Epilogue
"Shh, baby girl," he can hear Kate whispering as he climbs the stairs, leaving the small gathering of their friends and family behind to find her in their daughter's room, holding the three year old in her arms, swaying her back in forth.
"Sing," Olivia whimpers into her mother's shoulder and Castle hangs back in the shadows of the hallway, listening to Kate begin one of the many lullabies their daughter often asks for. "No, my Russian lullaby."
He smirks when Kate huffs, but even with her back turned to him, he knows she's smiling. Olivia is normally quite the independent child and she had proven it tonight, playing the life of the party and earning all of their guest's attention, as usual, but once she grew tired, she got a little fussy, a little needy, especially for her mother.
"Picky," Kate scolds softly, nuzzling her daughter's cheek and eliciting a giggle from the girl.
"Sleep, sleep, sleep," Olivia starts the lullaby, but the words aren't in English. He hadn't known this about her until after they had settled in Russia for a brief period three years ago, but Kate knows plenty of music in other languages, especially Russian, and his daughter's favorite lullaby was one Kate had been singing to her long before she was even born.
Kate picks up from where Olivia left off, carrying her over to the rocking chair from her infant days still placed in the corner of the room, closest to the window, and taking a seat with Olivia still in her lap.
Castle continues to watch as Kate sings her to sleep in the soft glow of the moonlight and city glow, her voice a soothing melody as it curls around the foreign words, the harsh but tender dialect, which has even him feeling sleepy and sated.
"I know you're there, Castle," Kate hums, tugging him from his daze and out of the shadows to step inside the bedroom.
Olivia's half lidded eyes flicker up from her mother's shoulder and she extends her small hand out for him, wiggling her fingers.
"Come sing with us, Daddy."
"You know I butcher the Russian, Doodlebug," he reminds her as Kate rolls her eyes at the nickname that she pretends to hate.
"Then tell me my story," she sighs, already drifting in Kate's arms, but she's just like her mother, fighting slumber but succumbing to sleep under the sound of his voice.
"About the Rodgers?" he prompts as he joins the two of them, propping himself next to the window while Olivia curls into a ball in Kate's lap.
His wife grunts at the knee she gets to her ribs, but strokes Olivia's growing chestnut hair back once her head settles against her chest.
"Yes, I love their story. Wanna write stories like you some day, Daddy. About Rick and Sara," she slurs and Kate shares a smirk with him.
"You will, Peanut. You already write such good stories," he promises her and it's true. Their daughter has an incredible imagination, always eager to create her own new world to exist in, always excited to share her stories with him and her mother. Kate's taken to displaying the crayon born tales on the fridge, but they're slowly running out of room on the stainless steel doors. Olivia may have been blessed with his wife's looks and passion, her integrity, but she's definitely inherited his ability to tell a good story.
Olivia smiles and nuzzles Kate's neck, closing her eyes.
"Story, Daddy," she mumbles and he huffs, squeezes her boney knee, but begins his narration, making it through only a few sentences about Rick and Sara and the dragon they fought so hard to defeat before Olivia's breathing evens and she goes limp in Kate's arms.
"You know, what if we took her with us to the French castle she's heard so much about?" he asks after a few moments of peaceful silence, keeping his voice low and hushed to refrain from waking their snoozing daughter.
Kate's reaction is subtle, contemplative, but mostly unreadable. They've gone back to France at least once a year since they permanently returned to New York. Summers in the Hamptons, winters in France, but they had never taken Olivia to the French countryside with them, using the opportunity to allow his mother and her father some quality time with their granddaughter and to spend some time alone for a week. But Olivia would love it, he knows she would, just like her mother did, and she was old enough, turning four in the fall.
"I don't know," Kate hedges, rising smoothly from the rocking chair and transferring Olivia to the twin sized bed, tucking her in beneath the ocean blue bedspread with Castle's help.
Their daughter is obsessed with the sea at the moment, longing to be a combination of a mermaid and a pirate, and her room currently matches her desires. The walls like waves, starfish shaped glow stickers clinging to the ceiling, and her companion of a stuffed dolphin guarding the foot of her bed, but even in her slumber, she still reaches for the white, plush elephant Kate had picked out for her only days before her birth and clutches it to her chest by reflex.
Kate smiles down at their daughter, sparing one last stroke of her hand over her forehead before standing straight and leading him back into the hallway.
"It's just a thought," he assures her, not trying to pressure. France is a beautiful place for them, but it is also a place where they sought refuge during their time on the run, and he knows why Kate tries to keep those times separate from their daughter, at least until she's much older.
