Castle 1. 01: All the Lights Are Shining

**Naughty and Nice: Castle Advent Calendar 2012**

_Author's Note_

If you are unfamiliar with the concept of an advent calendar: It is a countdown to Christmas. Every day you get to open a 'window' to find a treat, usually chocolate or sweets, daily from December 1st until you made it to Christmas Eve. :)

This Castle Advent Calendar will be filled with a Caskett story treat - loosely connected ficlets you get to open each day; a countdown to Christmas as we accompany Castle and Beckett through this Christmas season.

A new treat will be posted every morning. As the title might suggest, this will have M rated treats, so set your story alerts if you don't want to miss it once I change the rating. No spoilers for episode 5x09, 'Secret Santa' before its airdate.

_**For all you wonderful people out there who have welcomed me so warmly into this amazing fandom: you avid readers, faithful reviewers, enthusiastic fans and delightful friends – this is my Christmas gift to you! **_

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**Window 01: All the Lights Are Shining**

She picks the photos off the murder board, slowly, painstakingly, one after the other after the other. Folds them into the file box, note cards covering the last images of the victim, and her arms are heavy with the weight of the day. It's past ten, on a Saturday no less, and while the case wasn't particularly heinous, it was long and exhausting and she just wants to be home.

She needs to relax, maybe sink into a hot bath, and just not have to think about anything. Wants to crawl into her bed, curl up under her thick comforter, her body sleep-heavy, heated and sluggish from the bath.

Her eyes close, already feeling the warmth of her bed envelop her and she wavers on her feet. In her vision, Castle replaces the blanket and she snuggles into his body instead, her cheek on his chest and his strong, comforting heartbeat under her ear. She draws a leg over his hips, claiming him, and he bands his arms around her back, holding her close as she relaxes in his embrace, snug and so safe. He trails a finger along her spine, up and down the ridges and valleys of her bones, a gentle, soothing rhythm that lulls her into a thick, dreamless sleep.

She sighs, missing him. He left hours ago to meet Alexis for dinner and it feels silly but she misses his presence now if he's not around, the comfort of his proximity, the draw of his jokes and silly ideas and the sparkle in his eye when he makes her laugh.

She knows if she moved faster she could go home quicker but she just doesn't have the energy, everything is too cumbersome, her limbs sluggish with fatigue, her eyelids heavy.

"Kate," his voice murmurs against her ear and suddenly he's there, right behind her, his palms curved around her upper arms. Her eyes flutter, a deep exhale tumbling from her lungs as the burden of the day slides off her shoulders with the sound of his voice, the calming warmth of his nearness.

Her body sways toward him, an inevitable draw that she no longer wants to deny. She blinks her eyes open, glances around for a quick moment but there is nobody close by, most people having left for the day. She lets herself sink against him, allows herself the comfort of his presence, her back pressed to his sturdy chest that catches her, supports her.

Castle wraps his arms around her waist immediately, her head dropping onto his shoulder while he draws her tightly against him and she is swallowed into his embrace, tender yet solid around her.

"Hey." Her voice is low, the rasp only for his ears. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to get you out of here," he murmurs, fingers splayed wide on her stomach. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah." Kate nods, nudging her cheek into his, and the slight stubble of his 5 o'clock shadow rasps against her skin, spreading warmth throughout her limbs. Turning her face toward him, she presses a lingering kiss to the edge of his jaw, feels his muscles tense underneath her.

She cradles her hand atop his, lacing their fingers together while she looks up at him. "Take me home."

* * *

"This isn't your loft," she murmurs into his neck when the car comes to an unexpected stop.

"Just a short detour," he answers, cradling her chin within his fingertips, lifting her face to his. "If you're up for it?"

And she's so tired, can hardly fathom taking another step but his eyes are warm on her, filled with silent hope and the smile spreads her lips with unexpected ease. "Okay."

It's really only a few steps, her hand folded into his larger one and then she looks up and they are in front of the large Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.

It rises before them, enormous and spectacular, its thousands of lights sparkling, dancing over the red glossy decorations, shining with golden warmth. She's seen it, time and time again yet it never loses its magic, never stops taking her breath away.

Castle wraps his arms around her from behind, mirroring their position from earlier in the precinct and she sinks into his embrace once more, her head resting on his shoulder while they stare up at the tree together, the white fog of their combined breaths swirling through the air.

He nudges his nose against her cheek, the tip already turning cold from the chill of the December wind whipping around them, presses his warm palms firmly to her stomach, his voice reverent as he speaks.

"Our first Christmas together, Kate."


	2. 02: Spirits Bright

_**The cover art for this story was made by the amazing mjsofter! Thank you so much girl, it's better than I could ever have envisioned it! **_

_**AN: **Today's treat is dedicated to Katy. I am very honored, and I hope it will continue to help, and bring you joy. _

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**Window 02: Spirits Bright**

He stumbles through his office, knees still wobbly with sleep, rubbing the grit from his eyes with the heel of his hands. Strands of music dance past his ears from somewhere in the loft; mouthwatering scents float through the air and he follows his nose, eyes still squinting against the morning brightness. He shuffles forward – and comes to a sudden halt, eyes widening at the sight.

Kate is making breakfast. Only wearing his dark blue shirt from yesterday, her endlessly long legs naked underneath, her feet bare and skipping over the tiled floor. His eyes drift up those gorgeous limbs, rest instead on the soft flare of her hips that shimmy and twist beneath the wide, straight cut of the fabric. She sways over to the sink, butt wiggling side to side while she drops a dish in the water, then swings back around, hair wild and free as the curls bounce around her face with the momentum.

He can't stop staring. Because Kate Beckett is in his kitchen, making breakfast, dancing fervently to the tune of Frank Sinatra's _Jingle Bells_. And how is it that this is both cute and unbelievably sexy?

He watches as she opens a drawer, grabs a knife, then pushes it closed with a precise swing of her hips just as the melody changes from the jangle of bells and the background singers back to Mr. Sinatra's unmistakable croon.

"Jingle Bells, jing-jingle bells…" She sings along, slicing potatoes, completely engrossed in the music and her task while her hips keep up their rhythmic, sexy wiggle. "Jingle all the waaaay…"

She's just so beautiful. His heart leaps and he grins, full and warm and bright at the happiness that just radiates from her. He wonders whether he's ever just been this… content with a woman in his life. So comfortable and at ease, and yet every day with Kate is exciting. Extraordinary. He quietly steps closer, sidles up behind her on the counter and wraps his arms around her waist, catching the rhythm of her hips swinging, and swaying with her through the last notes.

The knife clatters onto the cutting board as she sinks back against him, at once soft and pliable, completely relaxing into his chest and he nudges his face into her neck, inhaling her sweet morning scent. He can feel more than see the smile that stretches her cheeks wide.

"Good morning," she sighs, head tilted to the side to give his wandering lips better access along the side of her neck. "Did I wake you?"

He nods, nuzzling underneath her ear where he knows the patch of skin that makes her knees buckle ever time he grazes his teeth over it. "Sinatra's croon was a bit of a surprise."

"Sorry."

"No, no," he murmurs, his fingers playing over the warm skin of her stomach, holding her tightly to him, bodies still swaying even though the music has stopped. "Staring at your hot body while you sashay your hips to Christmas music? Totally worth it."

She half grunts, half laughs at that, bumps her butt backwards into him to push him away but then she just relaxes once more, her facial muscles going slack.

"I just _love_ the season."

Castle turns her in his arms, bands an arm around her waist as she leans against his chest, looking up at him with wide, sparkling eyes.

"Yeah?" She nods. "I wouldn't have taken you for a Christmas sap, Ms. Beckett."

"Why, Castle? Come on, not everything in my life was only tragic," she scolds, smirking, but his smile falls, an apology ready at his lips because that's really not what he meant, not like that but she smiles up at him instead, considering him quietly while she ruffles her fingers through his hair, settles her palm over the back of his neck.

"It was the last wonderful weeks I had with my mom," she elaborates, and her wistful tone always clogs his throat, makes him wish he was that superhero who could travel back in time just to give her her mother back. "Those are good memories," she emphasizes, sharing a tender smile with him.

"And I miss her every year, of course, all the time. I've had my share of Christmas seasons that really weren't all that great. But I still love seeing the joy that it brings. That sparkle you see in the wide eyes of little children, that _excitement_ for all this magic that might be out there. And I love the inviting twinkle of all the lights and decorations, and all the unique tastes and scents. The traditions, the songs. The reverence of a church service. The warmth of candlelight and flickering fireplaces and hot, fragrant tea." Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes sparkle, and he runs his fingertips up and down her spine, staring at her while she speaks because even though he is the writer, it's _her_ words, the melody of her phrases, the way she expresses her thoughts when she shares parts of herself that simply bowl him over, time and time again.

"It's odd but I think it helped, you know, seeing it still out there, this joy and wonder, this bit of magic, even if I couldn't have it."

And he can't help it, he kisses her, tender and prolonged, her lips opening under his, welcoming the swoop of his tongue as he draws her against him. "You'll have it now," he murmurs the promise into her mouth. "All the joy and magic we can get." He'll make damn sure.

She nods, twirling her fingertips through his hair, her whole face lit up in an adoring smile. "I know."

* * *

**AN:** I put together a Christmas playlist to go with this story; it's really just a compilation of some of my favorite songs to add a bit of a festive mood, and I'll likely continue adding more songs along the way. They don't necessarily match each chapter; however, you can listen to this version of **Jingle Bells** on the list (song nr. 2)! Visit my Tumblr for the link to the playlist: nic6879 _dot _tumblr _dot _com (or find it on my youtube channel nic6879)


	3. 03: By Golly, It's Time

**Window 03: By Golly, It's Time**

Kate presses her fingers onto her forehead, rubbing in circles to dispel the mounting tension behind her eyes. Flipping over to the next page she tries to focus on her file, analyze the details but her brain is fizzing out, her vision unfocused.

Where is he with her coffee?

She's tempted by the espresso machine in the break room, but she knows he'll bring her her morning coffee soon and she doesn't want to miss that moment, their treasured little ritual. A bit of caffeine deprivation really shouldn't make her quite so jittery but they went to bed really late; she had way too little sleep and she really, really needs her coffee.

The elevator pings and she looks up, like she has ever time it has announced an arrival for the past hour but then her heart flips and she gets up quickly, rushes toward him and his sweet adoring smile. And her coffee.

"Why are you so late?" She wraps her fingers around the travel mug he holds out for her, her fingers coasting over his in a quick, tender caress before he lets go, and she pulls the coffee toward her. She smiles at him in silent greeting, drifting toward his chest as if pulled by an invisible string, absorbed by his presence. Even though it's only been a couple of hours since she reluctantly crawled out of his arms to go to work.

"Had to run by the pharmacy, the traffic was horrible, and then there was this endless line at Starbucks …"

Kate lifts the coffee mug to her face, inhaling the warm, fragrant steam as it wafts around her nose and it's, oh… different. She sniffs again, her nose crinkling, and then she then wraps her lips around the lid, carefully takes a first mouthful.

"Uuh," she yanks the mug away from her mouth, swallows the offending sip with a shudder even though she'd rather spit it back out. "What is that?"

His smile falters as he looks at her with surprise. "Seasonal flavors, Beckett."

She lifts an eyebrow.

"Pumpkin spice."

She eyes the cup skeptically.

"You said you liked the holidays," he clarifies, looking a bit defeated, the corners of his mouth drooping down and she kind of just wants to kiss him instead.

"But not in my coffee, Castle." She sighs, missing the familiar vanilla flavoring coating her tongue. And she really,_ really_ needs her caffeine. Especially since she can't kiss him.

"Wanna try mine?" He offers his mug and she reaches for it, her fingers sliding over his once more as he passes the coffee and this time she lingers a bit longer, circles her index finger over his knuckles.

"What do you have?" She lifts the coffee up to her nose, hesitantly sniffing in the scent.

"White peppermint mocha."

Still skeptical of this concoction she slowly tips the mug, carefully lets a few drops slide over her tongue. It's… hmm… oh. That's better. She drinks a larger mouthful, savoring the robust flavor of the coffee, married with the sharp tang of peppermint and the sweetness of the white chocolate. The warmth travels through her limbs and she can almost feel the jolt of the caffeine in her veins. She groans.

"Better?"

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Well. It's no French Vanilla," she smirks, offering the mug back to him.

"Oh no, keep it," he waves her off, laughter crinkling his eyes. "I don't get between you and your coffee."

"You know…" She sidles closer, coffee still cradled between her palms, the heat of the fluid warming her hands, purposely looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "We could share it."

He leans closer, the familiar warmth radiating off his body, his spicy scent wrapping around her, his lips plump and rosy, luring her-

"Don't you two look cozy?"

They jerk apart, whip around; her heart hammering against her ribs.

Ryan smirks at them from a few feet away like he just caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Espo sidles up next to him, folding his arms over his chest, looking pleased, with himself or them, she can't tell.

"Uh huh. So _cute_." He mocks, jostling Ryan in the arm with his shoulder, and they just stand there, grinning at them and-

Seriously? They are totally going to give them away to everybody at the entire precinct with their incessant staring!

She glares at them, hisses through her teeth. "What?"

Two index fingers go up, pointing at the ceiling over her head and she looks up, Castle following her gaze and- Oh no. No, no, no!

"Come on, Castle, kiss her already…"

"Do it."

She's staring at him, and they can't, they can't, they're at the precinct and they absolutely should not…

"You have to."

"It's tradition."

The guys keep nagging in the background; those little pricks, they know exactly what they're doing and they are mocking them and she swears, when she gets a hold of them… Oh but she really does want to kiss him and she's so tired of hiding it in public and-

Castle swoops in, presses a quick, dry kiss to her lips, then pulls away just as fast.

"That's it?" His eyes go wide with shock at the strict, female voice and they both freeze, her limbs going numb with shock. They are busted, they are _so_ busted.

Captain Gates strides by, heels clicking loudly on the floor while she looks at them in passing. "I've seen steamier kisses under a mistletoe on _Bones_. At least do it right, Mr. Castle."

With that, the door falls closed behind her as she vanishes into her office.

She swears one could hear a pin drop in the precinct right now; everybody who surrounds them is gaping in silence and she slowly turns back around to face Castle, finds him staring at her, frozen with shock, eyes wide, looking concerned and almost scared.

Kate leaps. Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, the other curled in his hair, she drags him forward, captures his mouth with hers, sliding her tongue along the seam of his lips. He opens to her and she surges inside, kisses him deeply, longingly, for all the world to see.

And then he understands, bands his arms band tightly around her waist, and he dips her, her hair tumbling down as her head falls back, like an old-time movie kiss. He leans over her, caresses her mouth; his lips, his tongue warm and seeking, and her whole body tingles. She feels weightless, held up only by his strong embrace, and it's magical, the warmth spreading through her body as his lips slide over hers longingly.

Slowly, slowly they come back to their surroundings; he ends the kiss with a few soft nips over her lips as he brings her back upright and she wavers on her feet for a moment, her legs wobbly, her cheeks flushed.

It's absolutely still again, just for a moment, and then the silence breaks to roaring applause, cheers and hollers, whistling and laughter. Wide, pleased, happy smiles greet them on everybody's face and Kate laces her fingers through Castle's, squeezes his hand.

"Well, the secret's out now."

