Chapter 6

"Have you?" he said, when she didn't answer, his heart dropping through the floor. "Because I'm not happy if that was a pity fuck."

Her head snapped up, appalled horror on her face. "No!" she said, tearing herself out of his clasp. "No!" She'd taken three steps to the door before he caught her. "Let go. I would never have done that and if you think I would" –

"No. No," he reassured, very quickly. "But it sounded like…"

"Let go." He did. She took a step away. It felt like miles. "I wouldn't." She paused, and her face closed down. "Did you?"

"What?" he gasped, gut-punched. "No!"

She stood, silent. Then – "Why did you do this?"

Castle looked at her. "Uh…" he said, articulately.

"I see. Out of pity."

"No," he said.

"So why?"

"Because you were utterly miserable and I" – he stopped. He couldn't say wanted to give you a Christmas present of happiness. "I thought it would cheer you up. And it would be fun." He breathed deeply. "And it was fun."

"Till I lost it, you mean," she said bitterly. "I can't even be happy and now you're stuck up here when you should be doing Christmas with your family and I spoilt it." She slumped back down to sit against the wall, as if standing was too much effort.

Castle came to sit down beside her, and picked up her limp hand in his, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, twining his fingers into hers. It didn't seem to warm her any, so he swapped hands and put the now-freed arm around her shoulders, wriggling it down behind her to stop her being forced forward.

"You haven't spoilt anything." Castle pushed gently with the arm around her and tucked her into his side. "Everything's fine at home. I did all my present wrapping and last minute shopping a week ago, and the food will all be delivered whether I'm there or not." His fingers danced along the outer edge of her thigh. "I don't need to do anything till three days from now." They danced higher, and slightly inward. She shrugged them away, and they returned to stillness around the crest of her hipbone, gently present, softly comforting.

"Come here," he said, a little later, during which time she'd said nothing. "Snuggle in, and stop fretting. I'm not upset."

"You should be. You go to all this trouble and I can't even appreciate it."

"You were appreciating it just fine, up till it looked like we couldn't leave tomorrow. This isn't about appreciating it, it's about you thinking you made me do something when you didn't. I chose to do this and okay, I didn't know it was going to blizzard, but if I hadn't wanted to do it I wouldn't have. I make my own decisions and you didn't force me into this." He grinned tightly. "Anything but. I seem to remember having to wait for ages before you agreed to come at all."

He turned her body around a little to swing her legs over his lap and her head into the nook between his neck and shoulder; reconsidered, and put her properly in his lap, where he didn't risk losing all feeling in his fidgety fingers.

"I don't appreciate you thinking you could force me to do anything I didn't want to," he commented. "Do you really think I'm that much of a doormat – or a martyr? After all," he added, "you couldn't force me out of the precinct."

Beckett emitted a minor-league growl: far inferior to her normal efforts, and then relaxed into him for the first time since they'd had pre-dinner drinks. He cuddled and then petted, as if he were gentling a dangerous, but injured, predator.

"You couldn't," he continued. "And you couldn't have forced me to invite you up here because you didn't even know I had a house here till I invited you." He smiled sweetly at her. "So stop fretting and fussing. It disturbs my chi and inner peace."

She made a half-strength disgusted noise.

"And there's only one way to restore my harmonies," he carried on, and received a nearly-normal sceptical glare. "You should cuddle up to me." Definitely a full-strength sceptical glare.

"Did I get a choice in the matter?" she asked acidly. "You seem to have managed that all by yourself."

Castle dropped his arms. "You can move away any time you like," he said. "I'm not stopping you." He paused. "But I think you'd be a lot happier if you let someone hug you occasionally rather than you pushing everyone away all the time."

"And I suppose you're offering?"

"Yep," Castle said simply, which silenced her. "Seeing as you were perfectly happy to go a lot further than hugging. You kissed me first, so obviously you like me – er – hugging you." She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Look, just stop denying it. You kissed me. This morning you went up like a rocket and it was all your idea to start it. Obviously there's lots there, so just go with it for a change. Think of it as a late birthday present, since you wouldn't want a Christmas present." A tinge of acid of his own burnt at the edges of the last words. She winced. He petted, already sorry for his sharpness, deserved though it might have been.

"Come and have some dinner. Your pizza's still warm, and there's still some sangria. You'll feel better if you eat."

She heaved herself on to her feet. Castle scrambled up after her, and put his arm back around her waist, gently but inexorably steering her to the kitchen.

The pizza wasn't at its best, but Beckett picked at it anyway. Castle didn't think she'd have eaten it enthusiastically even if it had been perfect, but she certainly wasn't tearing into it now. After barely half a meal, she pushed it away. Throughout, she'd flicked glances at the windows, which showed only the heavy snow, unceasing and almost hypnotic. Castle snitched a slice, which would normally have his fingers smacked, but she didn't seem to notice.

"That's all I want," she said.

"Coffee, then?"

"Please."

"Go sit down. The family room's that way."

She cast him an uncertain glance, but he wasn't going to sit by the pool where every flake of snow heaped guilt upon her.

