Wintersong

New Year's Eve

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beautiful things out of us

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Castle wakes early Thursday morning to find his wife has crowded into his side of the bed, the covers and mattress radiating body heat, the whole thing familiarly uncomfortable.

And he's wide awake.

With ideas.

He swallows past the dry-sock in his throat, turns his head to brush a rough kiss against her elbow - up near his ear and hiding her head as if braced for impact in her sleep. He can't help the chuckle that gets caught in his chest like a burr, but it doesn't wake her, and he slides out from under her.

She stays sprawled mostly on his side, but she does that shiver-shudder thing of falling back into dreams, the twitch and drawing up that makes him wonder if he ought to wake her anyway. Just in case.

But she slays her own demons, even in dreams, and he does too. Only he slays his in front of his computer, and he has ideas. Phrases, whole scenes, language like a taste on his tongue, and he holds his body carefully as he heads for his study, afraid one wrong step will pop it like a bubble.

They have plans for their day, plans before she has to head into work because of the Times Square Ball Drop, but it's early yet and he can get this all down if he starts now.

So he starts now, opening his laptop and waking it up, anticipating the half-finished page and the chapter he started sometime during his melancholy and never got around to again.

He knows now. He knows exactly how it's supposed to go, and as he settles into his chair before the keyboard, he blows a kiss to his muse still rumpled in bed, ever thankful.

The joy of rebirth, renewal. The hope of a new year.

X

She yawns and stretches, full height, on her toes, her spine popping and her shoulders pulling back, arms up, bones creaking and groaning. And then she drops down to flat feet, arms dangling, and sways for a moment beside the bed.

Long night at the Twelfth yesterday. It was such a wonderful thing to shed her coat, her shoes, her bag, her clothes and simply crawl into bed with him, his body still and unmoving in sleep so that her own just collapsed there beside him. She never forgot how good that felt, having warm if sleeping arms to come home to, but maybe she took it for granted before.

Took him for granted.

Where is him anyway?

Kate tugs down her shirt and finds her robe, shrugs it on before she goes wandering through the cold loft. The early morning light makes her squint when she passes from bedroom to office - for some reason the blinds are slanted in here - and she has to duck her head away and wait for her eyes to adjust.

And then she sees him perched at the edge of the leather couch, his laptop on his knees and his fingers flying over the keys, his body so rigid she knows he's deep into a scene, the story practically writing itself. She loves it best when he doesn't even notice her, when he can't disconnect from his interior world, and she slides forward on bare feet to stalk her writer prey.

His eyes glance up, away from the screen, but he doesn't seem to register what he sees, or maybe what he sees isn't her at all, because he goes right back to his writing, his hair in an unwashed hank over his eyes, so deeply furrowed in concentration.

She puts a knee to the leather cushion and crawls in behind him, and he only grunts and shifts forward marginally, leaning into the laptop as if to give her room. Does he know she's here? She can't be sure he does - that she's at all more than just a warm body in a room, a tug on his concentration. She could be anyone, or well, anyone with access to his office, and she finds a strange safety and comfort in that.

She doesn't make Castle any less than he is.

Kate lets out a breath and lays her cheek to the hunch of his back, closes her eyes. She feels the slight movement of his muscles in his shoulder blades, his trapezius as they pull his hands across the keyboard, his fingers flying from home row to capture the story as it happens in his head. Or right before his eyes, she thinks really; the story must project like a movie for him to write so fast, only minor hesitations, no self-editing, only forward momentum.

She loves feeling it under her, against her chest, like a heartbeat, the pulse of his writing.

She doesn't know how long she drifts there, curled up at his back and drowsing through the story, when Castle sucks in a breath and his fingers abruptly still.

She waits, thinking only that he's thinking, but he makes a movement and closes the lid of the laptop, leaning forward to lay it on the floor, Kate still riding his back.

A year ago, two, she might have said, don't let me interrupt, but she knows him better now. Knows she couldn't interrupt unless he was truly at a stopping point, a resting place for the story playing in his head. She knows she can only interrupt if he wants to be interrupted.

His hand comes up and scratches the top of her head and she smiles, turns to put her chin to his shoulder, digging in.

Castle grunts, a knee jerking up, and she feels the hard knot just under her chin, works down into it. He yips like an animal and stiffens, and it only encourages her further.