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_Tumblr: _nic6879 _dot_ tumblr _dot_ com

_Twitter:_ _at_ nic6879


	4. 04: Feeling Mighty Fine

**AN: **I'm dazzled by the response to this fic and all your wonderful comments! Thank you so very much! I hope you'll stick around and continue to enjoy these pieces even though the story now deviates somewhat from what's been set up in 5x09 'Secret Santa.'

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**Window 04: Feeling Mighty Fine**

She can't wait. Cannot wait. Not another minute, not one more second. She grabs his waist, her fingers digging into his sides as she drags his body over hers, the bulk of him hot as he crowds into her, groans darkly.

"Kate," he murmurs into her neck, the rasp of his voice dancing over her skin and she shivers, her knees giving out. "Keys."

She hooks a leg over his hip, crushing her pelvis against his where he is ready, wanting her, a heavy, heated grind that steals her breath. Sliding her hand into his pocket, she fingers his keys, slowly drags them out of his pants, teasing a fingertip along the inside of his leg. He shudders against her, pressing his hand atop her wandering fingers.

"I'll devour you right here," he growls, his words urging against her lips, his body powerful as he pushes her into the wall, "if you keep that up."

And it's tempting, so tempting; she wants him hard and fast, right now, and does it really matter if they're out in the hallway, right outside his door? Nobody lives on this floor but him and it's been too long, the arousal like a languid river through her veins all day, a luring pool in her lower body. Leaving her skin quivery, her fingers tingly with the urge to run over the warm silk of his skin. She wanted to tackle him in the break room, on her desk, _anywhere_, all day long, and her body aches with missing him.

As if it hasn't been a mere twelve hours since she was last writhing naked underneath him.

She slides her tongue over his lips, tasting his familiar flavor, delves inside his mouth, a deep fast push, the way she wants to feel him deep inside her body, his thickness filling her, driving her wild.

How does he do this to her still, all the time, her need for him growing upon which it feeds, leaving her quivering for his touch, always more, _more._

He meets her seeking tongue, curls around her, his fingers wandering over the curve of her ass, nudging her closely into the firm thickness of his body and she is weeping with want, her whimper falling into his mouth as her nails dig into his spine.

And then she's moving as he maneuvers her through his front door – how did he manage to even unlock it? Her back pressed against it as he shuts the door with the combined force of their bodies slamming into it.

Oh that door, that glorious door. She loves this door. She and this door have history.

His lips feast on her neck, painting a wet hot line down the strands of muscles, little nips of his teeth that drive her crazy, her skin tingling, the blood rushing in her ears.

Her pants are off faster than she realizes and she fumbles with his zipper and then he pushes into her, finally, _finally_, lifts her up against the door with the full force of his body, driving deep inside and she groans with it, the way he fills her so completely.

She takes a moment just to feel, squeezes her muscles around the thick intrusion until he wraps her legs around his hips, lifting her high and she arches her back, her pelvis tilted into him in silent invitation, urging him to move.

It's fast then, a heated drive and she can barely breathe with it. She's almost sobbing, eyes clenched closed, her nails dug into his shoulders as heat blossoms in her lower body, spreads through her. His fingers dig into her thighs as he holds her up, guiding the jolt of her hips with every deep thrust, takes her with urgency but it's tender too, it's never without tenderness when he touches her, worships her. Loves her.

His moan mingles with hers as her entire world narrows to just the two of them, this moment of heat and aching, desperate want, the gusts of his breath that push over her neck, his body filling her, so complete and perfect and her body seizes around him, the clench of her muscles shuddering through her torso, her limbs, squeezing him until he follows her, bucking sharply, her name a groaned plea on his lips.

She sips it from his mouth, his breath still tumbling into hers as she kisses him, tender and sweet and loving.

Boneless they sink to the floor, bodies knotted together as she slumps against the door, his head resting in the cradle of her neck. She blinks her eyes open, grins as she finds the twig of mistletoe right above their heads, still firmly attached to the door despite their recent, jolting activity.

Best mistletoe kiss yet.

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_**Tumblr**_: nic6879 _dot _tumblr _dot _com

_**Twitter**_: _at_ nic6879


	5. 05: The Greatest Glee

_**AN: Thank you Joy! :)**_

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**Window 05: The Greatest Glee**

"It won't fit!" She insists, adjusting her position for better leverage.

"No, it has to. It _always_ works!" He shoves again and she squeaks when the impact hits her body, pushes her backwards. "Ouch! Stop it!"

He looks up with a sheepish grin, apology in his puppy-dog eyes and she sighs, her irritation melting off her.

"It's too big. It won't go inside like that. You can't just force it."

"Well, what do you want me to do then?" he asks, exasperation lacing his voice.

She hesitates a moment, arching an eyebrow and surveying the situation before her. "Maybe..." she pauses. "Uh...twist it a bit?"

"I don't see how that would help."

"I think it's just...stuck?"

He tilts his head and then shrugs. She watches as he leans back, takes a deep breath, and pushes forward, his brow shining with sweat as he shifts his body to maneuver through the tight space. There's a moment of resistance and then suddenly she feels the give, the smooth slide now almost effortless.

"Got it!" he exclaims, grinning, little boy excitement in his eyes, and she can't resist reaching out to him with one hand, her fingertips brushing his as he returns the gesture, still holding on with the other hand, his bicep bulging with the exertion.

"Good job, Castle," she murmurs. "Wasn't sure we'd get it in."

He laughs and pushes forward, forcing her back. "Where there's a will, there's a way, Kate Beckett."

"So, where are we going with this?" she asks, her body rapidly making its discomfort known as she struggles to hold on.

"Right in the middle of the living room, I think."

* * *

"So why the big tree?" They sit side by side on the floor of his living room, leaning with their backs against the couch, relaxing after the physical exertion of dragging it inside the loft and maneuvering it upright. Her biceps still thrum, low beats of muscle ache that seep all the way down to her fingers. She lets her hand rest on his knee, casual and familiar as she asks, regarding the gigantic circumference of his Christmas tree.

It stands regally in the midst of his living room, so high that its tip almost reaches the ceiling, and taking up so much space around that they had to push some of his furnishings further against the walls. It is gorgeous, lush stark green and wide thick branches, and ludicrously large.

"Isn't big always better?" He grins suggestively and she digs her fingers into the fleshy skin around his kneecap, rolling her eyes at him.

"No, I mean _this_ big. Outrageously big." Even for Castle, this is excessive and she knows there's a story here, a hidden inside into the depths of his mind.

She recalls how she once called herself the 'Beckett onion' but the reality is that there are just as many layers that can be peeled off him to get to the complexity of what's made him, _him_. He keeps himself carefully guarded, has mastered the art of self-protection from the things that caused him pain and she's only slowly breaching the fortifications he's built around the depths of his soul, story by carefully revealed story. She treasures these moments, honors them because she knows she's the only person he's ever shared much of his past with.

"Family tradition."

He quiets again but his eyes are trained on the tree, distant as he delves into his memories. She waits him out patiently, recognizing the familiar storytelling expression drawn onto the features of his face.

"The first time Mother took me to see the tree at Rockefeller Center," he begins to weave his tale, clasping his hand around hers on top of his knee. "I was still very little, maybe two or three at most. I don't think I remembered much of the previous Christmases because I just stood in front of this gigantic, otherworldly thing that loomed over me, bursting with light, so bright and colorful and majestic. I'd never seen anything like this before and I was craning my neck, staring up toward its top but it never seemed to end, it just kept growing into the night sky. It was like magic. I thought every Christmas tree just looked like that and when I walked into the living room one day and our tree was up, I started crying."

Kate flips her hand over, folding her fingers around his and leans her head on his shoulder in silent comfort, seeing the scene unfold in her mind, the little blue-eyed boy, so filled with wonder and innocence and desolation.

"I can still almost taste the disappointment, Kate, can feel that rush of devastation because how could it possibly also be a Christmas tree when it was so small, so not magical, and how was Santa going to find my home like this? I was sobbing inconsolably and Mother pulled me onto her lap and tried to calm me down. I still remember the scent of her perfume when I had my face hidden against her neck. She was trying to explain that she couldn't afford a bigger tree and I couldn't understand any of that until years later. But every year from then on, she'd take me with her when we went to buy our tree. You know my mother, she does everything as outlandish and flamboyant as possible, so we'd scour the lots until we found the biggest, most spectacular one that we could afford."

Kate tilts her face toward him, watching the animation on his face, the spark returning to his eyes as the memory winds from its sad roots to the happy moments of his childhood.

"Sometimes I'd be with her backstage when she was working, and I'd bug all the actors and production assistants and prop masters to bring me the craziest things until I'd collected the most random assortment of ornaments." She grins, imagining a mischievous child charming his way to what he wanted.

"It wasn't just about the size of the tree anymore; it became this thing that we did together every year, Mother and I. But when Alexis came along, I never wanted her to feel that sense of utter devastation; I wanted her to have that magic every year, that spectacular, bright tree that's so large that it seems to grow through the ceiling. And I could afford it, so I did. Every year we get together, the three of us, and we decorate it with thousands of lights and big glossy bulbs and crazy ornaments we've collected over the years."

She thinks about her own childhood just for a moment, the times she's helped decorate the tree, how her mother had let her hang up things where she wanted, and then secretly rearranged them along the branches because she liked her tree to look orderly and perfect. Not even a sad memory right now, just… a memory, a moment of remembrance, of acknowledgment.

His fingers suddenly trail over her cheek and she startles, shifts into him automatically. He looks at her, his eyes so warm, his smile soft and loving as he cradles his palm around her face.

"You gonna join us this year?"

* * *

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Tumblr: nic6879 _dot_ tumblr _dot_ com

Twitter: _at_ nic6879


	6. 06: In Merry Measure

**Window 06: In Merry Measure**

Kate clips on her badge, then slides her arms into her long wool coat, closes the buttons. She passes by the mirror, runs her fingers through her hair once more and, satisfied with her appearance, she reaches for her purse.

The shower is still running, so she knows Castle won't be ready in time to leave with her this morning. He has a meeting first thing with his publisher anyway, but promised to join her at the precinct later. She smiles to herself, the well of warmth in her blood quick and familiar.

She walks into her closet while unlocking her phone, and glances over the row of boots. The ones she wants are right by the door and she stares at her phone screen waiting for her emails to update while she blindly sticks a foot into one of the boots. But her foot can't slide in, meets resistance on something that crackles against her toe. Huh.

She puts her foot back on the floor and leans over, looking into her shoe. There's a small, clear cellophane bag stuck inside the boot. She pulls it out, and it's filled with colorful sweets; a small hollow chocolate Santa, individually wrapped bite-sized candies, small chocolate balls and hard candies, and even a tiny gift-wrapped box.

She grins. Only Castle.

She's about to finally put on her boots when she notices that the edges of another cellophane bag are peeking out of the pair of boots right next. Pulling it out, she finds that it, too, is filled with a mix of candy and chocolate, and a little wrapped package.

In fact, there's a bag peeking out of the left one of every single pair of her shoes that's sitting out. Her heart leaps in her chest and she just stands there, surveying this mountain of gifts that he left her… in her shoes?

His arms suddenly wrap around her waist from behind, his mouth against her ear. "Found your surprises, I see?"

Kate turns in his embrace, her smile stretching over her cheeks. He looks so cute like this, his hair only towel-dried, unruly and sticking up in all directions, grinning at her, pleased that he got to surprise her. His chin is still stubbly and he's naked except for the towel wrapped around his hips, his skin still softened from his recent shower, his scent strong as it lifts off his warm skin. Not just cute, that's outright sexy, and a coil of heat unfurls in her midsection, flushing her cheeks. She laces her arms over his shoulders, twirling her fingertips through his wet hair.

"What's all this, Castle?"

"It's Saint Nicholas Day." She quirks up an eyebrow questioningly.

"Saint Nicholas was…"

"I know who the Saint was," she specifies, waving her hand over the bags of sweets. "But what's that got to do with all the gifts?"

"Oh I was borrowing a few Christmas traditions from Europe. Well it's a bit different in each country or region; this one is German, I think. Or in all German-speaking countries…? I don't know, but I liked it best," he rambles on.

"Anyway, so on the evening of December 5th, the children set out their cleaned and shined boots, and the tradition says that Saint Nicholas visits over night and leaves gifts for those who've been good." He pulls her closer by the waist, lowers his voice, murmuring suggestively. "And you've been a very, very good girl…"

She chuckles at that, pinches his earlobe and he laughs. "But then _all_ your shoes were incessantly clean, and I didn't know which shoes you were going to wear but I wanted to make sure you'd find it, so I left a gift in every pair…."

She tucks down his head, interrupts his wordy explanation with the slide of her lips, tender caresses of her mouth over his, kissing him lovingly. Warmth infuses her body from the top of her head down to her toes, the curl of happiness strong as it unfurls through her blood.

"There's a couple more in your living room in the shoes that you left lying around," he murmurs between kisses and she smiles widely against his lips, arching her body into his chest. This sweet, sweet man.

* * *

She unwraps the little gifts that night, one by one as she sits between the vee of his thighs on her bed, her back resting against his chest. Some are thoughtful, some sweet, some just make her laugh. A pair of green socks with red toes and Santa prints all over, a candy cane pen, silver dangling earrings, gingerbread and cinnamon scented candles, a pair of smart phone gloves so she can operate her phone without her fingers getting icy. A tiny scrap of red lace panties that he wiggles his eyebrows at and she throws at his face but knows she'll model them for him later, only to have him slowly peel them off her hips again. With his mouth.

In two different small boxes she finds a matching pair of sparkling crystal tree ornaments, with his and her name engraved in it respectively. "They can go on whichever tree you choose," he whispers in her ear, and she grips her fingers over his hand, squeezes tightly.

Kate wonders how long he's planned this, when he started collecting little gifts for her just to do this, but she won't ask. She doesn't need to know, because this… it's magical, and she wants to keep this feeling, guard it closely, this bubbling joy that he brings her, this delight that overflows her heart.

Turning in his embrace she drapes herself over his chest, kisses him sweetly. "Thank you." It's one of the nicest, most thoughtful things anyone's ever done for her, and her heart leaps with it.

"You're welcome." He smiles at her, his eyes warm and so full, filled with so many emotions that her breath stutters in her chest; she can barely breathe.

She adjusts, settling over his hips as she wraps her arms around his neck, nuzzling her lips along his jaw line. "I'm gonna get fat if I eat all this candy though."

He chases her mouth, his fingers gripped over the curve of her waist. "Don't worry," he growls, "I'll help you work it off."

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	7. 07: Visions of Delight

**Window 07: Visions of Delight**

"I love your hands," he whispers in her ear, sliding his own under her palm, lifting her left hand up, inspecting it as his fingers slide between the gaps of hers.

She sinks back against his chest, her skin so warm, body relaxed; her head resting on his shoulder, her temple pressed against his cheek. The hot water laps over their bodies in small waves, displaced when she shifts; the mounds of frothy bubbles crackle and fizz audibly in the quiet calm of the room, freeing the cinnamon sugary scents of the bubble bath into the air that he rather generously poured in the water, creating an impressive Everest of white foam.

It's been a long, exhausting day. They spent hours outside at a crime scene, the frigid, wet wind of a Nor'Easter whipping across their faces and ears, chilling them to the bone. Her fingers were frozen when they finally got home, her lips chapped, cheeks reddened, so he drew a bath for her, and Kate tucked him in with her.

"Your fingers are so slim." He strokes along the length of her digits, his fingertips almost teasing over her skin. "So graceful." He circles her palm, then slips between her fingers once more and they automatically curl and uncurl around his with every caress.

