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Story: "And, The Meek Shall Inherit The Earth"
Rating: T
Words: 3,493
She
stops, realizing it’s him. It’s Castle! Her heart hustles a fast track
to her throat, unbidden tears rim her eyes, and Kate smiles in spite of
herself. The low rumble of annoyance, frustration, mistrust she’d felt
before quickly melts away by simply seeing him here, doing this.
And,
she falls in love with him all over again.
Three
days earlier...
He
hops out of the cab, two fresh aromatic coffees in hand, and bounds over to
where she is already standing near the body, the commanding posture of her
slender frame exudes her complete authority over the crime scene before
her.
“Thanks,”
Kate whispers, her fingers linger over his as she accepts the steaming cup, her
lips bowing at their familiar, comforting routine. She steals a glance, their
eyes briefly meeting, shiny and crinkled, filled with longing - as if they
hadn’t started their day naked, sweaty, tangled together in her bed. Which, of
course, they had.
“What
do we have?” He asks, eyeing the crime scene before him. An elderly woman,
smartly dressed, sans winter coat, probably in her seventies by the look of it,
lays face up in the snow, bruises darting her face, neck, and the back of one
hand.
“Hard
to tell,” Lanie explains, kneeling beside the body. “She has bruising,” she
gestures with her stylus pen at the round bruises. “But, they don’t appear to
be fatal wounds.”
“Time
of death?” Kate asks, her pen poised over the leather bound notepad cradled in
one hand, her coffee cup tucked precariously between her elbow and ribcage.
“Well,
she’s been out here for awhile, I can tell you that. Right now, I’d put time of
death at between ten and fifteen hours ago.”
She
nods. “Thanks, Lanie.” Kate turns to Ryan and Esposito. “What do we know about
the vic?”
“Name’s
Kathryn White, age 74, heiress of the White Industries fortune.”
“Ooh,
I know of them,” Castle interjects, wide-eyed. “She’s a philanthropist, much to
the dismay of her heirs. She’s spread her fortune far and wide, with huge
donations to the arts, schools, social service agencies. You name any
nonprofit organization in New York? And her name is probably on their donor
list.”
“Sounds
like the first people we should be looking at, then, are her heirs.” Esposito
offers.
“Yeah,
you and Ryan run them down. Find next of kin, okay? Castle and I will start
looking at her business dealings, including all of the charities she’s involved
with.”
(Section Break)
“So,
um, my dad called this morning,” She starts cautiously, stealing a glance at
him from the corner of her eye as she maneuvers her cruiser through Manhattan’s
mid-morning traffic. “And, he would really like for us to come over on
Christmas morning.”
He
sighs, his shoulders slumping. She expects this. They’d been over this earlier
and he had been adamant that he had “plans” for Christmas morning, but when
she’d pressed him, he’d been annoyingly evasive.
“Kate.
I’m sorry, I really do want to spend time over Christmas with your dad, but,”
He rubs his chin, “...like I already explained, I have plans for Christmas
morning.” He tips the coffee cup to his lips, gulping the tepid liquid. “What
about later in the day? I could even do noon. Or, why doesn’t he just join us
on Christmas Eve?”
She
blows out a puff of air. “I’ll call him. See if we can do something different.”
“Thank
you, Kate. I appreciate it. I know I’m being difficult, it’s just, I
wouldn’t...” he sighs, “...It’s important.” His words are laced with genuine
sincerity, making it impossible for her to be too annoyed with
him.
But
she really wants to know what he’s doing on Christmas morning, and can’t
understand why he is so secretive about it.
You
have to let it go, Kate. Let him have his private things. You’d expect no less,
wouldn’t you?
Ugh.
Reasonableness. It is so inconvenient at times!
(Section Break)
“What’s
the verdict, Lanie?”
“Okay.
This? This is a freaky one!” She exclaims, pulling the sheet back to
expose the victims bruised legs. “See these?” She points at a series of bruises
marring the otherwise flawless skin on the victims body.
“Yeah,”
Castle and Kate reply simultaneously.
“They’re
hoof marks!”
“What?”
Kate asks, moving closer to examine the bruises.
“You
mean like a horse? She was trampled to death?”
“No.
Not a horse. Something smaller. More likely a deer or a goat.”
Castle
reaches out and grabs Beckett’s arm, a smarmy grin creeping along his face.
“Castle!”
Kate warns.
“You
mean?” He tucks his lips between his teeth.
“Castle,
no.” Kate admonishes.
“Are
you saying?” He holds one finger to his lips.
Kate
sighs, casting her eyes to the ceiling, resigning herself for the
inevitable.
“...that
GRANDMA got run over by a REINDEER?” He holds one fisted hand against his lips
in an unsuccessful attempt to contain his giddiness.
