'Twas the week before Christmas, and Rick Castle was moping.

This was certainly not his usual mood for this time of year. December was usually his favorite month, a month he spent spreading relentless good cheer to everyone around him; but this year there was a distinct lack of cheer emanating from Castle, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by his ever-observant daughter. On this particular evening, Alexis had offered to skip her planned movie night with her friends to keep him company instead, but he had refused and sent her off, assuring her that he was fine and she shouldn't worry.

At least the second half of that was true. There was no need for Alexis to concern herself with her father's personal problems.

Problem, that is. Singular. He had exactly one problem, and its name, of course, was Detective Kate Beckett.

He stood in his kitchen, wearing his Christmas apron ("Head Elf"), baking Christmas cookies. Some might say that it would be impossible to mope while baking Christmas cookies, but Rick Castle was a talented man. He moped while cracking and beating eggs. He moped while rolling molasses ginger dough balls in sugar. He moped while cutting out reindeer shapes and carefully applying mini chocolate chips as their eyes. And after the first batch of cookie trays went into the oven, he wiped down the countertop and washed the dishes, all the while moping over her.

Kate Beckett.

The object of his affection. The thorn in his side. The mystery he so badly wanted to solve.

Just a few short weeks ago, things had seemed to be going so well. Beckett was slowly healing from her shooting last spring; she still seemed somewhat fragile, but was getting better all the time. She hadn't panicked when they woke up handcuffed together in a dank basement. Indeed, they had worked together as smoothly as could be imagined in that basement, evading the tiger's grasping claws and escaping certain death through dedicated teamwork. They had even traded some sexually suggestive banter, which had lifted his heart (and other body parts) with delight.

It had felt almost like old times, back before her shooting, when Montgomery was still alive and they solved cases together and flirted and skirted carefully around each other. After the case was closed, she'd even dropped a hot innuendo about handcuffs and "next time" that had left him slack-jawed and speechless.

So he had been feeling very hopeful about it all. He'd even decided to invite Beckett to Christmas Eve dinner with his family. And yeah, he had a gift for her. Nothing huge or ostentatious, but still, he'd selected it with great care, and hoped she would like it.

But then they'd caught a new case, and everything had gone to shit. Because of him.

Eric Vaughn. The billionaire philanthropist entrepreneur jerk who was currently occupying all of Beckett's attention.

Castle knew that it was wrong of him to be jealous. Beckett wasn't his girlfriend; he had no claim on her. She didn't even remember his declaration of love in the cemetery that day, which was fine; he had always planned to say it to her again when the time was right. He was waiting, like a gentleman, like she had asked him to. His eternally optimistic side was convinced that the moment would present itself.

It just hadn't occurred to him that in the meantime she might meet someone else.

Now the two of them were holed up together in a luxurious hotel suite, and the only thing standing between Castle and a solitary evening of painfully lurid fantasies was his faith in Beckett's professional integrity.

She wouldn't get involved with a man whose attempted murder she was currently investigating. Would she? No. Castle was pretty sure she wouldn't. But once they solved the case, all bets were off.

Gloomily, he removed a tray of cookies from the oven and slid another tray into its place.

If only he had told Beckett that he loved her, again. At some point when she wasn't bleeding to death in his arms; at some point when she would have had to hear, and remember, and react.

But no, he had held back - out of respect for her, and, to be honest, out of his own insecurity. Maybe his tender heart was still not fully, completely healed from the way she had disappeared without a word over the summer. But they had sat together on those swings, and she had spoken of walls and relationships, and he thought he had understood the subtext. He had thought ... that they both wanted the same thing.

Now he wasn't so sure.

He ate a warm cookie, scowling, thinking dark thoughts about Beckett and Eric Vaughn and hotels, and Christmas Eve dinner with his mother and daughter but no Beckett. He had even planned out a whole menu with Beckett's food preferences in mind.

Just as he was sulkily pouring himself a glass of milk to go with the cookie, his phone rang. Esposito. His skin prickled with alarm; why would Espo be calling him at this late hour?