Kate lifts from his back and dives into his shoulders, kneading the muscles held rigid for so long, caught in the thrall of the story. Castle lets out a groan and drops his head forward, slumping, his elbows on his spread knees, giving himself over to her. She paints a kiss at his ear and lifts up to her own knees, digs her elbows into the strained lines down his spine.

"Oh, God," he groans. "Right there."

She smirks because of how it sounds, but he's so far gone he's oblivious to even that, and she works her elbows deeper, popping the knots under the hard pressure of her bones. He twitches and grunts, he jerks and spasms, and she knows she's getting all the bad-good places, heating his muscles and straightening them out again.

When she's gone all the way down his back and up again, she works her fingers and thumbs at the base of his skull, being slow and careful. He rotates his head on his neck, easing into her touch, and she releases the tension he holds all through his body.

Rick breathes out, loose under her, and she leans in and presses her lips to the warm skin above his collar.

And then she drapes her body along his back once more and closes her eyes.

He stays where he is, braced on his elbows, and he lets her rest in it, probably doing the same himself.

When it's too good, when the feeling of having and being had makes her feel swamped, overwhelmed, better than she deserves, she lifts off his shoulders and slides around to his side.

Rick takes her hand and carefully touches her fingers, playing at them, squeezing them, his way of saying thank you. She bumps his shoulder. "Come on. Coffee and breakfast. We have a make-up showing of Star Wars at ten-thirty."

His lips draw out into a grin and he kisses the corner of her mouth. "I need a shower. You want to join me?"

"Oh, do I."

X

All they can talk about is the movie, from the time they leave the theatre, to the subway platform, to the long walk home in the bitter wind. Alexis wants a staff like Rey's and probably her boots and Castle is musing aloud about how they could make one, duct tape and PVC pipe and spray paint on a shower head.

Martha interrupts to regale them with a hilarious tale of Rick falling asleep at the original release, opening night, one hand in his popcorn, after having tormented her for months about being allowed to go.

"I was worn out," Castle protests. "I was so excited that I couldn't sleep the whole night before. The whole week before."

Alexis shakes her head. "Oh, Dad, it wasn't just then. Remember, you fell asleep on our plane ride to Disney. My very first! But the stewardess was so nice to me. She gave me extra bags of peanuts."

"I woke up before we landed," he grumbles.

"Quite a catch there, Katherine. My son has a rare gift. He can fall asleep at the most exciting moments."

Kate cuts her eyes to her husband and finds his ears glowing pink, though she still doesn't know if the stories are true or not, and she takes pity on him. "I wouldn't want him any other way. Even if it means he's falling asleep in the popcorn."

It gets the laugh, Alexis and Martha both, but from Rick, she finds her hand in his, the intensity of his eyes on her. He leans in close and touches a kiss to her ear. "I've never fallen asleep on you."

"Not yet," she smiles. "Though, I guess, now I should consider it an honor."

By the time they bundle onto the elevator, everyone close, bumping up against layers, some of their camaraderie has leaked out, just enough to leave them smiling but silent, each one already turned to her own thoughts. Alexis has the keys in her hand and she unlocks the loft for them, but she doesn't come in.

"Actually, guys, I'm going to head out. There's a party later, and I want to hook up with some friends from high school while they're still in town."

Kate expects Castle to deflate, but he doesn't at all. He leans in and kisses his daughter's forehead. "Have fun, pumpkin. Mother, are you sticking around or going home?"

"Ah-ha, darling, you know I've got plans." Martha flutters her hand at him. "Schedule is quite tight, a costume change is in order before I can be presentable. So I'll take the elevator down with Alexis."

"You already look fantastic," Kate murmurs, embracing her mother-in-law anyway. "No need to change." Martha smells of Chanel No. 5 and make-up powder, which is nothing at all like Kate's own mother, and yet it makes her nostalgic.

"Thank you, darling, that's a lovely thing to say." Martha squeezes hard and then releases her, pats her son's cheek as Rick moves to embrace her. Kate offers a good-bye to Alexis, and then the younger women is leading her grandmother down the hall to the elevator.

When the door closes after them, it feels oddly electric in the loft, as if it's the night before Christmas and the anticipation is heady. She turns to Castle, assuming he wants more of her, since she only has about six hours before her shift starts at the precinct, and all of that current and expectation seems to be coming from him.

But he's gathering his keys and collecting gloves, giving her an apologetic look. "I have a couple errands to run before our early dinner."

