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Story: "All Is Calm, All Is Bright"
Rating: K+
Words: 1,762
He’s never happier about heated
floors than in the dead of winter. The wood is warm against the soles of his
feet, a soft heat that makes him curl his toes, the tiny bones popping under
his skin. His robe flutters around his knees, the loose ends of the belt
bouncing against his thighs as he shuffles out of the bedroom in search of her.
The light from the tree filters into
his office, catching on the glossy spines that line the bookshelves, bouncing
off the crystal decanter on the edge of his desk, reflecting in the darkened
façade of his touchscreen. He loves this time of year, the way the whole world
seems to soften and slow, wrapped in a haze of twinkling lights and the spirit
of the season. Snow falls lightly outside the window, tiny flurries that will
probably melt as soon as they hit the ground, and he smiles, sends out a silent
thanks to the universe for conspiring to make this day - and his life - as
picture perfect as possible.
He finds her in the living room.
She’s curled on the couch, her body sunk deep into the leather cushions, knees
pulled up and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The lights play over her
face, highlighting the slope of her nose, dipping into the fine lines around
her eyes and mouth, casting her hair in a golden halo. Castle feels his breath
catch and his heart seize, the sight of her stopping the natural functions of
his body. He wants to freeze this moment, live inside the comforting warmth of
it with her for the rest of his life.
“The staring is still creepy,
Castle.”
Her voice, lilting and soft, restarts
the world. He moves over to meet her on the couch, dropping himself down onto
the cushion next to hers, the leather cool and creaking under the weight of his
body. His thigh rests over her feet and she flexes her ankles as she smiles at
him, her toes digging into his hamstring. Castle wraps the fingers of one hand
around her ankle and drops his head onto the back of the couch, neck angled to
look at her.
“And what do you call what you’re
doing?”
“I’m watching, not staring.
Completely different.”
“At three in the morning?”
Kate laughs at him, a fluttering
thing that he breathes in, trapping her happiness inside his own chest. “Like I
haven’t caught you doing the same thing twice already this week.”
He smiles. She only caught him
twice. The rest -
Yeah.
“Besides,” she continues, “it’s
Christmas; gives me an excuse to be sentimental.”
“I think you have a better reason
than Christmas.” He nods at her lap, reaching up to lightly tap his index
finger on the top of the little knit cap covering the baby’s head. “Babies are
pretty much a free pass for sentimentality for at least the first six months.”
A watery smile floats over her lips
as she looks down, runs the tip of her finger over their daughter’s cheek. The
baby is fast asleep, one little fist curled around the edge of the swaddling
blanket she’s secured in. Just over a month old and she already has both of
them wrapped firmly around her miniscule pinky. Castle watches them, his wife
and his daughter, cast in the ethereal glow of the shimmering lights, and feels
his heart stumble, his chest overflowing with love and gratitude.
“I love you,” he chokes out, the
words sticky on his tongue.
Kate looks up at him and smiles, her
rings flashing in the light as she reaches out to caress his cheek, thumb
whispering over his temple. “I love you too.”
The baby fusses, her little face
scrunching up, body wriggling within the confines of her blanket. Kate moves
her to her chest, slipping a breast free from her loose fitting top. He watches
in absolute awe as the baby latches on, soft snuffling sounds floating on the
air as she eats. Her hand, thin fingers tightly curled into her palm, lands on
the side of Kate’s breast and he reaches out, picks the tiny hand up with two
of his fingers; the fist uncurls for just a moment before closing around his
thumb. He rubs his finger over the back of her hand, marveling at the silkiness
her her skin, how delicate it feels against his own. After a moment, he slips
his thumb out of her grasp, gently placing her hand back where he’d found it.
Reaching behind himself, he grabs a throw pillow and wedges it under Kate’s
arm, giving them both a little added support.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, her eyes
lifting from the baby to him.
She looks so soft like this-
her hair loose around her shoulders, face tired but glowing, their
daughter at her breast - and he can’t help himself. Supporting his weight with
one hand planted on the back of the couch and the other fisted into the cushion
next to her hip, Castle leans in and captures her lips in a gentle kiss, tries
to let everything he’s feeling, all the things he can’t quite finds the words
for no matter how long he searches, spill into her mouth. Kate hums happily in
her throat and kisses him back, her tongue sweeping over his bottom lip.