"Castle."

"Yo," the detective's voice barked in his ear, rushed, the sounds of traffic in the background. "Get your ass over to the hotel. Sniper took a shot at Beckett and Vaughn."

"Sniper?" Oh shit, oh shit. His gut churning, Castle whirled into action, turning off the oven (that batch of cookies would be ruined, but no matter), whipping off his apron, dashing for the hall closet to grab his coat. "What the hell happened? What the hell, Javi?"

"I know, I know. I don't know." Esposito was equally flustered. "Just get there." He clicked off.

Damn straight Castle would get there. He was out the door and taking the stairs two at a time, already texting the doorman to get him a cab.

Castle arrived at the Fairwick Hotel at the same moment as Ryan and Esposito, who leapt out of their unmarked cruiser and caught up with him at the door.

"What do we know?" Castle gasped as they fell into step, rushing for the elevator. The hotel lobby was festively decorated for the holiday season, wreaths and shining baubles wasted on the three men as they dashed through.

"Not much," Ryan replied, his voice clipped, tight with strain. "No injuries, though. State Police already whisked Vaughn away to a safehouse."

No injuries. No injuries. Castle slumped back against the wall of the elevator, his knees shaky with relief.

"Still," he said after a moment, meeting the other men's eyes in turn. "A sniper."

"Yeah," said Esposito grimly, his jaw set.

They all knew that Beckett was still not entirely herself yet; they had all seen her during the sniper case less than a month ago. Castle wasn't sure exactly what had transpired between Beckett and Esposito in the evidence room that day, but it seemed to have helped; but there was still that edge to her. She was still on shaky ground, although they all knew she would never admit it.

The elevator doors slid open. The two detectives and Castle exchanged one more look and stepped out. Ryan's phone rang as they strode down the hallway, and he lifted it to his ear, uh-huh-ing breathlessly as he kept pace.

The suite was just as luxurious as Castle had imagined it, and his mind dimly registered the two half-full glasses of champagne as he and the boys entered. CSU technicians were busily at work, and there was Beckett, standing with arms folded, watching a tech carefully digging a bullet out of the wall.

"Beckett," Esposito said, and she turned her head, offering the three men a tight smile.

"I'm fine," she said, but Castle saw that pinched look around her eyes, the careful tightness of her jaw, the way her hands were tucked into her elbows to conceal the tremors.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded. Ryan, pocketing his phone, answered before Beckett could.

"Looks like the shot came from across the street. Uniforms are canvassing for Barber, but so far nothing."

"How did he even know you and Vaughn were here?" Castle wondered aloud, and Beckett shook her head, sighing.

"I don't know, maybe he's been watching Vaughn ever since the attack at the restaurant."

"Beckett," said Ryan carefully, as Esposito moved aside to consult with CSU, "I hate to do this to you, but I need to take your statement."

"Yeah, it's fine," she replied, shrugging with careful, exaggerated casualness.

As Castle watched Beckett showing Ryan where she and Vaughn had been standing, his brow furrowed. The question came bursting out of him: "Why was he standing so close?"

Beckett looked over at him, her eyes hooded, her mouth a tight line.

"I don't understand," Castle went on, indicating the CSU tech's laser sight, which was currently illuminating in the air the path that the bullet had taken. "If he was standing there, the bullet would have gone right through his head." He tilted his head at Beckett, lifting his eyebrows to ask the question.

She took in a slow breath, closed her eyes briefly, and said, "He kissed me, okay, Castle?"

"He what?" Anger and hurt surged in him, tugging down the corners of his mouth even as he took in the unhappy curve of Beckett's shoulders, the way her gaze slid away and wouldn't meet his.

"I think I have all I need," Ryan said, trying to break in, but Beckett spoke over him.

"He kissed me, but it didn't mean anything. At least not to me."

"Well, if you didn't want him to kiss you, why wouldn't you push him away?" Castle asked, aware that his tone sounded unpleasantly whiny, but unable to hold back.