"I could spend hours just watching you use your hands. How you move them when you emphasize your thoughts, articulate your words. The way you run your fingers through your hair. And cradle your coffee mug. How you curl them over your chin, index finger pressed against your lips when you're thinking. The way you close them over mine…" She folds her fingers around his, circling the pad of her thumb over one of his knuckles.

"How you run them through my hair, or caress my face. You have such a soft touch," he murmurs, his lips set against the rim of her ear and the vibration of his voice, the pulse of his words spread visible goose bumps over her flesh and she shivers against him.

Castle scoots lower in the tub, bringing her with him until she's submerged to her neck, the warmth of the bathwater surrounding them, heating her skin. The mounds of her breasts bob to the surface with every breath she takes and he can't stop staring at her ethereal beauty.

"I love your shape." His fingertips travel, outlining the length and lines of her arms, sliding over the curves of her shoulders, the span of her collarbones until they converge in the middle. She's breathing in long, strong breaths, her ribcage lifting and sinking underneath his hands, her heartbeat powerful. Excited.

"Your soft, enticing curves and your lithe muscles." He continues his journey over slopes of her breasts, mapping the dip of her slim waist and the sharp peaks of her hipbones, circling tender caresses across her stomach. Her skin is so smooth, like warm silk, so sensitive to his every stroke and he can't stop touching her, so amazed, overwhelmed by her.

"The way you walk, the stride of your long legs and the sexy sway of your hips…" Her eyes flutter closed, her body weightless in the water, held only by the cradle of his thighs. His hands skate back up her torso until he presses one palm over the scar on her side, the other over the puckered round between her breasts.

"I love these scars," he whispers, slipping his lips over the lobe of her ear. "Because they mean you're still here." He sucks on her earlobe and she whimpers, arching her chest into his touch.

"I love how you respond to me." He curves his palms around her breasts, their weight falling in his hands, so beautiful and perfect. Circles the pads of his thumbs over her raised nipples in lingering, almost teasing caresses and she moans, head thrown back. She feels so good, pliable in his arms, reacting to his every touch. So open and wanting and heat spreads through his blood, into his limbs, unfurls in his midsection.

"The way you bow into my hands, how your entire body reaches for me, seeks me when I touch you." His fingertips slide over her slippery skin, brushing across the peaks over and over and she wraps her fingers around his wrists, holding him in place, keeping him close.

"The sounds you make…" He tweaks both hardened nipples and she gasps audibly, voice raspy as it surges past her lips.

"I love the way you feel," his voice but a mere whisper now, hoarse with want while one hand skates lower, brushes the slope of her stomach, lingers over sensitive skin before his fingers slide down, dip between her legs.

"How soft you are. The wet heat of you, slippery, so ready…" His fingers slide between her folds and he groans at the sensations assaulting him. "You feel so good."

She moans, harsh and wanton, her skin flushing and he can feel her thigh and butt muscles clench, her hips surging up into him. He circles, circles, then pushes his fingertips over her swollen nerves, the pressure like a current that races through her muscles and jolts her limbs.

The water sloshes over them as she shifts and squirms against his body; he holds her steady with one arm curled around her ribcage, his feet pressed into her calves, holding her legs secure and open for his touch.

He caresses her almost leisurely, knowing what she needs, drawing out the pleasure with just his fingertip; teases, nudges, caresses relentlessly while he observes, attentively watches her every reaction. The flush of her cheeks, the way her mouth falls open on a tumble of moans, lips glistening; her eyes squeezed closed, her breathing rapid; the climb of her body epitomized by the jitter of her limbs, the surge of her hips.

"I love it when you come," he whispers in her ear when she's close, pressing harder on the bundle of nerves on the last word and she cries out, her pelvis nudging into him, her fingers clawed into his arms, urging him on.

"The sound of your voice when you moan," he narrates her reactions as she gasps for him; persistently driving her higher with the tease of his words and the heightened pressure between her legs, feeling her muscles ripple in her abdomen.

"How you clench around me…" Her legs snap closed around his hand and he holds her at the cliff with just the press of his fingers. "I love how your whole body ripples, arches into me when I make you fall apart…" He circles his hand slowly, pressing hard and then she does just that, her hips surging high, water sloshing out of the tub while she shudders, her fingers and toes clenched as she cries out her release.

Castle holds her through it, arms banded around her body until she goes limb on his chest, her head lolling back. She's gasping for air, turns her head toward his mouth, her lips meeting his in a breathless, sloppy kiss. He runs a hand over her face, brushing the matted, wet hair off her forehead.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, overwhelmed all over again by this amazing display of feminine sensuality. She smiles against his lips, her eyelids fluttering closed.

"You're amazing," she whispers on a sigh, and the words rush a surge of warmth through his blood. He tucks her tighter to him, cheeks pressed together as she slowly drifts off into slumber, exhausted from the day, the lull of the hot, fragrant bath, and the surge and blaze of raw, pure pleasure that only he gets to give her.

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	8. 08: Made for Sweethearts

**Window 08: Made for Sweethearts**

There is flour in her hair, streaks of it over her t-shirt, white handprints on the dark grey fabric. Colorful droplets of something indefinable are caked on her face and hands when she swings open the door.

"Come on in," she breathes, already rushing back inside so he follows, closes the door behind him. Her place feels warmer than usual and smells like sugar; cheerful Christmas songs play loudly from the iPod speaker set up in her living room. Her small kitchen looks like the bakery isle at the grocery store exploded in the middle of it.

"What are you doing?"

"Baking cookies," she replies matter-of-factly, pulling another baking pan out of the oven. The sweet scent of warm sugar cookies immediately impregnates the air, and his mouth waters. She circles around her own axis with the pan of cookies in her oven-mitted hand, trying to find a space to put them down. He loves her kitchen, it is beautiful and eclectic; however, it does not have much counter space at all, isn't made for large cooking or baking extravaganzas.

Various racks of colorful cookies are cooling on the floor and on her stools; cookie cutters, mugs and forks and spoons are cluttered all over the counters and there's flour sprinkled everywhere. This is the messiest he's ever seen her do anything. He grabs a few of the cookie cutters and she rests the baking pan on the freed space on top of the stove.

He looks around. "That's a lot of cookies." By his quick calculation, it's easily 150 pieces, and those are just the ones already decorated and cooling on the racks.

She blows a strand of hair off her face, smiles a little sheepishly. "I may have gone a little overboard."

"May?" He grins. "What army did you intend on feeding?"

She laughs, pokes him in the shoulder, leaving a floury fingerprint on his shirt. "Just you guys." She bites her bottom lip, blinks up at him. "For tomorrow. I wanted to bring them when we decorate the tree."

There's no stopping the rush of warmth that spreads through him, the flavor of happiness on his tongue. Because she made cookies for his family. For all of them. He smiles, wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against him, tenderly sliding the unruly tendril of her hair behind her ear.

"Mmmm…" He reaches his hand out to the baking sheet on top of the stove, tries to sneak one of the still-hot cookies. "So may I try one?"

She slaps his hand away and he laughs, grabs his palm over her butt instead, because he can, lifting her into him. "Come on," he murmurs, nuzzling his mouth against the spot just under her ear and she sighs, tilting her head to the side. "Just one."

"You trying to seduce me into submission?" She pulls away smirking, lifts an eyebrow at him.

"No." He circles his fingertips over her butt cheeks. "I'm trying to seduce you because it's fun." She laughs at that, her smile wide and pleased, so very beautiful and he slides his fingers through her hair, tilting her head toward him, and captures that gorgeous smile with his lips, kissing her languidly, sipping the sugary taste from her mouth.

"And because you're hot," he whispers against her lips, his other hand trailing down her thigh, lifting her knee over his hip. Her arms come around his neck, her whole body surging into his as she returns the kiss, at once fervent, her lips hot and eager over his. He turns with her, presses her against the kitchen counter, his mouth trailing over her jaw, down her neck.

"What's all over your face?" He whispers between kisses.

She tilts her head back, exposing the long, graceful column of her neck. "Icing."

"Mmm…" He hums against her skin and she shivers, her body bowing into his. "Let's see, there's red here…" He slips his lips over the red droplet, sucks the dried sugar confection into his mouth. Grazing his teeth along her jaw line he nibbles on a longer streak of sugar caked onto her skin. "And green." She exhales harshly, her fingers gripped into his hair. He nuzzles higher, his tongue outlining her cheekbone. "Yellow…"

"There's six," she presses out, pulling his head down, seeking his lips. "Six colors."

He slicks his tongue along the seam of her mouth, teasing her. "That's a lot of icing."

She rolls her hips into his, nips her teeth over his bottom lip. "I was being creative," she murmurs, her voice low and seductive and he surges for her, grips her thighs and lifts her up on the counter, pushing away the scattered silverware, some of it spilling on the floor with a loud clatter.

Castle jolts and stills, dropping his eyes to the floor to see if anything broke. His gaze falls onto one of the cookie pans right next and his eyes widen.

"Kate, those are beautiful," he breathes, bowing down to carefully pick up one of the cookies. They are all different but basic shapes, stars and hearts, bells, trees, boots, but each is iced with two or more colors, swirled together artistically, the icing a flat, perfect sheen on the cookie. They look like they came out of a magazine, and he's not sure if he could willingly bite into one of those little masterpieces.

"Where'd you learn this?"

She smiles down at the cookie. "Maddie and I used to do this for years," she supplies, her fingers trailing down his chest as she speaks.

"She'd come over every first Saturday in December, in the morning. Mom would help us at first and we'd make lots of dough, cut out hundreds of cookies, prepare all these different colors of icing and we'd spend all day decorating. Maddie's always had a talent for these things, and she'd practice, try out different things, and she'd teach me."

Kate takes the cookie from his fingers, inspecting the dried icing with a fingertip, and laughs. "Usually by mid-afternoon we'd lose interested and start dawdling around, chatting more than decorating, and mom would get frustrated and make us finish icing all the cookies, so the last batches were always just monochrome."

Breaking the cookie apart she offers him half, then bites off a piece of hers, eyes closing as she chews. "But they taste just like I remember."

Following her lead he takes a bite as well, moaning loudly as the flavors explode on his tongue. "'S so good," he groans and her smile widens. Sliding an arm around her waist he pulls her back against him and she tightens her legs around his hips. He kisses her, the flavor of the cookies mingling between them.

"Do we need to finish those?" He asks between kisses, nodding over at the still-naked cookies on top of her stove. She wraps her arms around his neck, twirling her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

"Nah, I got plenty," she murmurs, nipping her way down his chin, over his jaw. His knees go wobbly. "Besides…" Dipping a finger into one of the mugs, she scopes out a glob of bright, green icing and smears it on his neck, immediately following the sugary trail with her tongue. "I can think of a few more usages for all this icing…"

"You really are the perfect woman," he growls and she laughs at that, a bright cheerful sound as she throws her head back.

"Why, because I let you ravish me on my kitchen counter?"

He cradles his palms around her face, holding her still for just a moment. "Because you're you."

Her face melts into a tender smile, a blush creeping over her cheeks, and then he moves his hands to her waist, gripping the edges of her t-shirt.

"And because you let me ravish you on your kitchen counter." He whips the shirt over her head, throws it away in a wide arch, and tilts her backwards over the counter. He breathes onto her neck, nips his teeth over her skin and she squeals, the joy peeling from her throat, before he finds the slope of her breast and her voice disintegrates into a stutter of breathy moans.

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	9. 09: Hang a Shining Star

**AN:** Thank you all so much for the wonderful reception this story has been receiving so far, for all your lovely and sweet and excited comments for these pieces. I'm glad I get to be a part of your Christmas season, adding a bit of cheer and joy, and I hope you will continue to enjoy these daily treats.

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**Window 09: Hang a Shining Star**

Her stomach churns, rolling with nerves that she's trying to suppress but her smile is automatic when Castle opens the door; she can't help but smile when he looks at her like this, so pleased to see her, happy and excited and filled with this mound of wonderful, overwhelming emotions and it's a lot but it's not too much, she realizes, not anymore. Instead it calms her, just a bit, to see his smile, all his love for her displayed so openly, and she steps inside, lets him help her out of her coat.

He hangs her coat and then he turns back to where she's awkwardly standing in the entry. Wrapping an arm around her waist he pulls her against him and kisses her sweetly, lingeringly, his lips a tender slide across hers. She sighs, resting her forehead against his. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he whispers, sliding a hand down her arm, and then he laces his fingers through hers. "You ready?"

She nods, picks up the tote bag she's brought with her other hand, and then Castle is tugging her with him into the living room, hands still entwined.

"Kate, darling!" His mother sashays toward her, wearing a dress that rivals the bright colors of all the Christmas ornaments scattered around, and engulfs her in a tight, motherly hug. "I'm so happy you're joining us," she reveals, her voice lowered, and Kate knows she's not just talking about today. The coil in her abdomen loosens, her chest fluttering with the implications. She pulls away, smiling at Martha who regards her knowingly before she lets her go with a last sweep of her thumb over Kate's cheek.

"Hey Alexis," she greets the girl now standing by her grandmother's side, and Alexis returns her greeting with a small smile, warm but a little hesitant.

"Hi Kate."

She's still not entirely sure what Alexis thinks of her dating her father, and since she's away at college, they haven't interacted much with each other. This is new, her joining this small, contained family's Christmas tradition, and she understands the hesitance.

"I brought some cookies." She holds out her arm to Alexis, the tote dangling from her fingers, and the girl reaches for it, her smile widening, eyes sparkling with interest.

"Thank you."

* * *

They work around the gigantic tree in sections, tackling roughly a third at once, everybody picking whichever ornament they like and hanging them along the branches, and the tree is quickly turning into a jumble of colors and sparkles. It's a wild hodgepodge of things, bright and shiny and she loves it. It's different than how they decorated the tree when she was a kid, and it's crazy but it's just, _them_.

She stops every once in a while, surveys her surroundings; Martha and Alexis working together, the girl focused, adjusting the perfect space between each ornament, and Castle, the tip of his tongue sometimes sticking out between his lips in concentration, the excited little-boy sparkle in his eyes and the wide smile, his movements fast as he bends for more ornaments, finds them a home. She wells with warmth, an unstoppable force, a thick curl inside of her, spreading through her limbs, tingling down to her fingertips and toes.

Castle is on one side of her, Alexis on the other, their arms brushing from time to time, their arms tangling sometimes when they both pick out the same spot for a decoration, the girl's smiles more at ease as the time passes. Alexis bumps her hip with hers, grinning cheekily as she hangs her ornament from the branch they both sought simultaneously and Kate laughs, bumps her back. The girl giggles, looking pleased, and then Castle's arm wraps around Kate's waist, pulling her toward him to kiss her cheek.

* * *

When everybody takes a break, Kate digs into her tote, pulls out the two small boxes. Standing in front of the tree she scrutinizes the branches, tries to find a space up high that's still prominent. She climbs on the stepladder, hangs the crystal ornament with Castle's name on it on a thick branch close to the top. And then she dangles the one with her name on the same branch so that they're nestled closely together. Satisfied, she climbs back down, looking up at them with a smile.

Castle's arms come around her waist then, hands folded over her stomach.

"You like it?" She whispers, leaning her back into his chest, her head resting on his shoulder.

"It's perfect."