Olivia will know the truth one day, whether they like it or not, but not yet. Not while she's still young and innocent and still believes the story of their lives is nothing more than a fairy tale.
"It's a good idea," she concedes on a sigh, leaning back against the wall.
He can hear the talk of his mother downstairs, entertaining the last of their guests for the evening and regaling them all with her latest acting adventures. Martha no longer lived with them at the loft, having moved out a few months before Olivia was born, but she visited often and he's grateful for her consistent presence in his daughter's life, in their life. Olivia looked up to his mother, her admiration for her diva of a grandmother almost as strong as her regard for her older sister, who had thankfully stuck close to home after her graduation from Columbia.
All of his family in one place - it's everything he could want.
"Do you remember our first wedding?" she whispers suddenly and his lips quirk.
"You think I'd ever forget?" he chuckles, stepping in close, blocking her against the wall with his hands on her waist. He remembers marrying her in a tiny town square in the rural village clear as day, remembers the shine of her blonde hair and the glistening sparkle in her hazel eyes when he'd slid the wedding band on her finger. It still resides there, a partner to the slim band he'd added on their second wedding day. "One of the best days of my life."
Her lips spread wide and she draws him down with fingers clutching his collar to smear a kiss to his mouth.
"Almost as romantic as our actual wedding," she muses and he remembers that too, finally seeing her draped in her mother's dress while she was escorted down the aisle with her father at her side and Olivia toddling along after her.
"What's with the wedding talk all of the sudden?" he teases, brushing his thumbs back and forth over her prominent hipbones. "Still hoping to marry in every country?"
Kate swats at his chest, but her cheeks are beaming with amusement in the darkness.
"It's just my favorite memory we made there," she shrugs, her hand on his chest traveling up to curl at his nape. "And I know the reason we ended up there was… less than ideal, but it turned out to be one of the most beautiful times in my life."
"Kate," he murmurs, swallowing past the threatening lump in his throat. It always takes him off guard when she shares her rare, sentimental side with him like this, steals his words.
"Taking Olivia there, allowing her to experience the magic of it… it would make it even more special."
Excitement and wonder come alive in his chest and he wraps his arms around her waist, draws her in closer.
"So, this winter?"
She nods, lacing her arms around his neck and stroking her fingers through the fine hairs at the base of his skull.
"Maybe Dad could come too, so we could still have some time to ourselves," she hums, her lips curling in a seductive grin, and oh yes, brilliant idea. One of his favorite traditions they'd inadvertently made in France was spending some quality time with her in the lake when the temperature allowed, and he would hate to compromise on that. "Now c'mon, we should get back to your party, birthday boy."
"Wait," he murmurs, resting his forehead to hers and closing his eyes. It's his birthday and she organized a party for him, all of their family and closest friends gathered in their home to celebrate, and it still leaves him breathless sometimes, how far they've come. "Just another minute."
Three years ago, he had been celebrating his birthday with her in Russia, hardly able to smile despite her best efforts to make the day special.
Kate indulges his request, relaxing further in his arms, and trails her fingertips along the shell of his ear.
"I love you," she whispers, nudging her nose into his, and when his eyes slip open, their lashes twine. "Thank you again."
"Kate, stop-" he starts, but she cuts off his protest with her lips once more, a feather soft touch to his mouth that chokes him up.
"It's all because of you," she breathes into the millimeter of space between them. "All of this, everything you did-"
"I'd do it all again," he murmurs, tightening the arms at her waist. Every terrifying, horrible, exhilarating second of it – he'd do it again in a heartbeat for her.
"I know you would," she replies, lips dusting over his as she speaks. "And I'd follow you to the ends of the earth all over again, baby."
He chuckles, nipping playfully at her bottom lip when she joins in with her own soft laughter, and she squeezes the arms around his neck, sinking deeper into his embrace while he rests his chin to the rounded edge of her shoulder, listening to the joy float from downstairs and to the steady throb of her heartbeat in his ear.
They stay like that for a long moment, standing outside of their daughter's bedroom, finding peace, finding sanctuary where its always remained within one another.
A/N: Thank you so much to all who read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this story. I'm sincerely grateful to each and every one of you.
And so many thank you's to Nadia, who not only provided the initial inspiration for this fic and the striking cover art to go along with it, but also showed unrelenting support to it and to me. This is your story and I hope it was everything you imagined it would be.
I'd love to hear your feedback.
