Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

You might as well deny a plant water. Tell a bird not to sing. Forbid a two-year-old to play. How long could they last? How long could he? This ban on Christmas presents is killing him. He'd agreed, reluctantly, but he can't help it. It's just not in him. She's been so great about the holiday, willing to take a chance on it, even spent hours decorating the big tree yesterday with him and his mother and Alexis. Not to mention the boxers she made, the ones he's going to wear to bed ever night and wash by hand every morning. And iron, of course. Maybe he could ask her if he could buy her just one present? How bad could that be? It's not really breaking the promise. Just one. Okay, it is breaking the promise. Kind of like saying you're a little bit pregnant. Oh, God. Pregnant. She'd said that. "Something in the oven." He checks his phone. Only 729 days until he gets to bring that up. Talk about it.

Presents. No presents. He can't do it. Can't not buy her something. He has a list; who knows how long everything on it will be available? Some of them might already be sold out, so he needs to get cracking. He can buy them now and give them to her later, on other holidays: Valentine's Day, Easter, Fourth of July, Hallowe'en. Her birthday! And then there's his favorite kind of gift, the NORP. The No Occasion Really Present, which can be bestowed any day, any time.

He smiles contentedly as he swivels in his office chair. It's all settled, then: it's time to shop. He's home today, writing, or supposed to be writing. If Kate is his muse, and she is, then shopping for her should count as inspiration, shouldn't it? Buying her things will mean that she is very much in his mind, and thus will inspire thoughts about Nikki. So in fact, he really is working! Why hadn't he ever realized this before?

After checking the list that's well-hidden on his laptop, he makes notes on all the things that he can buy on line. The Amazon boxes could be a problem, since they might set all her detective antennae quivering. If she asks, he'll offer a simple if untrue explanation: they're presents for his mother and Alexis. In fact, he's finished his shopping for both of them, but Kate doesn't know that. And anything he gets for her in a store in the city he'll hide in the storage locker in the basement. Problem solved. Maybe he'll write an hour before he goes out; he's feeling all kinds of inspired now.

It's funny, she thinks, as she taps her teeth with the eraser end of a pencil. She hates it when Castle is at home and not here, yet until quite recently she welcomed the days that he didn't come into the precinct. It gave her a break from the respecting-no-boundaries part of his personality, the know-it-all cockiness. It had taken her a long time to understand how much he had changed, and how much he had helped her to change. To soften, to take emotional risks, to make leaps of faith, to believe.

She regrets now that she'd told him no presents, made him promise. Over the past few weeks she's learned how much Castle loves Christmas. Really, really loves Christmas like no one she's ever known. He's the Earthly representation of Santa. And so she's breaking the promise; she's getting something for him to show him that she understands now. She's not going to tell him because then he'll feel obliged to hit every store from the Battery to Inwood Park—the entire length of Manhattan—for things for her. It won't be anything lavish; she can't compete with his bank account and she doesn't want to do something on a huge scale. She'll give it to him when they're alone, not with the rest of the family.

About ten days ago they'd been called to a crime scene on West 60th Street and when she'd gotten out of the car she'd noticed a gorgeous deep blue shirt in a window at the Time Warner Center. What was it? She closes her eyes and tries to visualize it. Bingo! Hugo Boss. Is it still there? Do they have his size? Calling during Christmas shopping madness is pointless; the store is a quick subway ride away, and she'll nip up there on the way home. Her shift ends at four, so she's ahead of the rush hour. There it is, the shirt, in baby-soft cotton and a perfect color for him.

She's paid for it, has the bag in her hand, and is halfway to the exit when she stops. A shirt? Really? What was she thinking? It's a beautiful shirt, but it's still a shirt. She's giving him a boring Father's Day present for Christmas. How exactly does that convey her joy and gratitude? For the first time in thirteen years she hasn't fallen into a pit of despondency in mid-November, hasn't turned her head away from every lighted tree or window and turned off the radio when Christmas music came on. For the first time in thirteen years she's actually enjoying all these things, and it's all thanks to Castle. He's never pushed her. He's been—and here's something she'd have thought impossible a few years ago—restrained.

Disheartened, she sits down on a bench outside. She presses a finger to the center of her chest, right over the scar from her bullet wound; she often does that, unconsciously, when she's anxious or nervous. Her fingernail catches on one of her coat buttons and something bubbles up in her brain. "Buttons!" she says, loudly enough to make people ten feet away turn around and stare. Buttons! That's all she needs, and she knows exactly where to find them. It's on the other side of town and the streets are packed, so she walks three blocks to take a subway that goes all the way to Queens. The last stop in Manhattan is very near the store she prays will be her shirt salvation.