She stands in the middle of the entry, her coat already off and scarf unwound, a little stunned. But she recovers, nodding. "Okay. I might take a hot bath, actually. Gone long?"

"Long enough for a bath," he says, giving her a wink. "You don't mind?"

She shrugs and moves past him, hanging up her coat. "Sounds great. Go ahead, Castle."

He kisses her, hard and a little off-center, and then he hustles out the door, locking it behind him. Kate stands in the empty loft for a long moment before she finally rouses, heads aimlessly for the master bathroom and a soak in the tub.

Maybe she'll bring his book, the Nikki excerpts, read it over again. It's a rather tame way to spend her New Year's Eve, but she does have to work through midnight, and at least they were able to see his movie together.

Could be worse.

She could be without him.

X

"Kate?" he whispers.

"'M awake," she murmurs, opening her eyes.

Castle is crouched before the couch, his fingers hovering just above her cheek. He strokes back along her ear and she shivers, trying to hold on to his gaze, battling sleep.

His kiss is soft, words softer. "You ready?"

"Ready?" she whispers, her voice cracking with disuse. How long has he been gone? When did he come back?

"To ring in the New Year."

She blinks and scans the darkness of the loft, lifts her head from the arm of the couch. "To what?" She startles and jerks upright, brushing the back of her hand along her mouth. "What time's it? I have to be at work at eight-"

"You didn't miss it. I wouldn't let you oversleep. It's only four-thirty, Kate. I have dinner ready."

"Oh." She runs her tongue against her teeth and winces at the dry taste in her mouth. "Mm, didn't mean to fall asleep." She pushes off the couch, confused by the way he watches her, and she turns for the kitchen.

But it's sparkling clean and empty.

His hands fall to her hips, tug her back towards him. "Not here. I need you to put on those wool socks you got in your stocking. And the fingerless alpaca gloves. I've got everything else."

"My what?" She stumbles a little as he pushes her towards the bedroom. "My gloves?"

"Trust me."

Her body obeys reflexively, though questions still crowd her mouth, and she finds herself heading down the hall for the little pile from her Christmas stocking, still in a collection beside the bed.

"Maybe put some long-johns on under those jeans, Kate!"

She glances back at him, can't fathom why she needs to bundle up again. Maybe he got tickets for a repeat showing of the movie? She dresses automatically, still fuzzy with a nap she had no intention of taking, but she has to wriggle her hips to get her jeans up over the layer of thermal underwear. Warm though. Too warm in the loft.

He said dinner was ready?

Kate comes back out into the living room straightening the sleeves of her alpaca gloves, and Castle is standing before the front door, his arms filled with the fleece jacket from the hardware store in Connecticut and the blanket she used to cover her legs on the couch.

"Come on," he says, encouraging.

"I don't need shoes?" she asks.

"You have on those wool socks, right?"

"Yeah." The dark grey ones with neon yellow tread on the bottoms. She lifts her foot to show him and he chuckles, grabbing for her elbow and tugging her towards the door.

She follows him out into the hall and to the elevator, and though her confusion is all-encompassing, her resistance is erratic, unable to take hold because of that nap.

He presses a button on the elevator before she can see, his back to the numbers so she won't know where they're going. But when the lift rises and the doors ding and slide open, she already knows they're on the roof.

Castle steps out, turns for her, and he bundles her in the fleece jacket, which she dutifully pulls on. And then he's draping the blanket over her shoulders like a cape, smiling at her like he has a wonderful secret. He keeps both ends in his hands and tugs her out after him, and she goes, follows him down the hall, her own spark of anticipation beginning to grow, twitching her lips.

"What'd you do, Castle?"

"I told you. Dinner."

He tugs her to the roof access, uses the apartment building key fob across the plate, and the lock buzzes and clicks to green. He pushes open the door, but he guides her out ahead of him.

"Close your eyes, Kate."

She does automatically, her heart beating a little too fast, tripping over the threshold before he catches her.

His hands on her hips, tucking the blanket tighter around her, Castle nudges her forward, his breath in her ear, the rasp of his skin against her jaw. He's folded over her from behind, warm at her back even through the fleece, and she drops her hands to cover his, letting him slow-dance her forward.

"Okay," he breathes. "Open your eyes."

She does, lashes parting slowly to prolong the return of that electric feeling from before, and she gasps. "Castle."

