different story, Kate."

She lets out a shaky breath. "Not anymore, it seems." Her gaze drifts to the window, the heavy dome. Heavy. "I recommended, against the strong wording of the officers' union reps, for the two senior officers to be prosecuted."

"And the rookie?"

She shakes her head. "Dismissed. She has to live with it already."

"Not once did she tell either of the senior officers to let the kid up, let him breathe."

Kate feels her chest collapse, has to battle back the sensation of choking. "Yes, I know. And… other things. There were other details, I can't share. She should have known better."

"I understand. And the fourth?"

"He quit. He wasn't in charge, he wasn't next to the boy; he was working crowd control. He's broken; I talked with him at home, away from his rep, and he feels he ought to have done more."

Castle is silent.

She takes a slow breath. "The Commissioner told me if I filed my report, he would make my professional life a living hell."

"I know you filed it anyway."

She nods slowly, swallowing back the thickness in her throat.

"And?"

"I gave a summary of my statements to the union, plus to the IAB investigation lead."

"Are they going to recommend prosecution?"

"No, Castle." She sees the flinch of betrayal go across his face, exactly as she felt it when the detective came to her. "That wall of blue, remember?"

"What are you going to do?" he asks. "Because I know you. And unlike that damn elevator, you are going to do something."

She stiffens her spine. But there are tears burning behind her eyes. She hasn't thought of what she will do, could do; she's only thought... I don't know what we are any more.

He lifts from the edge of the desk and takes her by the hands, leans in to kiss her forehead. "Let me get you a glass of something better than this swill." His lips graze her nose. "I'll keep the kiddos distracted; we'll roast marshmallows in the fireplace like we did last year." He squeezes her hands. "You, however. I have something."

Castle backs her up to the brown leather chair he's usually in when procrastinating the writing; she huffs as she falls into its soft easy give.

He turns to the desk and snags his laptop, popping the charger out of the port and lifting the lid. She watches curiously as those thick fingers scroll deftly on the touchpad, and then she pulls back as he turns the laptop around and puts it across her thighs.

A blank page stares at her from the screen. A blinking cursor like a warning light.

He taps the laptop. "Write it down. Everything you feel, from the elevator to that little boy, to the Commissioner, to the wall of blue." He stands and shoves his hands into his pockets. "It works. Write it down."

Kate hesitantly touches the keyboard, wondering if his instinct for words can somehow be transmitted through the taps on the keys.

Rick leaves her in the office with the accusing page.

Castle hears the stage whispering outside the door, but truth be told, he's been awake for hours. Christmas Eve dinner was such a grand affair; Allie and Rafe and two year-old Sophie in her red dress with the adorable ruffles and her big dimples, big vocabulary. When Rafe and Allie broke the news about baby number two, Castle thought he might actually cry, and Kate was the one who had to unwrap the sonogram and hang it on the fridge while Ellery and Dash giggled and called him 'old man' to his face.

But after dinner, when the adult kids had left and Ellery was upstairs brushing her teeth while Dashiell whined from the stairs about getting sent to bed, Kate turned in the entry and told him:

I'm going to quit the NYPD.

"Don't hit me on Christmas, you brat!"

Castle slips out of bed before the munchkins can wake his wife, stepping into slippers they got him last year and the big wooly red robe with white snowy piping that always gives Ellery a start, thinking he's Santa for a moment.

When he opens the door, she does just that, nearly dropping on top of his slippers. Instead, his littlest girl flings her arms wide and launches herself at him. "Daddy! I'm eight now!"

He chuckles, scooping her out of thin air, the daredevil. "Yes, you are. But what do we say—"

"Christmas first," she says, trying for diplomacy. "Christmas Day presents and family time and giving. Tis the season."

"Yes, very much so. And no hitting."

She tilts her head and tucks herself into his chest, demanding his attention in all her long-limbed awkward eight-ness. "Is Sophie and her baby going to come?"

"Not until your birthday. And the baby won't really come until next year." He palms the back of the patient child's head—Dashiell, shockingly—and hugs him against his thigh. "Merry Christmas, Dash. How long have you been up?"

Dash grimaces. "If I'm being honest, I never really fell asleep."

"Ouch, my man."

"Is Mom awake?"