“What was that for?” She asks as he
settles back down on the couch, her feet lifting to rest on top of his thigh.
“Just a little early Christmas
present,” he grins. “Since I’m allowed to give you things now.”
“Speaking of,” she segues, ignoring
his years old complaint, “what time did you say everyone is coming?”
“Alexis and Matt are having breakfast
with his parents at eight so they should be here around ten-thirty. I told our
parents to get here about the same time.” He squeezes her ankle, watching as
she lifts the baby, switching to the other side. The hat that Alexis had
brought over about a week before she was born - pink with little bunny ears
that stick straight up - falls off and he scoops it up, wiggles it back down
over her head. “I figured we could open presents first and then have lunch
around noon. That good?”
“Yeah. Hannah should sleep through
the presents if we do it that way.”
“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let me
buy her anything,” he groans, the words surfing out on a wave of mock
petulance. “What is it with you and no presents for the first year? She’s going
to be traumatised. She’ll think we don’t love her.”
“Castle. She’s five weeks old. She
has every possible thing a five week old could need. Hell, she has every
possible thing a five month old could need.” Her gaze drifts over their
daughter, making sure she’s eating well, but he can hear the eyeroll in her
tone. “You got her that ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ ornament that probably cost
way more than I ever want to know. It’s good. It’s enough.”
“I feel guilty, though.” He rubs the
flat of his thumb over the bottom of the baby’s blanket covered foot. “I went a
little crazy for Alexis’ first Christmas; I don’t want Hannah to feel left
out.”
“Again, Rick, she’s five weeks old.”
“I know,” he huffs, flopping back
against the cushion.
“How about this -” She pushes down on
his thigh with the ball of her foot, curling her toes into the soft cotton of
his pajama pants. “We’ll take a picture of her in the bouncy chair with
presents piled all around her. Then when she’s older you can show her and tell
her about all the things she got for her first Christmas.”
“Are you suggesting that we outright
lie to our kid in order to appease my guilty conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m in.”
Kate chuckles, her lips stretching
into a wide smile. The baby falls off her breast, a tiny sigh hitching in her
chest. Castle reaches over and takes her, lifting her to his shoulder as Kate
adjusts herself, slipping her top back into place. His hand spans her entire
back and he closes his eyes; tries to memorize the way her ribs expand and
contract under his palm, how the gentle puffs of breath feel on his neck, the
simple pleasure of having her tiny body cradled against his. Kate leans into
his other side and he wraps his arm around her, presses a kiss to the top of
her head as she nestles into his shoulder. Her hand comes to rest on his
stomach, fingers toying with the loose edges of the baby’s blanket.
"Merry Christmas, Hannah,"
he whispers into the top of her head, running his thumb along the scant space
between her shoulder blades. “You’re gonna love this day. And no presents doesn't
mean no stockings, right? ‘Cause that thing is full. And about three times your
size. Don't tell your mom, okay?"
"I heard that," Kate
mumbles. "And did you really think I didn't already know?"
"Maybe?"
"I might be on maternity leave,
Castle, but I'm still a detective." She tilts her head up to look at him,
her eyes drooping heavily and a sleepy smile pulling at her lips. "And
you're still predictable."
Castle leans down and snags a kiss.
"You love it."
"Yeah, I do."
He presses their lips together again,
slow and sweet, before resting his forehead against hers.
"Merry Christmas, Kate."
"Merry Christmas," she
breathes, her hand lifting to rest over his on the baby's back.
They sit in silence with their
daughter, watching the flickering lights on the tree, the snow still falling
outside. Kate’s head grows heavy on his chest, her hand falling limply into his
lap. He knows he should wake her and send her back to their bed, put the baby
in her crib, but he wants this for just a little longer. Wants to remember the
quiet magic of the moment, the way it seeps into his veins, fills him with a
joy so pure that he thinks his heart might burst. The baby shifts against him,
her nose pressing into the side of his neck, and he brushes a kiss over the top
her head, his eyes slipping closed as he listens the soft symphony of their
combined breaths.
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