"Go on. Shoo." He flapped his hands in a shooing gesture to reinforce his words. "Watching the coffee machine won't make it happen faster."

She trudged off.

Coffee made, he followed her, and found her with her face pressed to the French windows, staring out. The snow was weakening, but the ground was thickly covered. Above, small breaks showed in the cloud.

"It's going to be cold tonight," Castle said.

She startled.

"Look, it's slowing down, and the cloud's clearing. Much more of that, and the temperature'll drop hard." She shivered, and he took the opportunity to hug her again. "Come and sit down. The coffee'll warm you up."

"I hate being cold," she said, to the glass. "I hate winter, and Christmas."

"I'd noticed," Castle said dryly.

She didn't react to his words at all. "It's nothing but disappointment. Everybody tells you it's the most wonderful time of the year, but it's not. It's miserable. But you can't say that because everybody else is bought into the lie."

She made a sharp, unhappy noise. "It's all supposed to be happy families and love and joy. It's not. It's presents you never really wanted but have to pretend you're grateful for; it's snide remarks over the dinner table from some relative you won't see for another year and wish you'd never see again. It's people saying it's all about the children and using that as an excuse to shirk their shifts and slope off early because they've got family, don't you know?, and that's more important than anything else. There's no real meaning to it except half an hour before midnight on Christmas Eve, and even that's full of people pretending to believe but they're really thinking about what they're going to get the next day. They don't mean it; it's just for show. The star's just another piece of tinsel tat because nobody remembers what it means."

She breathed harshly. "There's more crime, not less. People stressed because they can't produce the perfect Christmas 'cause they've no money or no family or just because they don't get on – and then they do something dumb and they end up in jail. How's that helping anyone?"

Castle could see the glistening trails on the cheek turned slightly towards him, but her gaze was still turned to the dark night beyond the windows; the pale snow on the ground, and the black sea beyond. The clouds were clearing fast: the small points of light from far away stars gleaming; moonlight beginning to reflect from the freezing snow. Beckett's view of Christmas was almost as far from his as the stars were from the snow, and he didn't have faster-than-light travel to bring her closer.

He could, however, bring her physically closer.

"C'mere," he said, and forestalled his own words by standing behind her and crossing his arms over her, pulling her against his chest. "I'll keep you warm." The rest…would have to wait. Joy wasn't uppermost in Beckett's mind.

She didn't resist, but she didn't turn around and hug him back. So he turned her, instead. Anything to stop her staring into the dark night.

"You haven't drunk your coffee," he pointed out. "Come and sit down. Coffee makes everything better." He tugged gently, and she moved; but only, he thought, because it was easier to move than resist; her steps mechanical, robotic, and her gaze far, far away. He pushed her carefully to sit her down, and waved the coffee under her nose.

The coffee broke the trance. She took it, and sipped slowly, then gulped it down. Her eyes returned to the room, rather than some distant horizon. Coffee, he thought, always their thing, had brought her back from the edge of an emotional abyss. His arm crept around her again. Perhaps touch: warm, comforting (loving), undemanding and simply there – could keep her with him.

"I wanted to be happy," she said miserably, into the bottom of her coffee cup. "I really did." She swallowed. "I tried."

"Did you think coming up here would make you happier?"

"Ye-es," she dragged out.

"So you were trying. And up till it blizzarded, it was working, just like I said. But now it's stopped snowing, so by late tomorrow all the roads will be clear again and they'll get to the drive – anyway, if the county doesn't," Castle suddenly remembered, "then I can call Dan and he can, er, make arrangements. I should've thought of that earlier. As long as the roads are cleared we can always get home: it might just be a bit slow."

"We can?"

"We can," Castle answered confidently. "Unless we have another blizzard, which really isn't likely, but we can check the forecast if you want, then we can go home any time we want."

"We really can?" She sounded so very unsure, un-Beckett-like, that his heart clenched.

"We really, really can."

She started to cry, tired and hopeless, half-strangled, as if she was trying not to weep but couldn't stop herself. From the tears emerged words. "I didn't spoil it? It's all okay? You'll get home in time?"

"Yep. Don't cry. It'll all be okay."

She snuffled, and mostly stopped. "I never cry," she sniffled. "This is ridiculous." She snuffled again, and searched her pockets for a Kleenex to dab her eyes and blow her nose.

"It's my party and you can cry if you want to," Castle teased gently, while drawing soothing little mandalas on her upper arm. "But I'd rather you snuggled in and didn't cry. It's very off-putting to have you crying when all I want to do is kiss you."

It took a moment for Beckett to register what he'd said. "What?"

"I wanna kiss you, but not if you're going to cry. I'm not Georgie-Porgie."

"What are you talking about?" she said, baffled irritation pushing out misery. "That's meaningless."

"Nursery rhyme."

"Why are you quoting nursery rhymes? This isn't a nursery and I am not a baby."

"Absolutely not," Castle agreed, running a blatantly sexual gaze down her front. "You don't look anything like a baby. They're small and chubby and cute – and they bawl. You do the cute bit, but fortunately not the rest. Usually," he added, which might have been a mistake.