"Kate, these cookies are amazing," Alexis exclaims behind them and they both turn, watching the girl who munches on a cookie she holds in one hand, shuffling through the others with her other hand. "Can you teach me how to make these? With the icing like that?"

"Yeah." She relaxes against Castle's chest, caresses a fingertip over the back of his hand. "Of course. Anytime you want."

* * *

"It's time to put the angel on top of the tree," Castle exclaims excitedly, lifting a tall angel figurine with a white flowing dress out of the bottom of a box, holding it out to Alexis.

"Actually…" Alexis steps up to her father, takes the angel from his hands. "I think Kate should put it up this time." She hands the figurine to Kate, her fingers lingering on it for a moment before she passes it on. Kate stands stunned for a moment, her gaze flickering between the girl and Castle, who are both smiling at her; Alexis' eyes communicating a tentative question while Castle looks both proud and pleased at both of them.

"Okay," she breathes, biting her lip as she cradles the angel between her fingers. Accepting the gift she's been given, the way this family has welcomed her into their arms with such ease, so much warmth. Her eyes well but she blinks the moisture away, looking around for the stepladder. She pulls it toward her, stepping on the first rung.

"That's not how we put up the angel, Kate," Alexis grins at her, pushing her father toward her. "Go get her, dad!"

And then Castle grabs her around the legs and lifts her straight up in the air. She squeals as she wavers but he's got her tightly, his arms banded around her legs and she tenses all the muscles in her body, straightens up as he takes a step closer to the tree.

She stretches her arm and carefully sinks the angel over the tip of the tree.

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	10. 10: The Sweetest Gift

**AN: **I'd like to take a moment to tell you how much I value and love every comment and review and tweet I receive; I can hardly keep up with responding to your lovely reviews because the bit of free time I have, I try to pour into more writing, but please know that they are so very appreciated. Every time my email account pings with a review, my heart does a little happy flip, and reading your words makes me smile the way I hope my story makes you smile. Thank you!

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**Window 10: The Sweetest Gift**

His fingers are icy against the warm skin of her back, his palms bracketing her waist in a vice grip underneath her thick sweater and she shivers, goose bumps of pleasure spreading over her skin. The tips of his fingers dig into her spine, arching her higher against his chest. His lips drive over hers in heated thrusts, swollen and urgent as he devours her, claiming her with the thick intrusion of his tongue and she lets him, lets him have her, neck bent back, fingers dug into the giving flesh of his shoulders.

The flaps of her wool coat hang wide at her sides, the buttons ripped open by his frantic hands before he pressed her against the frigid brick wall, his broad body guarding her from the icy wind that whips and howls around them, the smattering of snow crystals that whirl haphazardly through the air, frosty droplets that land on her nose, his cheek, her neck. She climbs his body, the thigh that's wedged tightly between the vee of her legs, the delicious pressure spreading heat through her limbs like wildfire as she rocks over him, wild and desperate.

He growls, tightening the muscles in his leg against her, making her tremble with the raw force onto her sensitized nerves; he groans into her mouth, dark forlorn sounds that ripple into her, through her, almost successful at replacing the echo of the gunshot that still rings in her ears, the wail of her name on his lips as he spun around, eyes widened in wretched terror as he tackled her to the ground just as the bullet whisked by where she had stood a split second ago.

She can taste the fear in his mouth still, a bitter, desperate flavor so she bites his bottom lip instead, soothes the nip with the swirl of her tongue. He grunts, grips her harder over the flexed steel of his leg, sliding his hand up her ribcage, his cool palm a shattering contrast to the flush of her skin. His fingers find the raised peak of her breast and he tweaks, circles, rolls her nipple through the fabric, rapid, unrelenting, the lace of the bra almost harsh against her sensitized skin. The pleasure shoots deep, spreads through her blood in scorching waves, coils deep in her abdomen.

She bands her arm around his torso, the other hand clamped over the back of his neck, grasping for leverage, clinging to the broad strength of him, the man who saved her yet again, who loves her, the man who's hanging on to her with dark desperation. A sound like a sob gushes from her throat as she pushes onto him, her nerves sandwiched to the heat and strength of his leg, the column of her neck arched back into the cold of the evening, exposed to the blistering, wet suction of his lips. The sound echoes through the silence, loud as it bounces between the walls of the alley. She drops her face to the crook of his neck, wet lips pressed over the fuzzy fabric of his winter coat; her breathy moans muffled while her hips undulate inexorably, mercilessly, so far gone already that she can't stop, can't stop.

"Kate," he murmurs, a yearning like sadness in his voice and she stills at the resonance, lifts her head to look at him. His eyes glitter, sharp like black diamonds, haunted by dark, suppressed fear while his grip on her hip is firm, his hand guiding her, rocking her pelvis over him, slow and tight, the move so concentrated that the pleasure pierces through her like spears of fire.

"Let me hear you," he growls, a low, anxious plea while he pushes her hard onto his leg, over and over. "Let go for me," he implores, each word dripping with frantic need that grips and squeezes her heart. "I need to hear you, see you." He pinches her nipple, circles rhythmically, soothingly, before he tweaks it once more and she yelps, squirms through the burst of wet heat that pools low in her middle.

"I need to _feel_ it so I know you're still alive."

She groans into the dark night, her head falling back as her hips find the rhythm her body is weeping for, a fast undulation over the thick, muscled circumference of his thigh, the pressure tightening her muscles, her moans piercing as she frees them into the silence of the secluded alley. He keeps her close, his palm curved over her breast, and she feels his eyes on her, watching her come apart.

The pleasure spreads unrelentingly, waves of heat that swallow her whole until she shatters in his arms, shivers with it, legs clamped tightly around his as her muscles quake, her fingers clenched into his biceps. Her world is bathed in sharp white lights that burst behind her eyelids, her voice raw as she cries out, the words bursting from her throat. For him.

"I'm alive. I'm alive. I'm alive."

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	11. 11: No More Sorrow

**Window 11: No More Sorrow**

He wakes to the trip of her fingers over his spine, the soft dance of her touch, a reverent cadence along the peaks of his bones. He's still hazy with sleep; his body heavy on the mattress as he turns his head, slits open an eye.

The room lies semi-dark; the first licks of dawn slide through the shutters, barely illuminate her silhouette underneath the sheet, the spill of dark, messy curls across her shoulders and over the pillow. Her eyes are wide, luminous in the silvery slivers of morning light, watching him solemnly while her hands map the width of his back, skim his sides, the ridges of his ribcage before she waves along his spine once more, curls her fingertips into the short hair at his nape.

It's quiet when they come together this time, the slow roll of her warm body into his when he turns, welcomes her within the cradle of his arms and thighs; the reverent slide of her lips over his in a measured kiss, so bottomless it almost aches.

Last night was frantic; a stumble through the door of her apartment, a path of discarded clothing trailing to the bedroom, hastily flung over their heads, ripped off hips before he tumbled on top of her on her firm mattress, sunk into the depths of her body with a desperate groan, as she rolled her hips into his hard, deep thrusts, clamped her thighs tightly around his waist, their fingers tangled together as they rose and fell, lost to the rippling, sweeping tide of life-affirming sensation.

This time it's unhurried as she glides on top of him, and his body sinks back into the mattress, still sluggish, barely waking when he lifts his arms, brackets her waist. She finds his mouth, her lips tender as she presses lingering kisses on the corner of his mouth, along the flesh of his bottom lip. Her tongue slicks through the seam of his lips, curls and slides along his, seeking the cavern of his mouth while her pebbled nipples tease over his chest, the ends of her hair tickling his shoulders and neck.

His heart thumps thickly in his chest, tingles spreading through his midsection, into his limbs, his toes and fingertips on the heated rush of his blood. He runs his hands up her sides, lets the rounded weight of her breasts fall into his palm, softly playing the pads of his thumbs over the raised peaks and she arches high, back and head thrown back on a longing moan.

She settles over him then, slowly sinks down, her warm wet heat welcoming him into her body while she watches him with wide eyes, takes in every nuance of his reaction, every facet of what she does to him. He stills his hips, his hands, his breathing; holds her gaze while the snug sheath of her body flutters, contracts instinctually around his. She's so utterly, breathtakingly beautiful, her skin smooth and silvery in the shine of dawn, her slender shape draped over him, the perfectly rounded breasts, the slim parentheses of her waist, the supple flair of her hips.

Kate slides her hands up over his stomach, her fingertips swirling haphazard patterns over his chest and collarbones.

"Breathe." She whispers, her lips stretching wider, the corners of her eyes tilting up in gentle smile, inviting him to feel, enjoy her; so loving that his heart thumps hard against his ribs, clogs his throat. And then she moves, rises high, sinks back down over him, a slow, reverent motion while her muscles tremble over him, flooding him with concentrated sensation.

He groans, lifts into her pelvis, meeting her deeply, pressing a yearning moan from her chest and he grips a hand over her hipbone, supports her as she guides their rhythm, takes him on a deliberate, intense rise, a throbbing climb until his vision blurs, his muscles clenched and poised.

The words press against his chest, steal his breath, pushed to the surface by the suppressed anxiety and sorrow of the past twenty-four hours, unstoppable in their rush to the surface and so he sets them free, groans them past his lips as he bucks, falls apart, spills them into the clenched ripples of her body.

"I love you, Kate. I love you."

* * *

**.**

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	12. 12: Wish I Had a River

**Window 12: Wish I Had a River**

She carefully tests her balance, sinks her full weight onto her feet and legs, steadying herself before she slowly pushes off, glides forward. The familiarity of the skates beneath her feet returns to her faster than she expected as she makes a couple of strides onto the ice, then does a quick 180-degree turn, sending particles of ice flying when she comes to a standstill.

"Come on, Castle," she encourages, watching him get up and hobble across the rubber path toward the ice rink.

"This does not look like 'it wasn't pretty'," he complains, making air quotes at her when he cites her past comment from, when was it, a couple of years ago? The man really doesn't forget any random fact about her, does he?

"All I said was that it wasn't pretty at the time," she clarifies, skating back toward him, leaning against the boards. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine, I'm good." He cautiously steps onto the ice, tests his stability by shoving his feet back and forth a couple of times. And then he pushes off, skates forward across the ice in long, even strides. She follows him, catches up to his side, lining up next to him.

"Hey, look at you." Kate watches him from the side, admiring the sure pace of his legs, the tight curve of his butt; the grace of his movements, sure and familiar with the skates underneath his feet.

"I never said I couldn't skate either." He turns his head to look at her, an eyebrow quirked high.

"Touché," she grins while she reaches for him, threads her gloved fingers through his, falling into his pacing. Slowly at first, they circle the oval of the skating rink, the stride of their legs synchronized, their breaths rising into the air in swirling white clouds, mingling together in the icy winter wind. Their pace increases as they get more comfortable, glide along in rhythm with the rock-pop versions of popular Christmas songs that blast from the large speakers on each end of the outdoor rink.

"So why ice skating?"

She shrugs, shivers a bit when a gust of cold air finds its way underneath her scarf.

"Just been a couple of rough days." She runs her eyes over the rink, over the clumps of teenagers jostling one another while they skate, the couples smiling adoringly at each other, the swirls of children with their colorful hats and wool mittens and red, dripping noses, who are giggling brightly, falling and dusting themselves off, hands entwined with mom's or dad's, or shooting off on their own to the wide-eyed shock of their parents. People unencumbered by drama and murder and incidents of nearly dying_, again_.

"I wanted to do something fun. Something… normal."

He nods in quiet understanding, tucking her arm into the crook of his elbow and she leans her cheek against his shoulder, allowing his rhythm to guide her as they travel forward. She's lulled by the cadence of their measured movements, the ice scraping underneath her skates and she focuses on crossing over her feet when they turn the corners.

"I used to bring Alexis here all the time. She was so tiny still, when we came here the first time, but she was fearless. Would take off with these plastic penguins they have here for the little kids to support themselves, her pigtails flying behind her, her little legs so fast." His voice is laced with warmth and the ache of reminiscence as he talks and it never fails to grip her, the kind of attentive father he is, so caring, so different from the playboy image he portrayed to the media. It curls warm and wanting, somewhere deep inside, in the place that is too much, too early to address yet.

"I could barely keep up," he laughs. "I had no skill. Just wobbled across the ice behind her, pushing my feet along as best as I could, scared shitless that she'd fall, crack open her head and I couldn't get to her fast enough. But she loved it," he reminisces, his eyes following the path of two little girls scooting past them.

"So you learned how to skate."

"I learned how to skate." He looks over at her, smiling at her and it's like a shot of warmth that blossoms from her heart out to her limbs, leaving her skin tingling.

"I'm no Todd Eldredge…" He winks at her and she chuckles. "But I can skate forward and a little backward and, most importantly, I can stop." He is a bit better than just that but she lets it stand; content to be pressed to his side, the warmth of his body against hers, so vibrant and alive.

"I learned it for my mom. Or rather because of her, I guess," she shares after a couple of minutes, the quiet only dissected only by the rhythm of their feet slicing across the ice. She wonders sometimes if she has any significant memories or pieces of her life that don't in some way relate to her mother. It bisects her entire life, the brutal slicing line of the murder.

"The skates were a Christmas gift, and when she took me skating, it was one of the very last things we ever did together, and I was just so horrible at it. I lost patience fairly quickly, wanted to go home, and I think my mom was disappointed that I didn't like it as much as she'd hoped." He squeezes her fingers and she inhales a deep breath, letting the ice-cold air infuse her lungs.

"After she died, I was floundering, just drifting through every day. Then one night, I don't remember why, but I just grabbed those skates, took the bus over to the indoor rink close to our home, and I got on those skates and onto that ice. I was determined; I _had_ to learn this. She wanted me to skate, so I was going to skate."

She leaves out the parts where her knees were scraped open and bleeding for weeks, her tailbone sore, her legs bruised black and blue from all the falls she took because she didn't have a clue what she was doing, relentless in her pursuit to perfect this skill, unforgiving with herself as she went skating for hours, for weeks on end.

She'd always been good at replacing one obsession with the next.

The cold wind whips through her hair, tangles and knots her curls as they glide around the oval of the rink, the background music a mere blur to the gloom of her memories but his hand is warm around hers, his presence a quiet comfort and it's easier now, with him, the past no longer drowning her out, just part of who she is, who she became.

"Eventually I gave it up when I got into NYU; I had a new goal. But it took years for me to realize that I actually enjoyed skating." It was Will who'd finally been able to drag her back onto the ice, and she'd discovered the pure joy in it, the rush of adrenaline when she travels in fast strides, speeds around the rink, the wind whipping across her face, reddening her cheeks, the blur of the world whirling by when she looses herself in only the rhythm of her legs, the almost metrical glide of the skates.

And now she wants to share it with Castle.

"Thanks for sharing this with me." He echoes her thoughts, smiles at her from the side and her stomach flutters with the intense, adoring gaze of his eyes on her, the curl of desire unfurling in her veins, fast and heated, and she wants to tackle him against the nearest wall, feel the heat of his mouth over hers, the sharp press of his body.

She swallows harshly; contends herself with pressing a lingering kiss on his cheek, stumbling slightly when she's distracted by the warm feel of his skin under her cool lips, and he steadies her by the elbow.

"So do you know any tricks?" He winks at her.

Kate chortles, lifts an eyebrow suggestively as the double meanings bounce between them. "You mean any elements, figures?"