"No, and our first gift to give your mother will be time. Mom gets to sleep in a bit this morning, guys. She's had a rough week. A lot on her plate."

"Because that boy got killed," Ellery says. "Her people did it."

Jeez, this kid's perception is uncanny. Maybe it's just in comparison to Dash, but he has goose bumps. He'll need to come up with a game plan with Kate, a way to talk to the kids about it. "Come on, away from the bedroom. Let's start Christmas pancakes and coffee, and I bet Mom wakes up on her own in a few."

"A few what?" Dashiell says suspiciously.

"You can hang with your old man for a while." Castle rolls his eyes.

Ellery, from her lofty perch, eyes the presents under the tree as they pass by. "Daddy. Wait, you're going to miss them!"

"No presents yet. Mom would be sad if opened presents without her."

"Oh, but it's my birthday," Ellery pouts.

"Tonight, cricket."

She folds her arms over her chest, looks like she's settling in for a tantrum. Castle plops her on the counter and frames her with his arms planted on the stone. Gives her a good stare down.

The mutinous look relents a bit. It used to be cute. At eight years old, cute is wearing thin.

"Ella Kate," he warns quietly. "What have I said about sharing."

"It's everybody's day first," she huffs, deepening the scowl for one instant just to prove she's not happy. And then her face changes entirely. "Oh, can we have special pancakes?"

"Oh, please, Dad!" Dashiell is climbing onto the counter from the bar stool, not to be left out. "I can help."

"Oh no. You are not getting anywhere near the stove. Back in your chair. Ellery, climb onto your stool, and you both can direct me in the making of the perfect snowman."

Ella tilts her head again, that devious calculation in her eyes. "One big snowman? On the griddle?"

"One big snowman. We'll have a collective pancake."

"Dad, Dad, with what special things in it?" Dashiell is so excited he bangs a knee into the cabinet. "Ow. I mean, what things, Dad, what can we trick Mom?"

"Hm. Chili powder and bananas?"

"Daddy," Ellery complains.

"Gummy bears?"

"Yes!" Ella high-fives Dashiell and they both scramble down from the stools to go running for the pantry, cohorts again.

Castle fishes his phone from the counter where he left it charging last night, and he opens the shared dropbox. It was a bit devious, giving her a word document already saved to his drive, but he wants to know just how serious she is about this quitting the NYPD thing.

He starts to read while the kids ransack the pantry.

Kate leans her head back against the puffy cushion of the couch, slits her eyes in deference to her weariness. Ellery fell into a sugar-coma half on her lap, and it's nice to sit here and comb her stubborn daughter's hair through her fingers, a moment's respite between Christmas and birthday.

She's so wonderful when she's asleep. Kate remembers thinking the same of Dash... but when Dashiell was a toddler, not an eight year old who ought to know better.

A few more tangles than usual, the roughhousing with her brother, the snaking under the tree for the presents Rick hid in the lowest branches. Kate manages to unknot a hank of hair and works on slowly unthreading the bird's nest.

Her baby is eight years old. It shouldn't be possible. She looks more and more like a surly Kate with every season.

Castle leaves Dash building legos on the floor by the fireplace and disappears inside his office. She watches him a moment between the open book shelves, then she returns her eyes to her daughter.

Ella's mouth is stained red with M&Ms she ate straight out of the holiday tin from her stocking (despite being told no). A faint scent of peppermint drifts up from her breath at Kate's knee, which she likely got in the hot chocolate Castle made on the stove. Then there were the Christmas cookies Rafe made them, and Kate can admit she indulged in a few herself.

Okay, maybe seven.

But it was the better option. Gummy bear pancakes with mushrooms? She is not that gullible any longer.

"Kate?"

She glances up and smiles at Rick, leans in to accept the kiss he's landing against her cheek. His chuckle as he tries to sit beside her and not crush the cricket is both low and very faintly arousing. Her lungs fill with the first deep breath she's had since last night.

"Hey old man," she grins. "Second grandchild on the way."

"I'd be hurt by all this teasing, but I'm too excited." He lifts his hand and she's bewildered when she sees it's his phone, a strange number dialed into the face. "I have a belated Christmas present for you."

She tilts her head.