"Are you saying I'm sometimes small and fat?" she yelled.

Castle cringed. "That…sounded better in my head. No. You're tall and absolutely not fat. In fact, you're too thin. You should eat more."

"So now I'm skeletal?"

This wasn't getting better, Castle thought. "No."

"So far I'm either short and fat or skeletal and according to you I bawl."

Castle gave up words, which hadn't come out right in any of the last ten minutes, and kissed her instead.

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you. I said I wanted to, and you didn't say I couldn't."

"I didn't say you couldn't go swimming naked in the sea right now either, but I don't see you doing that." Under the snark, he heard something uncertain.

"I'd freeze all my assets off."

"The thought of losing your assets didn't stop you kissing me." There was still an undertone of doubt and unhappiness. Castle didn't like either.

"I've stopped now."

"So I see." She paused. "So now you don't want to kiss me?"

"Of course I do! But not if you don't want me to." His face changed. "You're messing with me. That's not nice, Beckett." He pounced on her, and kissed her again, very deliberately once on each cheek. Then he sat back, and smirked.

She glared at him, Beckett-normal suddenly back – but it wasn't solid, wasn't real.

"That's better," he said. "Normal glare." He tipped her chin up a little so he could meet her eyes, and found the pain still lurking below the pretence. "Now, come here, snuggle up, and be comfy. And a bit of kissing me wouldn't hurt, either."

There was a tiny humph. "Why should I?"

"Because you want to." Another humph. "Kissing me makes you happy," he said in an irritatingly saintly fashion. "And it'll keep us warm. It's cold outside."

"We're not outside."

"I can still be cold. That glare of yours is enough to turn anyone to ice. You should warm me up." His fingers returned to drawing mandalas on her arm. "Don't you want to?" he added.

"Do you?" she said, uncertainty wavering through her voice once more.

"Yes," Castle stated.

"Why?"

"You really have to ask?" A surface sheen glistened over her eyes. He sighed. "You really do. I'm not flattered. Do you really still think this is just me wanting some sort of short fling?"

"I don't know what to think. You" – she stopped.

"I what?"

"You solve mysteries. Me not liking Christmas is a mystery to you." She shrugged, as if it didn't matter, but her eyes gave her gesture the lie. "So you want to solve it."

Castle gulped like a fish. Finally, he found his words. "I know why you don't like Christmas. It's no mystery so I don't need to solve it. Anyway, I only solve mysteries because you're there. It wouldn't be any fun without you. You're the reason I keep coming back."

There was a pregnant pause. Castle didn't know what to expect – but he certainly didn't expect what he got, which was Beckett throwing herself at him and kissing him frantically. He was not, however, too stupefied to kiss her back, nor to close his arms around her to keep her there, and then to run one big hand into her hair and cup around her skull so that he could turn the tables and take control of their kisses. He turned her so that they were comfortable, and returned to the second-best pastime ever: kissing Beckett to his – their – heart's content.

Some time later, they stopped: Beckett half-cradled against Castle, both of them quiet and content.

"Cosy," he murmured sleepily. "Nice."

Beckett managed to open one eye. Castle was tousled and cute, and she was warm and comfortable, just as she had been when she'd woken up this morning with him wrapped around her. Her other eye winched itself open, but she didn't move away. In fact, she snuggled closer in, and wriggled an arm around his shoulder so he couldn't leave. Snow, winter, Christmas, and all unpleasantness could wait. While she was cuddled into his embrace, there was a wall between her and her Yuletide unhappiness. This time, she wouldn't screw it up by speaking without thinking, or jerking away. She'd just stay right there.

So she did.

Castle was at once immensely surprised and immensely pleased that Beckett was cosily snuggled in and staying put. He couldn't make her stay in his arms, but he definitely liked having her there and he liked her present serenity and he'd like a lot more of it. If only he could get past her anti-Christmas spirit, or at least neutralise it.

Silly Rick. You already did. She'd been absolutely fine in the warmth of the pool area until the snow had come down…so why not take her back there and be summer-happy again? It wasn't too far…

He put her off his lap, stood up, and before her opening mouth could emit protests swung her up into his arms and carried her out to the pool, laying her gently on a lounger and smiling at her.

"You like summer. I like summer. Let's enjoy our make-believe summer."

"We're not dressed for it," she suggested, smiling at him.

"We could fix that."

She lifted one eyebrow, and the smile turned sultry. "Oh?"

Castle's fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, and demonstrated. The shirt drifted down to the tiles by the lounger; his belt fell on top of it. Beckett ran her eyes up and down his bared chest, finally fixing them on his fingers, at the button of his pants.

And then she eased her sweater off over her head, to reveal a pretty cream bra. Castle's darkening eyes went straight to the exact point of the plunge at its centre. His pants puddled around his feet. Without looking down, he pulled Beckett up so that he could strip her pants, to find matching cream panties.

Any observer wouldn't have known who initiated the searing, searching kiss.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

The next chapter is firmly M-rated. You have been warned.