He nods and she bites onto her bottom lip, contemplating, not sure if she can still pull it off but excitement leaps inside of her, tempting her and so she pushes off him, speeds up, travels forward toward the inside of the rink and when the tempo gives her the needed velocity, when it feels just right in her ears and in her limbs she vaults over the toe pick of her left skate, and rotates 180 degrees through the air in a low, but almost perfect waltz jump. She uncrosses her legs, lands on her right foot, left leg stretched back as she flows out of the jump with ease.

Her cheeks are glowing, blood rushing with adrenaline and she skates back toward Castle who's standing off to the side, gaping at her with stunned surprise. She flies into his arms and he catches her, swings her around as they both try to catch their balance, and she giggles.

"I didn't know I could still do this," she breathes, her chest lifting and falling in a rapid rhythm.

"Wow," he murmurs, eyes shining with delight in her, his hands strong around her waist. She curves her fingers around his head, tugs him closer and kisses him, caressing his soft, chilled lips, curling her tongue around his in a heated swirl.

"Wow," he repeats breathlessly when they pull apart, and she laughs, ruffles her fingers through his mussed-up hair.

"Wanna go fast?" She encourages, twining her fingers through his, the swirl of adrenaline still lacing her blood, the flutter of excitement unbridled in her abdomen. His eyebrows rise with his gleeful grin as he nods eagerly.

She pushes off, waits for him to adapt to her rhythm and then they speed up, travel the length of the rink in long, even strides, feet crossing as they round the corner, gain velocity. The icy wind prickles their faces, sounds and shapes and colors a blur as they speed by and the laughter bursts from her chest, freed and bright, joined by his as they swirl together, dance high into the winter air.


	13. 13: Let Your Heart Be Light

**Window 13: Let Your Heart Be Light**

"Castle. Come on Castle, wake up."

He groans, flips over onto his back, tries to blink open his gritty eyes. "'s it morning already?"

"No." Her fingers slide over his forehead, down his cheek, and he nudges the side of his face against her tender caresses, his eyes drooping.

"'n come back to bed," he slurs, tries to tug her over him. But she presses her palm over the curve of his shoulder instead, nudging him more insistently. He opens his eyes, finds her sitting at the edge of the bed by his hip, her slim frame swallowed by one of his shirts.

"Something wrong?" He worries, clasps a palm over her hip automatically.

Kate shakes her head, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips while she laces her fingers through his, tries to pull him up and out of bed.

"I wanna show you something," she pleads gently, getting up and tugging at his arm to follow. He stumbles out of bed, his naked feet hitting the chilled hardwood floor with a thud. She's already pulling him after her but he straightens, draws her to a stop.

"Wait, lemme at least get some boxers on." He scans his eyes across the floor, wondering where he, no wait, _she_ flung them last night.

Kate picks them up from the foot of the bed, holds them out to him dangled over her index finger, eyebrow quirked up as she scans her eyes over all of him quickly, then back up his face in that cute, incredibly sexy eye flip thing she does that is so uniquely her.

He growls at her mischievously, reaching for the boxers and stepping into them before she eagerly grabs for his hands, pulling him after her. He notices the clock in passing.

"Jeez it's one in the morning Beckett!"

"Oh don't be such a grandpa."

* * *

Her apartment lies in darkness as they stand at the top of the stairs above her kitchen, staring out the large triangular picture window that overlooks her small eclectic rooftop garden.

Outside, the snow is falling relentlessly; large, cottony, picture-perfect snowflakes that slowly settle onto every surface, blanketing the world in white, muffled peace.

Kate leans her back into his chest and he bands his arms around her waist, his hands laced over her stomach and his chin on top of her head. He loves it when she wears no shoes, when she fits so perfectly against the shape of his body, and he presses her tightly into him, folding his large frame around her, trying to keep her warm.

She sighs, all her weight resting against him and it's one of these surreal moments where he still can't quite believe they're here, like this. It seems like a dream, the way she folds into him, opens up to him, trusts him with all of herself. There never seems to be a moment when he isn't just amazed by her.

"I love snow," she declares, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet peace of the night. She twirls her fingertips over the backs of his hands, the fidgeting a telltale sign that there is more to her story, and so he waits her out.

"Last year was one of the loneliest Christmases I've ever had," she admits, pressing his hands tighter over her abdomen as if to reassure herself that he is there.

"I would stand right here by this window so many nights, unable to sleep. I would listen to the wind howl, watch the rain or snow fall and I wished that I could just go for what I wanted. That I was stronger than this."

His heart hammers against his ribcage; his breathing shallow as he listens to her confession, hears the strands of regret in her voice. He thinks he knows but the need to hear it claws at him eagerly. He presses his lips closed, giving her time to think, to formulate because if there's one thing he learned since, it's to not jump to conclusions and that Kate Beckett always ends up surprising him.

"I finally knew what I wanted, where I was heading and I kept asking myself why I couldn't just come over and tell you that. Tell you _everything_." Turning in his embrace Kate faces him, eyes wide with sorrow.

"I knew I wasn't ready but it was a battle every night; I wanted so badly to just be with you."

His breath leaves him on a loud gust and he cradles her tightly against his chest, feeling the regret not just for all the time they lost, but for this beautiful woman in his arms who had been so lonely, had to fight herself to heal, and that he hadn't been able to be there to help her through it.

"You know you would've always been welcome, right?" He murmurs over her head, softly swaying her in his arms. And yet he knows, as hard as it had been at times, for both of them, he _knows_ that it was the better, healthier path. "Always."

She presses her face into his neck, her mouth nuzzling over his skin. "I know."

Keeping her cradled securely in his arms, Castle turns them sideways so that their shoulders face the glass, his arms tightly banded around her shoulders and waist, and her head lying on his chest, faces turned toward the window.

And together they watch the snowflakes fall peacefully.

* * *

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	14. 14: Ain't It Thrilling

**Window 14: Ain't It Thrilling**

She squeals, hikes her shoulders up to her ears protectively but the cold slush is already running down her neck, icy droplets trickling along her spine underneath her sweater.

Ugh, that rat bas…

She balls her fists, presses her back against the side of the building, glancing around, eyes narrowed contemplatively. He can't be that far, considering both the velocity and accuracy with which the snowball had hit her perfectly at the back of her neck just when she had turned out of the lobby doors. Usually they meet about two blocks away from the precinct, reuniting with a drawn-out kiss before he walks her home or she accompanies him to his loft, hands folded together.

The snow had been falling steadily since last night, progressively blanketing New York City under a layer of wet, heavy snow and as the day passed, the antsier Castle got, fidgeting, looking yearningly out the window, checking his watch.

"Don't you wanna go play in the snow, Beckett?" He'd answered when she had finally called him out on it, looking up at her with his puppy dog eyes. When had it happened that she'd fallen for that look, anyway? She'd leaned over him, invading his personal space just a bit too much since nobody was looking, an eyebrow hiked up.

"Come on, let's go play," he'd pleaded, grinning suggestively at her and yes, she definitely wanted to go play, and snow had nothing to do with it. She'd almost growled, willed her fingers not to claw into his shirt, and slowly fell back into her own chair.

"Maybe later, Castle," she'd sighed, dropping her eyes back to the distraction her paperwork might offer, and ignoring the impatient jiggle of his leg.

Apparently, later was now.

She scoots along the wall toward the corner of the building, carefully poking her head around it. A snowball sails straight at her and she ducks, the ball whisking right over her head, smashing against the brick wall behind her. Castle grins gleefully at her from the building catty-corner from hers, waving his gloved hand and then he takes off on a run, crossing the street and heading toward the edge of the park.

Beckett takes off after him, her shoe slipping on the slushy snow layered over the asphalt and she wobbles for a moment before she finds her footing again. Nothing will deter her from kicking his butt in a snowball fight, especially not her fabulous heals.

It is so _on_.

* * *

She ducks behind a thick tree trunk, garnering her ammunition together. Cradling the next lump of snow between her rapidly cooling palms, she packs it tightly together, smoothing over its bumps with her fingertips until the surface is perfectly smooth, enhancing the snowball's speed and trajectory, then sets it next to the others. Eyes like slits, she focuses into the distance, nightfall having settled over the park. It has finally stopped snowing, the clouds having given way to a clear, icy sky, and the moonlight bounces over the gleaming white surfaces, illuminating the world in ethereal pale light.

She hears the crackle first, the barely audible crunch of snow and she whips her head around just as the next snowball races toward her, catching her shoulder. She throws one after him, getting his leg as he tries to make his retreat behind the next bush. She follows with two more, their path through the air just perfect as they hit him first square on the back, then right at his neck and he squeals, laughs in the distance.

Grabbing the rest of her ammunition she races after him, bombarding him with the tightly packed snow, the black wool of his coat covered in white until he jumps behind a spruce, hiding away from her sight.

She knows he'll be preparing, ready to get her back so she scans her surroundings, revises her plan. She forms a snowball, throws it into the snow-laden branches of a tree opposite her, watching as the snow slips off the branches, sailing soundlessly to the ground. Dropping down to her knees, she quietly robs through the snow in a wide circle around a group of trees, making quick progress, hoping that her distraction drew his focus just long enough.

Finally she sees him, coming up halfway behind him, where he is crouched behind the thick-branched tree, quickly packing a small mountain of snowballs while he peeks past the tree, scanning the area. She's got to move quickly or he'll get her squarely so she carefully rises, presses herself flat behind the tree trunk, and throws another snowball into the branches right in his field of vision. Snow sails again and he tenses, focuses straight ahead like a panther, snowball at the ready.

All is still, no sounds rippling through the air, even their breathing inaudible.

Beckett jumps up, three quick steps and she's tackling him from behind, bounding on his back like a monkey, pushing a handful of snow down into his neck. He squeals – like a little girl and she can't stop giggling, clinging her thighs around his waist.

"I'll get you for this, Beckett," he growls and suddenly she's moving through the air, landing on her back in the soft cold bed of snow, his broad form on top of her, holding her down, his grin pleased, almost sneering as he grasps for a handful of snow. He's got another thing coming if he thinks he can defeat her this easily. Doesn't he know what she's capable of?

She lifts a knee, slowly strokes it up the length of his leg, before she softly, teasingly nudges him between the vee of his thighs. His eyes go just a tad unfocused at her tender touch and that's her moment; one leg laced around his hip, she stems the other to the ground, garners her momentum and flips him over. He lands on his back, eyes wide in surprise at her quick maneuver and she straddles his hips, clamps a hand over both of his wrists above his head, holding him down as she leans over him.

"You give up yet?" She whispers melodiously, clawing her fingers around a handful of snow and bringing it toward his face.

"Never," he growls, lifting his pelvis into hers and heat erupts through her, fast and unrelenting, and so she slaps the hand of snow over his face, rubbing the cold slush on his skin in punishment for that unfair tease of a maneuver.

He squeals, laughs, yelps. "Apples, apples, apples," and she pulls her hand away, trails just one finger down his cheek.

And suddenly she's the one on her back again, the breath whooshing from her lungs as she's pushed into the ice-cold snow when he flips her once more. She blinks up at him and he grins, wiggles his hips into hers suggestively.

"Can't believe you fell for that old trick," he smirks. She clenches her fists, ready to get him back but then his mouth is over hers instead, his lips cold but quickly warming against hers as he kisses her, his wet, gloved fingers in her hair, guiding her head. She slips her tongue over his, sliding deep into his mouth, a playful battle that sends spirals of heat through her body, leaving her shivering in the cold snow.

She ends the kiss, undulates her hips against him just once, long and measured and his pupils go cloudy with want.

"Come on, let's go play some more where it's warmer."

* * *

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	15. 15: All I Want

**Window 15: All I Want**

He scribbles fast, eyebrows knotted in concentration, and she is so distracted by the cute way the tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips that she almost forgets to stop the timer.

"Time's up!" She calls, poking him in his right arm. "Drop the pen!"

"A minute is too short," he whines, but he dutifully hands over his list.

"You're not supposed to write the next great American novel, Castle." Kate snags his piece of paper from his fingertips, simultaneously hands her own list over to him with her left hand. "Just list a few movies."

"Not just any few movies, Beckett. This is serious stuff! Lots of thought goes into lists like this. After all, we will have to watch them all."

"Not all," she corrects distractedly, her eyes already skimming over his list. "Just the ones our lists don't have in common." She crosses her legs yoga-style on the couch, tries to decipher his scrawny letters. It was her idea, after they couldn't decide which movies to watch for their 'All-day Saturday Christmas Movie Mega Marathon' (yes, he even hand-wrote her an invitation card with its full title, on Richard Castle embroidered stationary). They'd each write down all the movies they could think off within a minute, and watch all the ones that were not doubled.

"Does that say 'Die Hard'? That's not a Christmas movie!"

"Sure it is! It's set at Christmas, ergo it's a Christmas movie." He's hovering over her, forehead almost touching hers as he sticks his nose over her reading and she presses her fingers against his forehead, pushing him back.

"Read your own list."

"I'm trying, Beckett. But wow, did you have to abbreviate every word?" He squints his eyes exaggeratedly, the bridge of his nose creased.

"It's economic, Castle. That's why I have…" She quickly counts, raises her eyebrows mischievously. "_Two_ more on my list than you!"

"No way!" He leans forward, head once more hanging over the list in her hand. "Ha! Not true. See, I have The Santa Clause One, Two, and Three! You only have the original on your list. We're even!"

"That doesn't count. You wrote 'The Santa Clause one-hundred and twenty-three'."

"Does too."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine," she laughs. "Let's compare." She lays both lists over her legs, and Castle leans against her side, reading over her shoulder.

"Nightmare before Christmas!" He exclaims suddenly, yelling right into her ear. "How did I forget that one?"

She turns her head, grins teasingly. "Seriously. I'm disappointed in you," she mocks but the he gleefully hops up and down on the couch, making her bounce and the papers flutter and almost slide off her legs.

"Oh but that means we do get to watch it. Yessss," he fist-pumps the air.

"Okay." Kate takes a third piece of paper, starts three columns, orderly like her murder board, starts writing. "Here are all the ones we both have, that are officially off the movie marathon list: 'A Christmas Story,' 'It's a Wonderful Life,'…"

"Ah, the classics…"

"'The Santa Clause…'"

"All three?" He interrupts again.

She purses her lips. "Hmm. Can we revisit?"

"Deal," he nods.

"'A Charlie Brown Christmas,'…"

"Awww…"

"'Home Alone,' 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas,'" she crosses the names off each list as she compares. "And 'The Muppet Christmas Carol.'"

"Good stuff. Okay so what _will_ we watch?" He asks eagerly, hooking his chin over her shoulder, a hand wrapped casually around her waist. His stubbly jaw rubs along the skin of her cheek and goose bumps bloom over the entire left side of her skin, shoulders to ankles.

She really, _really_ likes his scruffy face. It's late morning and they haven't even showered, just lingered over breakfast before they moved to the couch, fresh coffees steaming in their mugs on the table. He's in boxers and a t-shirt, she's just wearing her thick, cozy robe and she wonders how long it'll take until this turns into an entirely different kind of marathon. The curl of want unfurls slowly in her belly, familiar and warm.

"Well you have 'Elf,' 'Polar Express'… Oh great, I don't think I've seen that one. And," she sighs as her eyes fall to the list. "'Die Hard.'"

"And you have…" He points his left index finger over her list, and she writes along as he reads. "'Nightmare Before Christmas,' of course. 'Love Actually,' and, oh, black and white classics, nice choices, Beckett. 'The Bishop's Wife,'' he lists while she nods along, scribbles on her list.