He's strung white twinkling lights across the roof in haphazard sweeps, pinpoints of beaming light. Under them lies a wide-bodied hammock chair where he's apparently piled every blanket and pillow from the loft, and to either side are dark wooden tv trays with Chinese takeout cartons piled high, steaming in the cold.

"Oh, Castle," she beams, turning to look at him as he steps up beside her. "It's beautiful."

His grin is deep. "You didn't think I'd let New Year's Eve go by without a celebration of our own?"

She bites her bottom lip, shakes her head. "I didn't think all this."

"Here, come on. Don't let it get cold."

He pulls but she doesn't need to be pulled; she heads for the chair and sits on the end, leaning out for a couple of cartons and two forks. Castle sits beside her and makes a nest of the blankets, opens his arm for her to snuggle back against him.

He wraps their legs tight against the cold, draws the blankets around them both, and she hands him a fork and a carton. They bump and nudge each other as they get situated, the hammock swinging on its frame, their bodies pulled together like two heavenly forms in orbit until they can finally half-recline.

She finds herself filled up, laughing for no reason, feeling as if the night has been remade.

It's the cold, it's the way the man wriggles next to her, it's the scent of Chinese food and the lights that twinkle and shimmer around them. It's cozy, and she pops a piece of chicken in her mouth, closing her eyes at the taste, the sharp and rich flavors on her tongue. The things she took for granted but hopes she never will again.

"How's that?" he murmurs, and she nods, her head against his shoulder, her body tucked in and surprisingly toasty. He's adjusting his feet to lay over hers, keeping her warm. "Good. Now. Look up, Kate."

She clasps the carton against her chest and tilts her head back, gasping at the dizzying expanse of stars overhead.

And then she laughs, realizing it's a projection on a dark sheet, a glorious display of the universe, nebulas and the Milky Way, the twinkling lights in proud and sharp imitation.

He finds her hand above the blankets, fingers rubbing at the tips of hers, stroking into her gloves. "I did good?"

"You did - Castle. This is amazing." She traces the lines of constellations with her eyes, the stars shifting as if the earth is spinning below. The beautiful cosmos, the lights, the winter chill at her cheeks. "It's so..." She shakes her head, staring above. She never has the words. Her awe fills her throat.

"I made us our very own Connecticut," he hums. "Not half bad."

She grins up into the unnatural darkness, turns her head for a glimpse of Castle in the light of his manmade stars. "Rick," she sighs, curling her fingers around his and kissing his dry knuckles, those rough places against her lips. "You're a beautiful man. Thank you for this."

He kisses her, a thumb rubbing her bottom lip before he does it again.

And then they eat between half-spoken conversations, watching the stars, elbows bumping and sharing cartons, stealing the last bites from each other before opening another carton. It's mindless and it's not; it's finding a new pattern for their life. It's the investigation, the justice she can't be blind to, and his determination to be there for it. He asks her, shyly, about the book of Nikki excerpts and she spends a long time whispering her favorite parts to him as if they're best-kept secrets.

When her fingers are warm again and they've heated up the blankets, he stacks up their Chinese takeout cartons, one inside the other, puts them away before bringing out a bottle from a cooler at his side. He wriggles his eyebrows, dancing the bottle closer.

She sighs, leaning her cheek to his shoulder. "I can't. I have to go on duty in-"

"It's sparkling cider," he says, a little smug.

She laughs, nudges her cheek against him. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"Pretty much," he grins. He pours two glasses, tumblers from the set in his office, and hands her one.

Their glasses clink as they tip them together, she feels the cold seeping into her fingers, the chill of sparkling cider bubbling at her nose. She giggles and sips slowly, letting it fizz across her tongue, and she leans her cheek back to his shoulder, watching the stars.

He downs his own glass and refills it, puts the bottle back down beside the chair. They sit twined together, hip to hip, ribs catching as they breathe, and soon Castle is nuzzling in against her temple, down at her cheek.

"Kiss for the New Year."

"At five p.m.?" she murmurs, refusing his kiss with a teasing withdrawal.

His smile breaks against hers. "They're celebrating in Paris and Rome, so it counts."

"Well, then. When in Rome." She nudges her nose against his, takes a kiss from him that fills her with starshine and fizzing, tastes like love. "Together in the New Year."

"Better together," he promises. And then, shaking his head. "More together. We'll be more. Together."

X

Happy New Year! May you find blessings in your every day, more and more.