Beckett huffed at that, and shot him a look that he knew all too well. It was her you're being an idiot look, and it hit him like a bucket of ice water.

"Oh," he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed of himself. "Which is why he's not dead." And Beckett was a grown woman. She could kiss whomever she wanted. It was none of his business. He turned away, his shoulders sagging.

"Castle," said Ryan, his tone sharper than usual, bringing Castle's head back up in surprise. His eyes sought out the detective, who was scowling at him.

"What?"

Ryan flicked his eyes significantly sideways, calling Castle's attention back to Beckett. She was still standing near the window, her arms now wrapped defensively around her torso, breathing shallowly, her eyes glazed as they stared at the shattered glass.

Oh. Shit. Castle didn't know a whole lot about PTSD or panic attacks, but he knew Beckett, and she was definitely not okay.

"Dude," said Esposito, appearing by Ryan's side. The two detectives nodded significantly at Castle, their meaning clear: You take this. We've got the rest.

"Yeah," Castle agreed, nodding back at them, stepping forward. No matter what else was going on, he could still do this.

"Kate," he said softly, touching her shoulder very lightly with his fingertips. She startled nevertheless, twitching away. When she turned her face toward him, her eyes were huge, fearful, and his heart broke all over again. Damn that sniper anyway. She'd been doing so well.

"Come on," he said, reaching out again, slowly, making sure she could see his hand coming. This time she didn't jerk away when he touched her, closing his hand carefully around her elbow. "Let's get your stuff and get you home."

The overnight bag that she had brought was in one of the suite's bedrooms, sitting untouched on the bed; she hadn't unpacked at all. Castle scooped it up and led her out, keeping his hand lightly on her elbow. She went with him, passively - unnaturally so. In the elevator, he studied her with concern, all of his other petty feelings fading away under a flood of simple, desperate protectiveness. He just wanted her to be okay.

She didn't say anything during the elevator ride, or the walk through the lobby. He wondered whether she might spook at going outside, but she didn't hesitate, walking through the doors without a hitch. They were in a taxi and on the move within moments.

He tried to keep his eyes off her in the cab, thinking that being stared at would only make her more anxious. But he didn't know what to do, his knees jiggling with nervous energy, his hands fidgety in his lap as he stared out the window.

She had pushed Vaughn away when he tried to kiss her. What did that mean?

When she spoke, it was so quiet he almost wondered if she was aware the words had slipped out. "I'm sorry," she said, and he shifted in his seat, turning to gape at her.

"Beckett?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, looking over at him. The wild irrational fear had faded from her eyes, and now she just looked tired and sad. "I'm so sorry, Castle."

"For what?" he asked, bemused, but she bit her lip and didn't seem to know what to say. Before she managed to find the words, the taxi was pulling up outside her apartment building.

"Come on," Castle said. "You'll feel better at home."

She climbed out, her movements slow as if her limbs were too heavy to lift. Castle quickly paid the driver and rushed to catch up with her.

Inside her apartment, once he had gotten her through the door and taken her coat off, settled her on the couch, and taken the overnight bag into her bedroom (carefully not looking around), he stood for a moment, feeling awkward. He didn't know what to do next. He didn't know how to take care of her in this state.

"It's okay," Beckett said, watching him from the sofa, hugging a throw cushion against her. "You should get back to your family, Castle."

"They're fine," he replied immediately, shaking his head, moving closer to take another look at Beckett. She wasn't fine, but she did look better than she had in the hotel room. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't need to, to call anyone, or...?"

"Not now," she sighed. "I'll call Dr. Burke in the morning."

"Who?" he asked curiously. Her eyes slid away, the corners of her mouth pinching inward. He could see that she regretted having let the name slip out.

"My therapist," she admitted reluctantly.

Castle struggled to keep his expression neutral. "Oh," he got out. "Um. Yeah, that might be a good idea."

She had a therapist? His brain was whirling with questions, but he knew that now wasn't the time. "Okay," he went on, "well, as long as you're sure."

"Thanks, Castle," she said, her voice thready, her eyes distant. He suspected she would be asleep within minutes after he had gone.