“Ugh.”
Kate sighs, rolling her eyes.
Lanie
looks up at him through the thick fan of lashes framing her brown eyes. An
amused grin on her face. “No. Castle. These injuries were sustained postmortem.”
Kate
jerks her head towards Lanie, startled, “Postmortem? So, what was the cause of
death?”
Lanie
hands her a toxicology report. “Our vic was poisoned.”
(Section Break)
They
order pizza, staying in at her place to watch It’s a Wonderful LIfe, and
debate whether to make it a double feature by watching the 1947 version of Miracle
on 34th Street.
But,
filled up with wine, pizza, and each other, they instead manage to fall asleep
on the couch, wrapped in each others arms, blanketed by a warm crocheted throw.
They drift off just before George Bailey realizes that he does, indeed,
have a wonderful life.
When
he wakes up, the DVD player has gone into safe mode, it’s logo bopping around
the screen in anticipation of their next move. He shuts it off, then shuts off
the TV before gently bouncing his shoulder to wake Kate, who is nestled against
him, safe and warm, content.
“Kate,”
He traces her cheek with one finger. “I should go. It’s really late.”
“No,
Castle. Don’t go. Stay.” She says sleepily, nestling even closer to him, her
face buried in his neck, her hand slipping beneath the folds of his untucked
shirt, her fingers tracing lazy circle eights against his back.
He
smiles. “But, it’s a school night, remember? You have an early shift...”
She
opens one groggy eye, her pupil constricting against the soft light coming from
the lamp behind them. “I know, but we’re so cozy, and it’s cold outside, and
you’re already here. We can break the
no-sleepovers-on-the-night-before-an-early-shift rule just this once, don’t you
think?” She tilts her head to kiss him softly on the mouth. “Hmmm?”
He
smiles against her lips, returning the supple kiss. “Okay,” He gently peels the
throw from her shoulders, “Let’s go to bed, then.”
They
cork the wine, place the dishes in the sink, turn off the lights, double check
the locks on the door, and then crawl, pajama clad and weary eyed, into bed.
They quickly resume the nestled position they had so easily fallen into on the
couch, Kate snaking her hand beneath his t-shirt to caress his deliciously soft
skin, and they drift warmly, easily, contentedly off to sleep.
(Section Break)
“Wow,
Castle,” Kate exclaims looking up at him as he enters the precinct, freshly
showered and dressed, two paper cups of coffee in his hands. He hands one to
her. “You weren’t kidding about the number of charities she supports. There are
over five hundred organizations on this list!”
He
nods, “Told you.”
She
hands him a file, “We’d better start looking into these, see if we can find a
recent connection to the vic.”
(Section Break)
“Don’t
feel badly, darling. He won’t tell us what he does, either.” Martha
reassures Kate, patting her on the back of the hand as they stand in front of
the tree, freshly poured goblets of red wine in their hands. “Ever since
Alexis was a baby, he’s been going off by himself on Christmas morning. He was
always back in time to watch her open her presents from Santa,” She glances
across the room at her ginger-haired granddaughter, who was, at the moment,
engaged in an animated conversation with Kate’s father about, baseball,
of all things. “She had to wait sometimes, for him to get back, but he was
always here.”
“And,
all these years, you have no idea what he does? Where he goes?”
“Kate.
He loves Christmas. But, I have always had the sense that there is some
sadness about it, too. It was just the two of us, you know, for many years.
And, I sometimes wonder...” She abruptly stops talking when Castle sidles up
next to Kate, slipping his hand around her waist he pulls her close, she leans
into him.
“Dinner
is ready,” He announces, smiling down at her. She smiles back, how can’t she?
He’s wearing a santa hat, for god’s sake.
(Section Break)
“I’m
glad you brought an overnight bag,” he purrs, nuzzling his face against her
neck, planting tiny little kisses in a line along her throat before his mouth
finds hers, his tongue teasing her lips apart. They kiss, long, and slow and
deep. She is both submissive and commanding in an inexplicable yet perfect sort
of way.
She
wiggles closer to him in the bed, their bodies intertwined, warm and humming,
she rubs one sock clad foot up his calf, slipping beneath the fabric of his
grey and white striped pajamas, “I wasn’t sure, since,” she hesitates,
“...since you have plans tomorrow morning, and I...”
He
shifts in the bed, interrupting her, “Kate, it’s only a few hours in the
morning. I’m all yours the rest of the day, and after brunch and gift opening,
we can do anything you want.” He pauses, “You’ll wait for me?”
“Castle,
I, ah.” She scratches her nose nervously, her body stiffening. “I didn’t know
how to tell you earlier, but, um, I volunteered to work tomorrow.”
“Wait,
what? Why would you do that?” He sits up, pulling away from her.
