The Hopeful Lights of Winter
Disclaimer: I still don't own it, and I am back to being a poor student with bills, so I'm even less worth suing.
AN: Castle and Beckett try to navigate the holiday season and a fake separation at the same time. A Winter Ficathon story, and a nightly thank you gift for those involved in the Possibility4Joy project.
It was just before one in the morning when she finally made it back to the hotel suite.
That fun little case the guys had ended up turning into something far more complex, something far more urgent. It ended with the three of them around the board like it used to be, only she was texting notes to Castle for insight half the night, trying to make it look like she wasn't texting Castle.
Now, she was exhausted and hungry because the dinner she had grabbed with the guys was well past eight hours ago now, but she wasn't sure she had energy to put together more than peanut butter and a spoon.
She had the burner half out of her pocket to text her husband and let him know she was in for the night before she had even made it through the door. And then she looked up, and dropped it.
Christmas was everywhere. Decorations and lights and things she didn't even know could be accomplished indoors much less inside of a hotel suite.
In the handful seconds that it took her eyes to adjust, her nose suddenly realized there was...spaghettini sauce. And an underlying scent of chocolate and sugar.
Her moth opened than closed.
"The decor was Mother's idea, and Alexis decided on cookies, which, by the way she says she thinks she almost has down your methods, but she's going to want practice next weekend before some swap she's doing with school friends. Dinner was me."
"Castle," she gasped out finally as he came around from the in room kitchen to meet her at the door.
He scooped up the dropped burner and came in for a kiss to her cheek in one quick move.
"To anyone else it just looked like we were having a bit of holiday time with mother. But of course, we just wanted you to feel at home, no matter where."
She was going to cry. It's late and she's tired and her sweet, sweet family. She was absolutely on the verge of tears so she wrapped her arms around him and held on instead. Let the warmth of his body absorb her shock and the shaking that she can't seem to stop doing.
"Hey, come on. It's late, and you probably want bed, but I've got food here and dinner was, well yesterday. Not that the food from soup place would stick that long anyway."
And then he was leading her, still shocked, to the table.
"This was your errand," she said, suddenly struck by the force of it. "We were walking, on the phone, and you were on your way to help Alexis and Martha you said. And you came here."
He was plating the spaghetti, seemingly unaffected by her shock, save for the wide smile on his face. "Well, yeah, it was mostly their idea, but we made a family thing of it."
She sighed happily as he set her plate in front of her. "And you cooked for me."
"Uh huh," he said, sliding in to sit in the beside hers, pulling it close. "And your jar of Nutella will miss you tonight, I'm sure. Now, eat before you fall asleep in your food."
She leaned over to nudge his shoulder with her own. "It was going to be peanut butter," she grumbled. "And it isn't like I went without dinner. I'm not that helpless."
He ran a gentle hand down her back, placating and soothing, and she nearly moaned. "I know you can take care of yourself, Beckett. But you don't have to anymore. Besides, it's in the job description, honey. I read the manual."
She laughed, then coaxed herself to pick up the fork. Oh. He'd made the sauce. Probably all day while they did her room over for Christmas. This man she'd married. He took such care of her.
"It's what I do," he said, leaving her to wonder exactly how much of her last thoughts had actually tumbled from her mouth without her consent.
But it was, she realized. What he did for all of them. As a father, son, and husband. This was the huge part of him that the world never really knew. The good kind soul who looked after three strong willed woman who could do it on their own, but did not have to.
She didn't have to anymore. And she's not used to it. The isolation of self reliance is like an old, selfish friend - comfortable but ultimately unwelcome. It's not that she likes it. It's only what she's used to. He'd been telling her, and her in her warn out state, under his quiet care, it hit her all at once.
She got the last of his delicious food into her, didn't want to waste even a bit. But the moment she finished, she turned and kissed him, threading her fingers with his in the small space between their seats.
He stood as she did, and she leaned into him. Leaned on him. "Take me to bed, Rick," she said with a tired sigh.