"Whew, Ella's resemblance to you is sometimes unnerving, Kate Castle. Don't you dare start picking up her mannerisms."

She chuffs, covers Ella's ear with her palm to prevent the girl from waking. "What's this present you're offering? No gummies, no mushrooms?"

"Ha. No." He elbows the cushion to keep himself upright, the phone half-offered, half in retreat. "It requires a story."

"Oh boy. Here we go."

"Hush, you." He slants an eye and glances down to the eight year old in her lap. "As beautiful a sight as this is, I truly believe it's only the magic of Christmas Day. She never naps."

She smiles. "True, very true. I'm enjoying it while it lasts. So don't wake her with your shenanigans, Rick."

"What shenanigans? This is an offer in good faith. Now for my story, of which you are interrupting with your commentary, as always. This, as I said, is the magic of Christmas Day. I was talking with Dash about what if Mom could quit her job and do you know what he said? And do what?"

Kate sighs.

"He's not wrong," Castle says quietly. "When I said, well, she could play with you more, be here to make breakfast for you and Ella. He said, I don't think that's really in Mom's wheelhouse."

"Oh jeez."

"I think he picked up that phrase listening to the baseball announcers."

"Likely," she laughs softly.

"Dash and I started brainstorming, things Mom would want to do if she's not Captain of the Twelfth, and… well, he's not super imaginative, that kid. But he might be a genius."

"What? Why?"

Castle holds out the phone. "I did something sneaky behind your back, but it was Dash's idea. Deputy Commissioner Jospeh Ortiz wants to talk you out of quitting the NYPD."

Her jaw drops. "What could he possibly have to say after everything that went down at the Police Academy? He was nearly tossed out on his ear for that cadet's murder, and shot in the process of exposing the truth."

"He got Malone's position as head of the Academy. Hear him out." Castle thrusts the phone toward her and hits send before she can protest.

Her former drill sergeant is barking out her name in moments, like the two men have planned this, and just to keep Ella from waking, Kate grabs the phone and puts it against her ear, tries for nonchalant. "They made you Deputy Commissioner, don't that beat all."

"Captain Beckett, I won't mince words. The NYPD needs you, your legendary hunches, your calm under pressure, and yes, your sterling record."

"Sir," she sighs. She wants to murder Castle for backing her into this corner. "It's not what it used to be. The environment has changed, policing is harder while also drawing the kinds of people who shouldn't be doing the policing. We have fifty percent less funding but they've added fifty percent more to our duty roster. We need social workers. And 1PP won't hear a damn bit of it."

"You're right. Did I say you should stay Captain of the Twelfth? Hell no. You need to quit that while the quitting's good."

"What?"

"I'm offering you a job, Captain."

Kate's eyes dart to Rick's. He was smirking. Dash's idea, an exaggerated shrug. "What?" she croaks.

"You want to change the folks coming into your house? You want to make them understand why they have to go through sensitivity training? You want to teach a class on the trauma-informed approach for those living with chronic homelessness? Right now, you're sending your biased, angry, scared officers into potential danger with only a weapon instead of all the many tools they should be able to carry and use."

"I… am," she admits. She's sending her officers out into a powder keg without a bit of fire suppression, only tinder. No wonder a twelve year old boy was slammed to the ground and—

"Don't you want to change that?"

"I do," she whispers. Castle nods. She clears her throat. "I do."

"We're going to kick the shit out of the arrogant entitled asshats who come through our door, and we're going to send them out with the necessary brain power and compassion to truly protect and serve. Is that what you want?"

"Yes. I do. But it's not just training. There are so many other—"

"And how effective have you been in getting the many other changes made?"

Kate sucks in a breath.

"One more thing." The gruffness in Ortiz's voice somehow roughens even more. "I'm retiring in two years. I've been looking for my replacement. I won't go so far as to say you're doing me a favor, but at least the work I've done here won't be ruined by asshats like that Malone, may he rot in jail."

She gives a shaky laugh.

"That's not a thank you, Beckett."

"No, no of course not."

"You better come to me in prime shape."

"I have two kids," she shoots back. "One who takes after me, and one who takes after Rick. I'm in shape. I can beat all my own records by now."

"That's what I'm looking for," Ortiz growls. "Merry Christmas, Captain Beckett. You're on my team."

—-