She
sits up, too. “I’m sorry. It’s just. Elder asked if I could cover for him, he
has little kids, and, I thought,” She pauses, the hurt look on his face is killing
her. “...since you were busy in the morning anyway, and we didn’t really have
plans, that I should cover for him.”
“You’re
punishing me, aren’t you?”
“What?
No! Why would you think that?”
He
stares at her, the vertical lines between his eyes thick and angry.
“Castle.
I’m sorry. I thought you’d understand.”
He
roughly combs his fingers through his hair, staring at her with a mixture of
grief and anger. “Well, I don’t.”
“I’m
only working the day shift, we can still spend the whole evening together.” She
pauses. “We can wait until then to open presents, can’t we?” She searches his
eyes, pleading with him with her own, tentatively snaking her hand over his
where it sits in his lap. “Besides, I think Alexis would like to have some time
with you to herself.”
Although
Alexis had been warm and inviting, had welcomed Kate and her father into their
Christmas Eve tradition, she could tell that the girl was longing for time
alone with her father.
Kate
inches closer to him, rubs her palm up his arm, his shoulder, cupping his
cheek. “Castle, I’m sorry. I should have told you right away, I should have
asked you before I said yes.”
His
face softens. “Yeah, you should have.” He covers her hand with his, presses his
lips against her palm in silent forgiveness, closing his eyes. “But, I’ll
survive. I’m just,” He sighs, “...disappointed.”
She
winces.
He
scoots down below the covers, resting his head on the pillow. “Let’s just get
some sleep, okay?” He tugs at her to join him.
Her
heart aches and she kicks herself for being so thoughtless. She wonders if in
some small way maybe she was trying to punish him?
She
lays next to him, her hand on his chest, a lump in her throat as she nuzzles
against his neck. “I’m sorry, Castle.”
He
kisses her forehead, “It’s okay, Kate. What’s done is done.” He shifts
suddenly, rolling over on to his side, and moves her so she is against him. He
reaches up, smoothes her hair off her face, and tucks it behind her ear. “Let’s
not let it ruin our Christmas.”
(Section Break)
Neither
of them sleeps well and Castle slips out before Kate has even had her morning
coffee. She quickly showers, dresses, and heads to the precinct where only a
skeleton crew keeps watch as the rest of the city awakens around them. She can
almost hear the collective squeals of the city’s children as they discover that
Santa had snuck into their homes while they lay sleeping, dreaming of
snowflakes, and Santa Elves, and ginger bread houses, their bellies full of
sugar cookies and candy canes, to leave them presents beneath the tree.
She
thinks of Castle and wonders, with equal parts exasperation and concern, where
he is, what he’s doing. And, is he okay? She imagines him wandering the streets
of New York, melancholy and reflective, perhaps remembering difficult
Christmases of his past, perhaps thinking of his father, and mourning all of
the Christmases of which he never partook. She wrinkles her nose as sadness
spreads over her like a heavy tarp. Why can’t he tell me? If he’s sad, or
having a hard time, or even just wanting to be alone, why can’t he tell
me?
Because
some things are still private, Kate. Let it go.
She
shakes her head, her long chestnut hair bouncing in response, and fills her mug
with hot coffee before returning to her desk.
It
isn’t long before the phone rings and she is torn from her anxious thoughts by
the work that awaits her.
She
picks up the receiver, “Beckett!”
(Section Break)
She
badges her way past the security officer stationed at the front door of the New
York Crisis Nursery, and approaches the receptionists desk. “Kate Beckett,
NYPD, I’m here to meet with,” she consults her notes, “...Melissa Turner?”
The
receptionist nods, picking up the phone.
Kate
had received a return call from the director of the charity, with apologies
that she was only available for an interview about Kathryn White today, which
is fine with Kate, because it distracts her from the plague of sadness that
still engulfs her any time she thinks about Castle and his secretive Christmas
morning.
The
receptionist hangs up the phone and motions for Kate to follow her. As they
wind their way along a series of long hallways, she becomes aware of the
muffled tinkly sounds, the cinnamon apple scents, of Christmas happening on the
other side of a huge set of elaborately decorated double doors. The
receptionist throws them open and Kate gasps, her eyes huge, filling with the
sights of the dazzling winter wonderland before her.
She
slowly enters the gymnasium, her senses immediately assaulted by the cacophony
of Christmas sights, sounds and scents. Thousands of tiny glass icicles and
snowflakes hang from the ceiling, their sparkle magnified by the hundreds of
twinkling lights strung end-to-end above them. The decorations remind her of
the set of a Christmas movie, complete with a toddler size train track weaving
it’s way through the room, gleeful children riding as it’s conducted by a red
and green clad elf, who toots the horn to the tune of Jingle Bells as he takes
them on an imagination-fueled ride throughout the expansive hall.