"'Miracle on 34th Street,' and 'Christmas in Connecticut.' Hmm do I know that one?"

"It's about a famous food writer who can't cook."

"Let this be a lesson to all, to only write that of which you know," he points out theatrically, and she turns to look at him, grins mischievously.

"Really, Castle?"

He puffs his chest. "I'll have you know that I do extensive research." His arm tightens around her waist, tugging her tighter into him, fingers splayed wide over her abdomen while he nuzzles closer, trails his tongue over the rim of her ear. "You of all people would know," he growls, his voice low and inviting in her ear as he emphasizes his consonants. "Detective Beckett."

She shivers, tries to focus on the list. "So we've got… eight movies."

"Kaaaate…" He hums into her ear, sucks her earlobe into his mouth for a moment and the wet, warm tug sends tingles down her spine. "Can we add the Grinch, please?"

She pulls her ear out of the reach of his wandering lips, contemplating. Two can play that game. Resting her palm over his thigh, she splays her fingers wide, slowly gliding them to the inside seam, teasing upwards. "Only if we strike 'Die Hard.'"

His muscles jitter below her hand but he sticks out his bottom lip, trying to resist. She strokes higher.

"You drive a hard bargain," he rumbles suggestively and she purses her lips, trying to hide her grin at the terrible pun. Waiting him out, she lightly scratches a fingernail over the inseam of his crotch.

"Not yet." She lifts her eyebrow in challenge.

A burst of breath escapes his lungs. "Okay, deal."

She nods and smiles, satisfied. "Deal." She really likes The Grinch.


	16. 16: Prettiest Sight to See

**AN: Today's calendar treat was guest-written by the wonderful blue252! Be sure not to miss out on her writing because she's really amazing! **

(www _dot_ fanfiction _dot_ net _slash_ u _slash_ 3372399 _slash _blue252)

_**Holly, Thank you so much for gifting me this story for my calendar. It is lovely and wonderful, and I think it's perfect and I love it so much! xox**_

* * *

**Window 16: Prettiest Sight to See **

"Open your eyes, Kate," he murmurs softly, his voice a caress that glances across her cheek, as he wraps his arms around her from behind.

She waits a just a little bit longer, relaxing into the solid warmth of his chest. Her stomach fluttering in anticipation. She's quit trying to understand how he does this. How he can take the darkest days and infuse them with light. How he's somehow woven his way around and into her heart. She's never felt more at home than she does in these moments they share, quiet and peaceful. She wants to revel in it. This feeling so lovely that she can hardly believe they've made it here.

He nudges her gently, chuckling. "You know, if you don't open your eyes you'll never see your surprise."

"Hmm," she breathes, "But then, it won't be a surprise any longer."

She can feel his laughter. "Why Ms. Beckett, when did you become so sentimental?" She's positive he means to sound teasing but she can sense the unspoken wonder behind his words, the silent awe because she's not just playing along with his little game, not just appeasing his childlike Christmas spirit. She's every bit as invested in this moment as he is.

He places a kiss to her neck, and then another to the spot just below her ear that he knows always undoes her. "Keep that up and we'll definitely be skipping the surprise," she tries to warn. A tiny moan escaping her as his lips trail across her collarbone. "As appealing as that is, and _will_ be later tonight, I don't think you'll want to miss this." She can feel his smile against her skin.

He abandons his assault on her neck and pulls back slightly. Her body instantly misses the contact. She finally opens her eyes and draws in a sharp breath. He…_oh, oh_ she can't believe he knows this. It's been so long and it's…_it's perfect._

She spins in his arms suddenly needing to show him just how much it means. Just how amazing he is. The joy that flows through her freely, filling her completely. This man, this incredible, amazing man. With eyes wide and luminous, she looks up at him. Sees his pleased hint of a smile, his own eyes seeking answers she can hardly speak.

"Do you like it?" She loves that he's still nervous. As if there was any way he could believe that this wouldn't make her happy.

"Castle, I love it. How did you know? This must have taken you a while and I've never told you."

"A few weeks ago when your Dad called while you were taking a shower, I told him I wanted to do something special. He brought it up. Said it'd been years but it was always one of your favorite parts of Christmas."

She nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. "It was…it is."

"I just, I hoped it wouldn't be too much. I know it's our first Christmas _together_…" His voice trails off in hesitation.

She takes his hand and walks them over to the model he's built. It's a miniature version of the loft. Well, the loft, her own apartment, and the precinct. He's included everything, absolutely everything. She chokes out a laugh at the figurine in a sweater vest posed next to a darker skinned figurine, their arms outstretched with fingers touching.

She glances at him, amused, and he shrugs. "Feeding the birds."

"Naturally," she replies, grinning at him while rolling her eyes.

She takes inventory of each room, noticing the incredible amount of thought he must have put into this. There's a bubble bath in her bathtub, laser tag gear strewn across his living room floor, tiny copies of Nikki Heat and Derek Storm lining the bookshelves in his study, a replica of her badge and their police vests, coffee mugs by the sink. He's truly thought of it all.

She pulls him down to sit on the floor beside her as she continues pouring over all of the little details he's managed to work in. Their lives over the past year so accurately portrayed.

"We used to do this every Christmas. I'm sure my Dad told you. It was our way of celebrating the end of each year. We built the first model of our apartment when I was ten and worked on it for a month, each adding our own stuff. I thought it was the coolest thing in the world, our own little dream house. So every year at the beginning of December we'd pull it back out and start adding new things, getting rid of stuff we hadn't kept, keeping the things we still liked. So many good memories," she says wistfully.

He smiles at her as he soaks in her words. She knows how much he loves to hear these stories. That it's just as good for him as it is for her to tell them. And she realizes, sitting there, in the soft light of his loft, surrounded by the year's memories, that there is no one who will ever make her feel the way he does.

And really, she shouldn't be surprised at all by this. Because this is who he is. He's always paid attention to the details no one else took the time to notice. Always done anything and everything he could to show her the depths of his love, long before she was ready to acknowledge it.

"Thank you for this," she says, scooting closer, allowing him to wrap his arms around her again.

"Thank you for letting me share it with you." She turns her face slightly to smile at him and he kisses her gently. "Merry almost Christmas Kate."

* * *

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Tumblr: the4rightchords _dot _tumblr _dot _com

Twitter: _at_ blue_252


	17. 17: Don't Hold Out

**Window 17: Don't Hold Out**

His tongue slicks over her wet folds, a lingering slide over the swollen nub and she moans, her head falling back. His fingers are clamped around her thighs and he spreads them wider, holds her open for his leisurely perusal while the tip of his tongue swirls and circles, teasing around the nerviest spot. She shivers, her hips circling against him uncontrollably, pressing her body further into his mouth; he chuckles at the eager urgency of her move, the vibrations of the sounds shimmying vigorously through her nerve endings and she clenches her thighs tightly around his head.

"Ouch," he winces, looking up her body, eyebrow raised mischievously. She trails her fingers through his hair, gripping a few strands at the back of his head.

"'S what you get for laughing me," she groans breathlessly, slowly easing up the pressure of her leg muscles around him.

"Can't help it," he grins, breathing the words over the heat of her middle and she groans with the burst of sensation, digging her fingers into the back of his head.

"Too sexy having you sprawled all over my desk like that."

His voice vibrates into her, flooding her with a gush of dark need and she pushes his head back between her legs. She's perched over the edge of his desk, her back arched high, even her shirt still on; only her pants and panties discarded quickly by his eager hands before he dove between her legs. She's catching her weight on her outstretched arms, her biceps quivering from the strain but she barely notices.

"Then keep going!" She urges, sounding desperate even to her own ears and he chortles again but she no longer cares, nothing matters but the nuzzle of his mouth over her skin, the need for him consuming her like a brushfire, the wet hot brush of his tongue sizzling through her blood, spreading along her muscles, into her fingertips and toes.

His tongue dances over her, teases the swollen nerves, slicks in and out and around and her breaths rush from her lungs, barely able to stay upright as she quivers under his insistent caresses. He slides his thick fingers inside, immediately presses against her sweet spot and she cries out, shudders, slips off her hands.

Castle instantly catches her with one arm behind her back, slowly lays her down onto his desk, over the scattered print outs of Nikki Heat scenes, a gentle contrast to the unrelenting assault to her senses; he kisses her softly, and she tastes her own flavor slicked over his lips. His mouth travels over the column of her throat, nuzzles down her shirt and her stomach before his lips find her once more, his tongue hot and wet and unrelenting as he rasps, slicks and curls over her nerves, the intense press of his fingers inside, concentrated, spreading fire through her abdomen, her skin tingling, her breathing choppy as she gasps for air.

She breaks fast; bursts apart around his fingers, into his mouth and she jerks, her muscles quivering and clenching, over and over, sparks like fireworks behind her eyelids. Moans hiccup from her lips as she sinks back, her nerves still trembling with the last spasms of her orgasm.

"This the research you had in mind?" She rasps breathlessly after a few moments, tangling her fingers with his.

"Well…" He chuckles, kisses along her thigh. "It worked."

She grins faintly, as much as her weakened muscles allow her to move at all. Lets herself slide off the desk and sag into his waiting arms, straddling her thighs over his lap in the desk chair. Her face finds its home in the and curve of his neck, and he folds his arms around her back, fingers tangled in the long strands of her messy hair.

"Mmm yeah," she murmurs, nuzzling his skin. "It certainly did. However…" She trails her tongue over the cords of his neck, nips her teeth along the edge of his jaw while her fingers slip low over his stomach, slowly pop the button of his jeans.

"I fail to see how this would help you flesh out Nikki's Christmas traditions…"

"Come on Beckett, where's your imagination?" He gasps on the last word, his breath whooshing from his chest when her nimble fingers wrap around the thick bulge, freeing him from his boxers. He clasps a hand around the back of her neck, lifting her face to him and then he kisses her, long and deep, tongue swirling along hers playfully before he lifts away. Slipping his palms over her hipbones he raises her high, aligning her body with his.

"For Detective Heat…" He hums the words over her lips while he guides her down until he's deep, deep inside, filling her thickly. She shivers, muscles stretching over him, welcoming him.

"…Christmas just came early…" Holding her hips flush to his he pushes into her, deeper, so intense that she cries out with the burst of sensation.

"…and all her bells were ringing."

* * *

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Tumblr: nic6879 dot tumblr dot com

Twitter: at nic6879


	18. 18: Couldn't Ask For More

**Window 18: Couldn't Ask For More**

"No peeking," he reminds her, stepping behind her to hold his hand over her eyes. "And don't roll your eyes at me."

"I'm not! How would you even know," she asks in that familiar tone that's both amused and incredulous, but she dutifully starts walking, lets him guide her forward a few more steps, his other hand curled over her bicep.

"I can feel that, Kate Beckett," he chuckles because he absolutely knows she did, and his heart flutters just a little because she's letting him anyway, letting him surprise her and be goofy, letting her enjoyment spill right out through her bright, shining smiles.

He stops her in front of him, then raps on the metal door, three times in quick succession. It swings open immediately, and he puts his index finger to his lips, signaling the guy on the other side to stay silent. Nodding courteously, he waves Castle inside with a small smile, then walks ahead of them through a darkened corridor before they step onto the large, open space.

She fidgets nervously as he places her in the middle of the room. "Keep your eyes closed," he murmurs into her ear, presses a quick kiss to her cheek while he pulls his hand off her eyes, steps away from her, circling around to her side so he can see her reaction.

Making eye contact with the polite, aloof gentleman in the impeccable, dark double-breasted suit, he nods once. "Open your eyes, Kate," he instructs, and as her lids flutter open, the guy hits the main light switch.

The bright skylights flicker to life, bathing the high-ceilinged room with dazzling white flares that gleam over the hardwood panels, the brass fixtures, shine through the glass display cases. Her eyes widen, her lips fall open in a silent 'oh' as she takes in her surroundings, slowly turns around her own axis.

"Welcome to Burberry, Ms. Beckett," the sales manager of the store steps up to her, startling her out of her reverie, greeting her with a small bow when her dazed eyes meet his. "Feel free to peruse our selection at your leisure," he invites with a wave of his hand, his British accent stark and formal, echoing through the large space.

Her smile stretches, bracketing her cheekbones, all teeth and shy happiness. "Thank you," she acknowledges the other man, before she turns back to him.

"Castle." Her voice is low, barely more than a whisper, laced with surprised wonder. Her eyes shine, practically sparkle with delight, her smile so beautiful, wide and stunning and that, this look right here, the loveliness of her wonder, the joy radiating from her, that is exactly why he did this. Why he would do anything, _anything _for her. Just to see her smile, to give her such joy. His heart leaps against his chest, into his throat.

"Pick whatever you want, Kate. Anything. Well, maybe not one of the sheep." He points to one of the giant wooly sheep dolls that dot the women's floor of this store, and what is that all about, anyway?

"Castle," she repeats, stepping closer, laying her palms on his chest. She looks up at him with wide, shimmering eyes, her smile so soft it almost aches. "This is amazing. I love it. But you didn't have to do that." Her voice is pensive, laced with strands of unease that seem to rear their head every once in a while when she's reminded of the extent of his affluence, how she's just a bit unsure how to handle it.

"One of the greatest things that my wealth has brought me," he explains, covering her hand with his over his heart. "Is the ability to spoil those who mean something to me, to treat them, make them happy. I want to give you that happiness, Kate; I wanted to see that sparkle of magic in your eyes that you have right now, that surprised joy."

Kate runs her hands up his chest, cradles her palms over his cheeks, her thumb tender as she traces the skin under his eye. "You give me that joy, Castle. I love all the presents, I really do, but you don't have to shower me in gifts. You know that, right?" She kisses him, her lips so soft against his, warm as she lingers, breathing the words. "_You_ make me happy."

It rises through him like a well of warmth, a swell of sweet euphoria, effervescent in his blood as her words wash through him, reverent and grateful and full of quiet joy, confirming that he's successful in what he's been seeking the most: to make her happy. God he makes her happy and she's still smiling and he wants to capture her lips, make love to her gorgeous mouth, yearns for her body naked and pliable in his arms, claim her and worship her. Keep her.

He tilts forward, drawn ever closer. She presses her palm over his sternum, pushes him back. "Public, Castle," she smirks, her eyebrow arched but her pupils darkened just the same, her chest rising quicker, just as entranced as he is.

Castle draws in a deep breath, trying to calm the leap of his heart, the flush of his blood. "Okay. Go browse, Kate. Pick out what you want. It's part of your Christmas gift."

"Part?" The eyebrow quirks up again, the incredulous questioning arc this time. "Castle!"

"What?"

She sighs indulgently. "Okay. But then no more gifts."

He cringes. "No more gifts until Christmas," he bargains.

"No more large gifts."

"Kaaaaate," he whines, bites his lip because ugh, no, that's not really an option, although technically… "Okay," he gives in. He can work with that. Or around that. Whatever. "No more large gifts."

They shake on it, her mouth pursed in that adorable way of hers, and then she turns, walks right toward the coat section, perusing the first rack.

* * *

"Castle, come here," she calls from behind a rack and he looks up from his game of Stone Loops and oh, the snake got him already, the gleaming balls rolling away into the pit. He watched her for a while but, well, it's women's coats and she wasn't modeling them for him, yet, he hopes, so he found a white leather couch and played with his phone. He wanted to make sure she'd be able to take her time, enjoy herself and her gift without feeling rushed by him.