The minute she opens the door of Tender Buttons, she's sure of herself again. The shop has every kind of button imaginable and unimaginable. Kate has an idea, but no idea if it's possible. She finds a saleswoman and asks. Yes, yes, it's more than possible, it's probable. Holding the shirt in one hand, she pokes through a box of buttons with the other. They have to be more or less the same size or they won't work. And there they are, even better than she'd ever hoped: eight brass buttons from an old NYPD cop's uniform. Not just any year, either, but 1912, exactly a century ago. She hums "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" in the subway, and gets out two stops away from home because she's just thought of a place that she's been meaning to drop in on all week.

"Hey, Castle," she calls as she hangs up her coat. When she sees him come out of his office and walk towards her, she holds up a plastic shopping bag. "I brought dinner."

"Ooh, thanks, I'm starving," he says. "What did you get?"

"Sit down right here and I'll serve it up."

"Yes, ma'am."

She takes two bowls from the cabinet, two spoons from the drawer, two napkins from the shelf, and hands them to Castle. "One for you. One for me."

"We having soup?" he asks, spoon already in hand.

"Nope."

She gets something else from a drawer, opens the bag, takes out a waxed-cardboard half-gallon container, and removes the lid. What she's holding is an ice cream scoop, and she uses it to give Castle an enormous helping and herself one about half the size.

"What's this?" he squeaks.

"Well, I figure if you can't eat chocolate-fudge-candy-cane ice cream for dinner the week before Christmas, when can you?"

"I didn't know there was such a thing." When he swallows his first spoonful he looks rapturous. "Omgd, wrdjfndt?"

"At a new place near Astor Place. There was a little squib about it in Time Out last week."

He licks his lips. "Is that the issue that mysteriously disappeared before I had a chance to read it? The one you said you might accidentally have put in the recycling?"

"Got it in one, Castle. I wanted to surprise you. When you finish, do you want a salad?"

"God, no. This is my salad."

"Really? This is a salad?"

"Definitely. Cocoa is a plant, ergo this is a salad."

Sometimes she adores his logic. She smiles as he takes another spoonful. "Castle, you don't mind about my dad not coming for Christmas, do you? It's still a little much for him."

"No, I understand."

"I think next year he'll join us for sure."

"That'd be fantastic."

"He made some progress, too, you know? For the first time since mom died, he's not holing himself up in the cabin."

"So he's in town? Maybe he could come over the day after or something."

"Nope. He called me this afternoon to say that he's going ice fishing in Minnesota with his friend Herb."

"Herb? Who's that?"

"Friend from law school who practices in Minneapolis. His wife died a couple of years ago and his son is visiting his in-laws in Florida, so Dad's flying out there for six days. Herb lives on a lake and it's already frozen solid."

"You know, Kate, Christmas Eve's going to be a little different this year."

"Because I'm here."

"No, well, yes. But what I meant is that after dinner Mother is going Christmas caroling with some friends—which I'm guessing will involve significant amounts of egg nog—and Alexis is going skating with Max since he and his parents are leaving for London at the crack of dawn."

"Yeah, they told me." She puts down her spoon and slides her hand across the counter to take his. "Are you disappointed? I know how much that evening means to you."

"A little. But I've gotten over it." He puts his spoon down, too, and looks serious. "I really have you to thank for that, Kate."

"Me? Why?"

"Because I've watched how willing you've been to take on a lot of my Christmas craziness, and that means more to me than you'll ever know. So I've taken a cue from you and tried to compromise, adapt, meet you party way, whatever. Holiday evolution, I guess. And you're here, which makes it the best Christmas ever."

The lump in her throat prevents her from saying anything, but she squeezes his fingers and brings them to her lips for a soft kiss.

At nine on Christmas Eve, Alexis and Martha are getting ready to go out. They'd opened presents after dinner and there had been considerable oohing and ahing.

"I can't believe you persuaded Dad not to exchange gifts with you this year, Kate. It's kind of amazing."

"Wait 'ti next Christmas, sweetheart. She won't know what hit her."

"I'm prepared," Kate says.

"Nothing can really prepare you for The Full Richard Castle Christmas Experience, darling," Martha says, giving her a hug.

"You're right, but I'm building up to it. Have fun, you two."

"Yeah, and be home before Santa comes down the chimney."

"Right, Dad."

"Yes, dear. Toodle-oo, lovebirds."

And in flash of red (hair), the two of them are gone.

Not long after, when the lovebirds are sitting in front of the fire, Kate gets up.

"Where are you going? I was so cozy."

"I'll be right back. I have to give you something."

"What, a present?"

"Yeah, a present. I'll be right back."

When she's halfway across the room he calls. "But that wasn't our agreement!"