"Until tomorrow, Beckett," he murmured, and left. He was halfway down the corridor when he heard the locks and bolts closing on the other side of her apartment door. Good. Good. Whatever it took to make her feel safe.

Castle was at the precinct bright and early the next morning, and so was Beckett. She still looked tired, but otherwise seemed her usual self. He brought her coffee, and the boys brought them information, and the investigation proceeded. None of them mentioned the previous day's events.

When the signs seemed to point to Eric Vaughn himself as the mastermind behind the apparent attempt on his life, Castle did his best not to gloat. He fretted outside the door of the interview room while she was talking to Vaughn. He paced back and forth in the hallway, offering a bright, brittle smile to every officer who passed by, giving him curious looks.

Upon getting home the previous night, he'd discovered that Alexis had rescued the cookie-making production that he'd abandoned in his rush to get to Beckett. Alexis had thrown away the ruined batch of cookies, baked the trays of dough that he'd left sitting at the ready, and put the remaining bowls of dough away in the fridge, carefully covered with plastic wrap to keep the dough from drying out.

Grateful, he had gone upstairs to give his daughter a hug and hear her chatter for a few minutes about her friends and the movie and their holiday plans. Then she had gone to bed, and he'd gone back downstairs to finish the cookies and brood over Beckett.

Now, in the light of day, he was no less unsettled than he had been at midnight.

Beckett had pushed Eric Vaughn away when he tried to kiss her. And she was still seeing a therapist. And she had apologized to him. Why?

The door to the interview room flew open and Beckett came striding out, her expression steely with determination. Her heels clicked authoritatively along the floor as she strode toward the elevator. Castle's breath caught in his throat, thick and painful with how much he loved her, with how relieved he was to see her looking and acting like herself again.

Even Vaughn looked like a sycophant as he trailed behind her, Castle and the boys rushing to catch up.

An hour later the real perpetrator was behind bars, the sniper had been caught trying to get into Canada, and Castle emerged from the restroom to see Beckett and Vaughn exchanging a final few words by the elevator. He hung back, observing their body language as they spoke softly. They both seemed calm, relaxed. Vaughn's hands were in his pockets, and he didn't touch Beckett as they nodded to each other and separated, Vaughn entering the elevator, Beckett heading back toward her desk.

"Hey," Castle said, approaching her with a tentative smile. She looked up, and returned the smile, equally guardedly.

"Hey, Castle."

"So, uh," he gestured to the file folders on her desk, "I see that you're about to get started on the paperwork, which is usually my cue to leave."

Her smile widened, and she rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, of course. Heaven forbid you risk your unbroken streak of avoiding the paperwork."

He chuckled softly, and the familiarity of it was reassuring. They could still do this: solve cases together, and banter with each other, and feel normal. That much hadn't changed.

"Beckett," he burst out, reckless with the flow of relief, "would you join us for Christmas Eve dinner? We'd love to have you."

Her eyes widened and she stared up at him, a melange of emotions crossing her face so quickly he didn't have time to analyze or understand them. But then her lips turned downward and his heart sank even before she spoke.

"That's so sweet of you, Castle," she murmured, lowering her eyes again, "but I already have plans."

"Right. Of course." With an effort, he kept his shoulders straight, kept the smile pasted on his cheeks. "Of course you do." Of course. Eric Vaughn had beat him to it; had asked her out for a no doubt extravagantly romantic holiday dinner, and of course she had said yes. Why wouldn't she?

"I'm sorry," she began, frowning at his expression, but he shook his head, waving her off.

"No, no. It's no big deal, Beckett. You, uh, enjoy the holiday, okay?"

His muscles aching with the strain of remaining upbeat, he escaped to the elevator, sagging against the rear wall once the doors closed around him.

Damn it. Missed his chance yet again.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Lou, the Prompt Overlord, gave me several Christmassy fic prompts and I combined bits and pieces of them to come up with this story. I hope you like it. The second chapter will be posted tomorrow.