He walks over to her and she holds up a trench coat for him to see. "Aren't you still looking for a gift for Alexis?" She asks, examining the coat, fingering the buttons, the fabric attentively.

"Yeah."

"Look at this one. What do you think?"

The trench coat is a rich chocolate brown, ends at thigh length, flaring out wide from the waist. It looks sleek and stylish, but what really sets it apart is the collar that is cut like what he'd call a shawl, looping around neck and shoulders in the brand's signature checker pattern except instead of beige it's a light pink and brown.

"It's pretty. You think she'd like it?"

"She'd love it, Castle, and it'll be great with her skin color and her hair," Kate enthuses, her eyes sparkling, pleased with her find and he will absolutely buy that trench coat for his daughter because she picked it out. She picked out a gift for his daughter, and he isn't sure she's aware of the size of step she's taking with it.

"Okay. What about you?"

"Oh I already found what I want," she answers nonchalantly.

"Can I see it?"

"Not yet." She sidles closer, wraps an arm around his waist, presses a teasing kiss to his jaw line and when she speaks, her voice is a low, intimate whisper.

"If you're patient, I might make it worth your while."

* * *

.

_Tumblr: nic6879 dot tumblr dot com_

_Twitter: at nic6879_


	19. 19: Wait Up For You

**Window 19: Wait Up For You**

A rustle of clothes is all the warning he gets.

Then his jaw drops, the breath stuck in his throat, his eyes going wide. And wider.

"Thank you for my present, Castle," Kate purrs, actually _purrs_, and Castle is glad he's already sitting because he's sure his knees would just buckle underneath him at the sight of this Kate, the sexed up, tousled version, all seductive glances from under darkened eyelashes, purposely disheveled hair and glistening, parted lips.

She's wearing a pristine white, slim trench coat, _the_ trench coat, the one he presumes she picked out yesterday, its lines sleek and classic, and it'd be an understated garment on anybody but Kate. He thinks she could probably wear a potato sack and still stun him into speechlessness.

The innocence of the color contrasts sharply with her provocative stance as she's standing in the doorway of his bedroom, legs set apart, a hand on her hip, and he can do nothing but stare, running his eyes slowly down the length of her body. The coat is fastened up a long, vertical row of tan buttons, the belt cinched tight around her waist, the bottom half flaring out teasingly until it ends above her knees, revealing her lithe, never-ending legs.

Her _naked_, never-ending legs.

He swallows hard, eyes glancing lower, down to her feet that are encased in shiny, black pumps, the heels at least four inches high and then he skitters back up her long, long legs, admiring the bunch of her strong calf muscles as she stands, the shimmer and softness of her light skin.

She is a siren, a temptation so magnetic that he can't draw his eyes away, that he can only gape at, mouth dropped open, each breath laborious in his chest.

"You like it?" Her voice carries this irresistible lilt as she saunters closer, her hips gently swaying under the fabric of the coat, while her slender fingers caress over the belt, slip underneath the loop, slowly unraveling the knot.

"It's great," he squeaks pathetically, his voice not cooperating because he's completely enraptured by this stunning, beguiling vision of a woman and he isn't sure how he's going to survive this.

She stops next to the bed, leaning forward to poke her index finger against his sternum, pushing him back and he simply lets her, leans his shoulder blades against the headboard, his eyes never leaving hers as she blinks up at him from under her dark, thickened lashes, her smile a salacious tease.

And then she steps back, legs stanced apart, twirls her index finger over the top button, spinning a slow circle with its pad before she slips it open.

He swallows hard, his heart galloping excitedly in his chest, tendrils of want unfurling in his midsection, licking hotly through his veins. Her nimble fingers work down the row of buttons, slipping them open one by one and he follows the taunt of her movements with his eyes while the fabric reveals nothing, the edges of the coat remaining stubbornly closed.

"I was hoping you would," she hums, her smile stretching wider, an eyebrow raised almost challengingly when her fingertips trail down the coat's opening and he holds his breath, his skin buzzing in anticipation. He's seen her naked countless times by now, knows exactly what she looks like underneath that coat, can envision the lithe lines of her thighs, the curve of her hips and the flat, toned stomach but the lure never fails; the temptation of her body leaves him yearning, desire coiling in his midsection, warmth blossoming out from his heart.

And then she whips open the front, lets the coat slide off her shoulders, pool around her feet, and he will never, ever recover from this. Ever.

"Merry almost Christmas." Her voice is sultry as she turns a full circle, slowly sways her hips. She's wearing a tiny satin skirt, bright red fabric that barely covers her hips and the curve of her ass as it flares out, playfully floats around the top of her thighs, and its seam on the bottom is decorated with a rim of white, fluffy fur. The matching bra is really not more than two red, satin triangles that mold over her breasts so snugly as if they were painted on, white fur attached to the cleavage.

A naughty Santa outfit. Miss Santa? Oh who cares, it doesn't matter because this is the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

"Are you," he clears his throat, tries to sound less like a flabbergasted teenager as he points at the skirt. "Wearing anything underneath that thing?"

Smirking, she saunters closer, lifts one knee onto the edge of the bed, right by his feet.

"That's for me to know…" She swings her other leg over him, starts crawling up along his body on her hands and knees. "And for you to find out."

"Tease," he whispers, trailing a finger through the fuzzy fur along the slope of her breast. She settles her palms over his shoulders, brings her face close, her warm breath skittering over his lips.

"It's not teasing if I follow through, now is it?" And then her mouth is over his, warm and inviting, the tender caress a stark contrast to the naughty tease of her outfit and he loves this about her, this playful, lascivious side that's mixed with her intrinsic shyness, heightening every touch, making her intriguing, surprising. Every bit the mystery he saw from the moment that their eyes first met.

He fits his palms over the concaves of her waist, draws her near, at once needing her closer, faster; needs to feel her against him, over him. Playing his tongue along hers he surges deeper inside the warmth of her mouth and she meets him wantonly, a whimper in her throat.

She pulls away, blinking; seems to remember her mission when she pushes him back with a palm over his sternum.

"Best Christmas present ever," he grins and really, how is she so stunning, and gorgeous, and breathtaking, and how is it possible that she's finally here with him, like this. He wonders if he'll ever get used to it. He thinks he never will; that he will always just be absolutely amazed by her.

She winks, her smile wide and delighted, her fingernails teasing along the skin just above the waistband of his boxers. "You have no idea," she murmurs, and then her fingers wrap around the fabric, pulling off his shorts and throwing them off the bed.

The chilly draft hits his aroused flesh; he hisses but she's right there, climbing back over his body, settling down onto his hips and he groans harshly, grips her hips when only her heated wetness meets his skin, answering his earlier question.

Her mouth is back on his then, fast and wanton, her lips wet as she sucks on his, her tongue curling around his, thoroughly exploring the cavern of his mouth, her fingers never idle as they trail over his pecs, play along the swing of his ribs.

She wiggles over his pelvis and he moans her name into her mouth, his need for her at once desperate, his skin flushed, the desire a sharp tug in his midsection, his body rising, rising for her, his fingers dug sharply into her flesh.

Her lips separate from his and he mourns the loss immediately, but then her mouth starts wandering, travels along his stubbly jaw line, her teeth nipping the edges of his skin before she moves lower, slips her lips over the thick muscles of his neck, plays her tongue along the length of his collarbone.

He loses all coherent thought then, can only feel, moan, tremble, his body floating with each new sensation as she marvels over his chest, lips and fingers paying detailed attention to the flow of his muscle strands, his hardened nipples, the outlines of his bones. The sensations spread out along his skin, into his fingertips and toes, tingle at the base of his spine and the top of his neck.

She explores his torso devotedly, her fingertips teasing over his flushed skin, her lips tender, her tongue playful, knowing his nerviest spots as she moves lower, ever lower, finds the peaks of his hip bones, circles her tongue along the rim of his navel. His hips jerk restlessly off the mattress; he needs her so much, right now, and yet he wants this to never end, this slow, torturous exploration of his body until all that leaves his lips are helpless whimpers of her name.

And then she finds him with her warm, wet mouth, her lips caressing his thin skin and he claws his fingers into the mattress, his entire body jolting with scorching sensation. She plays him with her tongue, the suction of her mouth, her fingers symphonized to every fiery caress, every gentle yet knowing move as she relentlessly drives him to sweet, blissful oblivion.

* * *

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On my tumblr I have added a link where you can see the trench coat Kate picked out... :)

_Tumblr: nic6879 dot tumblr dot com_

_Twitter: at nic6879_


	20. 20: All Is Calm

**Window 20: All Is Calm**

She thinks these might be her favorite moments. The quiet ones, where it's just the two of them, no work, no interruptions, no background noises, no other people. Just him and her, wrapped in their own hushed world, bodies in sync, minds focused only on each other and the hum of comfortable silence that binds them.

She digs her fingers into his shoulders, presses her thumbs over the knots that have formed, kneading them in circles and he groans, pushes his face deeper into the mattress, body relaxing under the ministrations of her hands.

He's been writing all day, and she found him zipping through his loft, wired from the bustle of his thoughts, the whirr of scenes and voices, hyper and hectic and wide-eyed as he greeted her. Until she drew him into a calm, tight, lasting embrace. He practically deflated in her arms, an extended breath gushing from his lungs as he hid his face in the welcoming curve of her neck, his warm lips pressed over her soft skin and she almost staggered from catching the boneless weight of his body draped over her.

It surprised her, at first, to realize that _she _is where he finds ease of mind. As much as they both get off on swordplay, the sharp, fast volley of ideas and theory between them, as much as she is his inspiration, she has also become his calming influence, the one person who can soothe the storm of his brain. She cherishes that gift, these moments when, in whichever small ways though it may be, she can give back, can save him as he has saved her from herself so many times.

She ran her fingers up and down his spine, a calming journey over the peaks and valleys of his bones until his breathing evened out, the grip of his hands eased over her hipbones. And then she pulled off his sweater, his t-shirt, directed him to lie down across his bed before she attacked the cramped muscles of his back.

Kate squeezes more lotion onto her palm, warms it between her hands while she gently nestles back down in the dip of his lower back, sits back against the taut curve of his butt cheeks, her thighs bracketing his hips. Pressing the heels of her hands onto the middle of his back, she slowly pushes upwards on each side of his spine, adding pressure to the spasmed bands of his trapezius muscles, the jumping knots nestled within the flesh. With her thumbs she rubs over the hardened clusters she finds underneath the edges of his shoulder blades and he hisses, tenses underneath her.

"Don't hold your breath," she instructs and he dutifully gasps in some air, pushes it out on an extended exhale while she manipulates the tensed masses below his skin. She smoothes her palms higher, kneads his shoulders and up the line of his neck, squeezes the flesh and spinal muscles with her fingertips and thumps where they have tensed, formed more painful nerve clusters from his continued hunch over his laptop. She presses and soothes, adds the strength held within the heels of her hands, the pointy power of her elbows until she can feel his muscles loosening, his whole body relaxing under her meticulous attention, sinking deeper into the mattress, boneless and heavy.

She works her way back over his deltoids and down his right arm, pays particular attention to the cramped muscles encircling his shoulder blade and his rotator cuff before massaging the bulk of his biceps and he groans at the release, muscles flexing under her grip. When they feel sufficiently loosened she moves her palms lower, manipulates the flexor muscles in his lower arms and then kneads her thumbs over the sore ligaments of the heel of his hands. She repeats the steps on his left arm, meticulously massaging the stretch of tight muscles along his limb.

Softer now, her hands smooth along the broad lines of his back, rubbing his skin in soothing circles, warming and relaxing. She loves his shape, admires the width of his shoulders as her palms skate over his clavicles; revels in the broad planes of his torso when her fingers outline the flat path of his scapulae, the curvature of his ribcage. She loves the warmth of his skin beneath her hands, the curl of heat that runs just under the surface, the musky, wooden, decidedly male scent that lifts off his skin, enticing and arousing, the flood of want never far when she gets to touch him, curling low in her belly.

She ends with her palms curved over his obliques, trails a line of soft kisses up his spine, nuzzling her mouth beneath his ear. "Better?"

He hums contentedly and she lifts off his butt, wanting to let him relax but he reaches around for her, grips his fingers around her wrist.

"Stay," he asks, voice filled with quiet, intense longing. "I want you close."

She has no defenses when he is like this, when pure need, the force of his love for her just spills out over the edges of his being. Warmth flushes underneath her skin, butterflies erupt in her midsection and she needs it just as much, that closeness, to feel him skin on skin.

"Of course," she whispers, skimming her fingertips along his lower back and then she reaches for the hem of her sweater, lifts it over her head, takes off her bra before she lies down on top of him, draped over his back, her breasts flattened against his shoulder blades. She aligns her arms with his, slides her fingers between the spaces of his digits. He folds his hands to fists, knotting their fingers together in a tight embrace. The heat of his skin soaks into her, leaving her drowsy, heavy and relaxed on top of him.

"Are they okay?" She nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck. "Nikki and Rook?"

"Yeah." He exhales deeply, seemingly sinking them even further into the mattress, and she has the odd sensation of melting into his skin.

"It was a bit hairy, for a while," he recounts quietly, voice muffled by the pillow. "They got captured. Nikki almost got tortured, and Rook couldn't help her."

Her heart starts leaping at the quiet desperation, the envisioned horror that he assigned to his hero as he had to helplessly watch the woman he loves almost get tortured, had to fear for her life once again.

"But they made it out?"

"Hm hmm," he nods, eyelids fluttering with fatigue. "They're okay now. Had to work together." He tucks their entwined hands closer, presses a lingering kiss to her knuckles. "They're a great team."

"Are they now?" She teases, her nose nudged into his neck.

"Mmm yeah," he hums drowsily, his eyes slipping closed, and he tucks both their hands underneath his chin. "The best."

She smiles, listens as his breathing evens out with sleep, the calm and deep rhythm, his body heat against her skin her lulling her until she drifts, follows him into peaceful sleep.

* * *

****.

Tumblr: nic6879 dot tumblr dot com

Twitter: at nic6879


	21. 21: Glowing Hearts

**Window 21: Glowing Hearts**

Kate sits down at the edge of the mattress by his hip, watches over him for a moment. He's sprawled out on his stomach, half of his face pressed into the pillow, his mouth opened slightly against the fabric. His hair is adorably mussed up and she finally reaches out, ruffles her fingers through the tangled strands. He looks so cute like that, and so peaceful, and she doesn't want to wake him but she knows that he'd rather be woken for a moment than not know when she left for the day. She runs her fingertips down his face, cradles her palm over his cheek. "Castle."

"Mrrppphh." He scrunches up his face, the bridge of his nose wrinkled, eyebrows creased together, and then he hides it further in his pillow.

"I gotta go to work," she murmurs, running her thumb over the lines of his face until his features relax once more. Smoothing her palm down over his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, she's about to get up and leave when his eyes suddenly spring open.

"Wait!" His torso surges upright, an almost cartoon-like motion and then he's scrambling out from under the comforter, swings his legs past her and onto the floor. "I'm coming with."

"We don't even have a new case yet."

"Doesn't matter." She looks after him as he sprints toward his bathroom, takes a moment to admire the taut curve of his naked butt cheeks before he vanishes behind the door. "I'll be quick. Just wait. Don't leave without me, okay?"

She checks her watch but yes, they have a bit of leeway. "Okay," she yells over the thunder of the shower that is already running.