She ignores him and keeps walking to the bedroom, where the shirt is hidden in the back of her chest of drawers.

She's kidding. Must be. Kate promised. Ah, wait, he knows. It's not a real present, it's a gag gift. Something she didn't want to put in his stocking tomorrow and have anyone else see. Another pair of shorts, probably, although nothing could top the Jingle Balls one. "I didn't get you anything!" he shouts.

And she's back, just like that. "What do you mean you didn't get me a present?" she asks, eyes flashing in the firelight.

"You, you said not to." If she'll just let him explain, give him five minutes to run to the storage area and get everything. "That's what you said."

"Since when do you listen to me?"

"Since lately. A lot. Really a lot. All the time. Kate, I can—"

She throws herself down on the sofa next to him and giggles. "I'm just teasing you, Castle."

He'd been so distracted that he hadn't noticed that she's holding something behind her back. She puts a box, which is wrapped in shiny red paper and tied up in a green satin bow, on his lap.

"Here," she says bashfully. "It's a thank-you present, okay? To say thank you for giving Christmas back to me, Castle. That's the best thing I could ever have hoped for."

It's his turn to be choked up, so he unties the ribbon and unwraps the paper. "This is an incredible shirt, Kate. An amazing color. Thank you."

"I decorated it, did you notice?"

"Decorated it?"

"Yeah, I changed the buttons, see?"

The lights are low, so he reaches over and turns on a lamp on the end table and looks more closely at the shirt. "Oh. Oh. Oh, wow. These are old." He looks even closer. "Are they? I mean, are they real?"

"Yeah. Now you can dress like a cop from a hundred years ago, Castle. Those are from a 1912 New York City policeman's uniform. You may not have a badge, but you're a real cop to me."

That merits about ten minutes of kiss-and-cuddle. And then he whispers in her ear. "I might have gotten you something."

She pulls back. "You might, huh?"

"Yeah. At the last minute I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry. I went shopping but put it aside for Valentine's Day or Easter or something, so it's not like I really broke the promise."

"And where might this Valentine's present be?"

"In the storage unit in the basement."

"You going to go get it?"

"Well, it's not it, it's them, but shall I just bring one?"

"Yeah, just bring one."

No bovine at the receiving end of a cattle prod ever moved as quickly as he does, as he runs out the door on the way to the elevator. As soon as she's sure the coast is clear, she walks down one flight, picks something up from the neighbor, runs back upstairs and stashes the something in the bathroom. She's sitting casually on the sofa when Castle returns, bearing a good-sized box.

"Okay, this is the one I picked. It seems the most Christmasy. I hope you like it. Them."

"Them? I thought you said one present."

"Well, there's two in there but it's a pair, so it's really one."

She tears off the paper to find a pair of over-the-knee boots in bright red leather that's even softer than the cotton of his shirt. "Oh, Castle, they're gorgeous. I've never had boots this beautiful. And buttery. Thank you. Thank you." She pulls them on. "They're a perfect fit. Wow, I can't wait to wear them."

"You're wearing them right now."

"True, but I'm going to take them off for safe-keeping. Don't want to scratch them up."

"I think you're safe in here." He cocks his head and turns his head towards their room. "Speaking of scratching. Do you hear that?"

"Probably clanging in the pipes in the bathroom. This is an old building."

"Sounds like scratching to me."

"Tell you what, Castle. I'll go investigate. You stay here, in case it's something creepy. I know you don't like creepy things."

"I like weird things."

"Right. Different."

She disappears before he can do anything about it, but seconds later she's back, with a dog on the end of a leash. It's dancing around, and shaking its head. "Castle. Meet Noel. He's six months old and mostly Lab, but I think there could be a few other things swimming around in the gene pool."

"A dog? Are you dog-sitting?"

"No. Noel is yours. Ours, I hope, but I got him for you."

Castle looks as if he's just been knocked over by a kennelful of dogs. "You got me a dog?"

"I did. You can shake his paw. I taught him yesterday. He's really smart."

"You got me a dog?"

"I could tell how crushed you were you didn't get to keep Royal."

"You got me a dog." It seems to sink the third time around. "Hey, Noel," Castle says, suddenly looking like the world's only six-foot-two boy as he offers his hand to the puppy to shake. "I'm Castle. Rick. Dad. Where have you been, boy?"

"Until two days ago, at the pound. I adopted him. Ryan and Jenny kept him the first day and Mrs. Goodwin downstairs has had him since this morning."

By now Castle has buried his face in Noel's neck and is rolling on the floor with him. He looks up, beaming. "I've always wanted a dog, Kate. Always."

"I know. Merry Christmas."

TBC

A/N By Castle's calendar tomorrow, November first, is the beginning of Christmas. One chapter to go. Thank you all!