A
playroom sized two-story ginger-bread house occupies one corner, tendrils of
smoke rising from it’s chimney, produced, no doubt, by dry ice. An artificial
ice rink occupies the opposite corner, dozens of ice-skate clad children
teetering in a circle around it, laughing and whooping as they fall on their
butts, only to get up and try again.
In
the center of the room stands the largest Christmas tree Kate has ever seen
outside of Rockefeller Plaza. It twinkles with the light of a thousand bulbs,
whimsical elfin decorations adorn it’s broad branches, and beneath it, wrapping
around the broad circumference of the huge tree, are hundreds of wrapped
presents.
And
sitting at the foot of the tree, a toddler on each leg, a dozen more children
of all ages and races, boys and girls, squatting in a circle at his feet, sits
a bearded, jolly, Santa. An open book cradled in his hand, he begins to read
aloud from The Polar Express.
And,
as she hears his booming voice, his infectious laughter, a familiar playful
cadence, a bolt of lightening courses through her veins as she realizes, Santa
is really Castle!
She
ducks behind a candy cane striped column.
“Detective
Beckett?”
She
spins around, her mouth agape, and comes face to face with a young
elfin-costumed woman. “Yes,” she stammers, trying to regain her
composure.
“I’m
Melissa Turner, I’m sorry about having to do this today, of all days,” She
sweeps her arm around the room, “but I leave for a two week vacation tonight,
so...”
“It’s
fine,” Kate answers, she glances back at Castle. “That Santa, you, ah, you know
who he is, right?”
“Of
course. But, please don’t tell anyone, he really doesn’t want this leaked to
the press.”
“No,
no, I wouldn’t do that.” She pauses, “How long has he been doing this?”
“He’s
been coming here for the past fifteen years, and each year he makes it more
magical than the last. He arranges all of this,” she gestures around the
room.
“And
the presents?” Kate asks, pointing at the huge pile of them beneath the
tree.
“Buys
them himself. He gets a list from the social worker of what each kid wants, and
he buys them all.”
“Wow.”
She is breathless, wordless, filled up by wonder and awe for this man she loves
so much.
“Yeah.
He’s an extraordinarily generous man.”
“Yes,
” Kate nods in agreement, “I know.”
She
steals a moment to refocus and take the woman’s statement, when she suddenly
feels him beside her.
“Did
you follow me here?!”
She
turns to face him and his eyes are ablaze with the accusation.
“Castle,
I...” He doesn’t let her finish, and instead roughly grabs her elbow, towing
her quickly out of the room.
They
stand in the hallway. “Kate. What the hell are you doing here? I told you, this
is...”
She
holds up a staying palm. “It’s a coincidence, Rick, I promise. I’m here to take
a statement in the Kathryn White murder. I had no idea you were even here.”
“Oh.”
He visibly relaxes, stroking the fake beard that looks amazingly like he’d
grown it himself. “Oh. I’m sorry, I thought...”
“It’s
okay,” she assures him. “But, Castle,” she lowers her voice, “...why is this
such a secret?”
He
frowns, the lines on his face indicate he’s mulling his options. “I just want
to give them a happy Christmas, Kate. They’re here, without their parents,
they’re scared, and alone, and.” He regards her with glassy eyes, “I just want
to give them a happy Christmas. I keep it a secret because it’s not about me,
it’s not about Richard Castle the novelist doing this generous thing.
It’s just about,” he thumbs behind him, “...them.”
Her
heart swells and she frames his face with her hands, his Santa beard tickling
her fingers. She kisses him. “Just when I think there are no more surprises,
Castle.” Her lips warm and wanting, her breath hot against his mouth, their
kiss like a talisman against the remnants of their fear, their hurt. She
presses up against him, a familiar heat spreading throughout her veins. “Do you
think, maybe, you could bring that Santa suit with you when you come over
tonight?”
Castle
grins, his eyes twinkling. “Why, Detective Beckett, are you suggesting we
engage in a little Christmas cosplay?”
She
kisses him again, her fingers toying with the black leather belt around his
middle. “Maybe.”
He
lowers his voice, “Does that mean you’re going to wear that naughty Mrs. Claus
costume I bought you?”
A
kittenish grin curves her lips, and she cocks her head to the side. From
beneath the long fan of lashes that frame her hazel eyes, she glistens at him.
“I will, if you let me ride your sleigh, Santa.”
She
cups him.
“Whoa,
ha, ho, ho, ho.” He growls, leaning into her, kissing her again, his lips
lingering on hers before heading back to the room full of children.
She
watches him disappear through the double doors, and remembers why, exactly, she
fell in love with him in the first place.
And
then, she falls in love with him all over again.
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