* * *

He stays close to her all day. It's not like he isn't commonly underfoot. He likes being next to her. She knows this, has gotten used to it. There's a calming comfort in his presence that she relies on. That she's come to love.

But this is… unusually close.

At the new crime scene he hovered close behind her, his hand a gossamer touch against her lower back whenever he got the chance.

She rises from her chair and he follows when she walks up to the murder board, stands so close that their arms are touching as they take in the information they have, mull over theories. He comes along when she goes to the break room for more coffee for both of them, even when she walks to the copier.

But she draws the line as he rises with her this time. Poking her index finger against his sternum she pushes him back down into his chair. "Restroom, Castle." She raises an eyebrow at him when he fidgets, and then he sinks defeated against the backrest of the chair.

What is going on?

* * *

She watches him closely for clues.

He fidgets a lot. Observes her closely, or looks around, his fingers picking at his cuticles. And if it's not that, he is texting. Relentlessly.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Oh." He doesn't even look up from his screen. "Alexis."

It's been a lot of texts. "Is she okay? Anything wrong?"

He finally looks up, eyes narrowed in confusion at her concerned tone. "No, she's fine. Just… talking."

She raises an eyebrow, at once suspicious. He's been good at letting his daughter live her own life at college, surprisingly good. She'd been worried he'd hover over her, but he's mostly held himself in check, even though she knows it's hard for him to not know the everyday occurrences of his child's life. Something is definitely off.

"About what?"

He sinks his eyes back to his phone, mutters lowly. "Just… her day. Keeping tabs."

"Castle," she barks, didn't mean to sound harsh but it does come out like that just a bit, and his head snaps up, eyes widened. She gets up and he's immediately out of his chair. Good.

"Come with me." She marches ahead, feels his presence just a minuscule step behind her as she walks them over to the supply closet, pushes him inside ahead of her before she locks them in.

She turns and his eyebrows are arched, leering at her.

"Not that, Castle." She sighs, steps closer. "Tell me what's wrong. You're not usually that clingy. Not with Alexis nor with me. What's going on?"

He sinks in on himself, head hung but he reaches for her hands so she steps into him, laces her fingers through his. "It's just…," he sighs, then adds, his voice a touch defiant. "You'll think it's silly."

"Try me."

He looks up, his eyes wide and darkened by the dim light in the storage room, blazing into her with such intensity that her heart starts hammering, leaping into her throat.

"What if the world really ends today?"

"Castle…" She sighs but he interrupts.

"I know! I know it's unlikely, and it's silly, but what if? So I'm texting with Alexis because it's the closest I can be with her today." He snags her closer, wraps an arm tightly around her waist so she's plastered against his chest, and she feels his ribs heave and fall with his harsh breathing.

"I'm staying close to you, as close as possible, because if the world ends, this is where I want to be. With you, Kate."

Her heart races and the blood rushes in her ears and she pounces on him, presses her lips to his mouth, sweeps her tongue inside, tasting his warmth, his flavor. Lets him feel her. He groans into her, one palm clamped over the curve of her ass, pressing her tightly to him as he curls his tongue around hers, soaking her in, taking from her everything she has to give because maybe it's silly but it's sweet and touching; it's the full extent of his love encapsulated within this illogical panic, to just be close to her, be with her for whatever happens.

And the truth is, there's nowhere she'd rather be than with him._ If_ anything were to happen.

* * *

They walk home that night. His place is closer to the precinct than hers, but it's still quite a stretch by foot. The snow crunches under their shoes, iced over from the freezing temperatures that sweep in at night time. It felt silly at first, but then she could see the sense in it, the importance, even if it was based on an unlikely premise.

If the world really was to end tonight, they should enjoy all of it as long as they could.

After they'd been able to let go of each other, after they'd snuck out of the supply close with their hair disheveled and their lips kiss-swollen, she had called Alexis and invited her for dinner. And then Martha.

"And your dad," he had prompted when she'd ended the call, and she had nodded, and invited her dad for dinner as well. So he'd have everybody together.

Her fingers are folded into his large, warm hand, both of them tugged into his deep coat pocket and they walk silently, her side pressed to his solid, safe presence next to her.

Castle pulls her with him, detours in a wide arch to drop a bill into the Salvation Army bucket in front of a department store before they straighten their path once more on the sidewalk. She looks up and down the row of trees, loves the plethora of white lights strung around the trunk, the branches and twigs, admires how the lights outline the sharp, barebones shape of each tree.

"Do you want kids, Kate?"

It comes so out of the blue that her breath stutters in her chest, her other hand clenching into a fist inside her coat pocket, nails digging sharply into her skin. She tries to just breathe, to focus. To _not _panic. She turns to look at him, takes in the profile of his face and he isn't looking at her, just straight ahead, a pensive crease etched between his eyebrows. Deep in thought. Her inner turmoil calms at the look of him, silent and serious. She picks the safe route.

"Why do you ask?"

"Been talking to Ryan. About he and Jenny having a baby. And he was worried about the state of the world. If it doesn't end tonight, where is it heading? Seeing so much of the dark and twisted sides of humanity as you all do." He walks a curve again, drops a bill into the hat of a beggar, smiling at the man who answers him 'God bless you,' his lips cracked, mouth mostly toothless.

"Made me ponder some things. And realize that I don't know how you think about that."

She nibbles her bottom lip, pulls on the skin that's chapped from the cold. It's not like she hasn't contemplated the implications before. In her line of work, and with her personal experiences. But she knows he's not asking about them yet, can breathe lighter knowing he isn't burdening either of them with a decision that's too early to make. It makes it easier to confess the truth, to him - and to herself.

"Yeah," she admits, subconsciously squeezes his fingers inside his pockets. "I think I want to have children. Some day." Her heart flutters, tendrils of hope and excitement that can't quite be contained anymore.

"It's just… with my work…" She falters, thinks for a moment. Because how can she subject a child, _her _child, to even the possibility of having to go through what she had to, losing a mother? "A lot of decisions would have to be made."

He nods, smiles at her from the side, and she finds such complete understanding in his eyes that warmth rushes through her veins, prickles her skin. Her question floats from her lips easier than she ever thought it would. "What about you?"

'_I'd at least like the option_,' he's told her not too long ago, and it'd be a lie if she said she hadn't wondered about it since.

"I always wanted more, when Alexis was younger. I love being a dad. I think it's the thing I've done best in my life so far, though I don't quite know how I accomplished that." He quirks an eyebrow at her, grins half sheepishly, half cockily, and she shakes her head at him with a smile, knows exactly how he did it, with his good heart, but she lets it go.

"But it was never just right, and once she got older, I started thinking, maybe it's nice to be done." He pushes into her arm and she automatically follows his direction as he pulls another couple of bills from his coat pocket, drops them into a collections bin for the children's hospital. They keep walking and she looks back for a moment, distracted because, was that hundred dollar bills?

His hand squeezes around hers and she stops, looks over at him, her thoughts catching up.

"And what do you think now?" She asks, at once breathless because he's been giving to everybody all night, wherever there was need, and he's looking at her now, the blue of his eyes suddenly dark and intense, and it's everything, right there in this breathless, magical moment.

"Things change." It's not more than a whisper but it blazes through her, leaves her blood thumping in her veins. She leans in, right there on the sidewalk, trails her fingers through the short, soft hair at the back of his neck as she draws him closer, and she kisses him, lips and tongue tender on his while their warm breaths mingle in the cold air, while the throng of people on the sidewalk swerve and float around the pillar of their entwined bodies.

She pulls away, cradles his face between her palms. "The world will _always_ be a good place as long as there are people in it like you. Good, _amazing_, considerate people, with a kind heart."

Yes. This is the man she can see herself having a baby with. Some day.

* * *

They make love that night. Slow and intense, bodies facing each other as they lay on their sides, her leg draped high over his hip, open to the long glide and push of him inside of her, the angle different but so concentrated, powerful, her nerves raw, on fire. Her palms on his chest, resting over his heart, she feels the potent beats of his heart, the simmer of his blood under his skin while she watches him, sees and feels his every reaction.

His eyes are wide, darkened with desire, observing her just as closely. He trails his fingers down her stomach, between her thighs, his index finger a soft tease over her swollen, slippery nerves. Her eyelids flutter but she keeps them open, eyes locked with his, the moment filled with silent promise.

She crests with gasping breaths, stuttered moans, feels his body shudder and quake around her, inside of her and afterwards, when their heartbeats and their breathing slow, when the sweat dries on their skin and he pulls the comforter over both of them, she ruffles her fingers through his disheveled hair, cradles his cheek with her palm, her thumb caressing over his bottom lip.

"It's past midnight, Castle," she smiles, kisses him softly. "December 22nd."

* * *

.

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	22. 22: Magic Through and Through

**Window 22: Magic Through and Through**

He lays her down slowly, the spread of blankets and pillows on the floor forming around her shape, cushioning her back as she sinks into them, her hair fanning around her head in a riot of messy, golden curls.

He forgets to breathe.

It still stuns him, every time, just how incredibly beautiful she is. He travels his eyes over the long, slim lines of her limbs, the soft landscape of her body; the peaks of her breasts arched toward him and the lean flow of her abdominal muscles bracketed by the jut of her hipbones. Her thick eyelashes throw shadows across her cheekbones, and she looks up at him heavy-lidded, malleable, wanton and willing underneath the winding pathways of his hands.

He slips open the lowest button of her shirt, then slowly travels up the button tab toward the valley between her breasts, his fingertips a barely there tease over the newly revealed skin, until the starched fabric of her blouse parts over her, revealing the silk of her skin to the warm, glowing lights of the Christmas tree shining above them. The hundreds of yellow lights they have strung along the thick branches bounce off the gleaming surface of the glossy, colorful bulbs, shimmering across her skin in myriad tones of gold and ruby, greens and silvers, pinks and blues.

"More Christmas underwear, Beckett?" He raises an eyebrow playfully, running his thumbs around the mounds of her breasts, circling over the red and white striped candy cane prints scattered over the dark green fabric of her bra.

"Mmm," she smiles, "told you I love the…" Her spine arches up on a gasp, voice pressed into a hiss when he slips the pads of his thumbs over the raised peaks of her nipples underneath the silk. "Sssssseason…"

Kate surges up, her palms sliding up his stomach, finding the buttons of his shirt but he arrests her, slowing her down by covering her wandering fingers with his hands.

"Let me, Kate," he murmurs, "please." Slowly he slides her shirt off over her arms, and lays her back down onto the cradle of pillows. "Just let me."

And she stretches out underneath him, her arms flung up over her head, the smile on her face blissful, so open, so filled with trust that his stomach clenches in anticipation, his heartbeat loud and leaping in his chest.

"I'm all yours," she whispers, playful yet there's sincerity too, and he knows it's not just this moment, knows how everything she feels is encompassed within these three words, how she is giving herself to him; it's everything, _everything_ and he leans over her, finds her mouth and kisses her deeply, reverently, his tongue stroking hers in yearning caresses.

Her hips lift against his in rhythm with their kiss, seeking the pressure of his touch while her hands find the curve of his neck, fingers playing through the short hair at his nape. He kisses her at length, thoroughly until her breathing is choppy, her whimpers pressed from her lungs and into his mouth.

He slides her pants off her hips, down over the endless length of her legs, taking her thick cozy socks with before he runs his fingers back up her naked skin, caressing the smooth, enticing curves that hide the powerful strength of her muscles. He lingers at the most sensitive spots, the swirl of his fingertips tender around the peak of her ankle, in the hollow at the back of her knees, the cord of muscles hidden under thin skin at the inside of her thigh.

She watches him touch her, pupils hazy with arousal until he skims along the apex of her thighs and her eyes roll up, her head dropping back as her hips surge toward his touch. He flirts with the shapes of the candy canes that are also scattered across the silk panties and she whimpers, thighs falling open in invitation.

He gradually tucks the last piece of clothing off her body, and then he makes love to her under the glimmering lights of the Christmas tree.

Slowly, painstakingly, lips and hands traveling a lingering, winding path across the expanse of her skin. Tasting, nipping, kissing loving patterns along the long lines and curves of her shape. Fingers and tongue finding the heat of her, filling her, tasting her as she whimpers for more. Giving her everything he can, everything she deserves because she is worthy of all the pleasure in the world. Carrying her higher, farther, meticulous and careful. Loving her intensely until she falls apart within the embrace of his body, her muscles jolting extendedly, mouth opened on muted gasps as she comes apart almost quietly within the peaceful silence of the moment.

She's everything.

* * *

.

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_Twitter: at nic6879_


	23. 23: With Joyful Ring

**Window 23: With Joyful Ring**

He's excited, jittery, but he censors the bounce of his body in his seat, clamps down on the nervous energy that's zipping through his veins. He turns his head, watches Kate instead in the dimming light, how the kiss of dusk throws shadows across her profile, sharpening the rim of her cheekbones, the arch of her eyebrow.

"Are we there yet?" He needles, just waiting for her to quirk that eyebrow, roll her eyes at him and really, it's just for fun now because there's always a cute smile that accompanies the eye roll, the secret pleasure she gets from bantering and playing with him.

They've left the city behind, crossed over the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey, heading north on the parkway, destination unknown to him.

"Soon," she promises, shifting her eyes over to him for a short moment, a soft smile stretched across her cheekbones, both wondrous and a tad apprehensive but he doesn't even care because truth be told, he could spend hours just sitting here beside her, watching her handle his Mercedes, the casual way her hand encircles the steering wheel, the stretch of her lithe arms, the calm concentration that focuses her entire body. The coil of strength underneath her skin, the awareness, the spark of electricity that always seems to hum just underneath the surface of her skin makes him want to do things to her, dirty things, until she quivers and moans, arches her body for more.

He reaches over, laying his hand over her thigh where he can feel the heat of her skin seep through the fabric of her slacks, shooting through his palm straight into his blood, thumping searing and harsh in his midsection. Her nostrils flare, her leg muscles twitching underneath him but it's the only indication how much he affects her as she keeps her eyes focused on the road, yet he knows, he knows. He leaves his hand there, lets their silent connection buzz through him as he leans his head back against the headrest, watches her drive.

* * *

"Ready?" She whispers the question in his ear and he nods eagerly, a giddy spring in his gut because she blindfolded him, actually blindfolded him when he stepped out of the car. He has no idea where they are or what she's up to, only that they pulled into a State Park he's never been to before.

"I hope you'll like it," she sighs while she hooks her arm around his elbow, guiding him forward, the same apprehension in her tone that he saw reflected in her smile earlier. "It's nothing big."

He squeezes her hand that's curled over his forearm. "I'll _love_ it." He has no doubts. "I love everything you do."

She laughs joyfully and it rings like bells through the evening sky.

* * *

She steps behind him, her body warm as she presses into his back while her fingers untangle the knot of the blindfold and slowly pull it off his eyes.

He blinks, adjust to the return of his sight, the flicker and dance of thousands of colorful, unfamiliar lights sparking in his field of vision.

"Christmas Wonderland?" He reads of the bright sign, his eyes widening as he takes in the coordinated swirl of lights that burst as far as his eyes can see. "Wow." He turns to her, soaks in the soft smile of her lips, the almost shy sparkle of her eyes; he wraps an arm around her waist, pulls her close, burying his face against her neck.

"It's amazing," he murmurs into her scarf and she curls her fingertips through the hair at his neck.

"You haven't even seen it yet." Kate pulls away, laces her fingers through his, tugging him with her. "Come on, Baby."

Castle stumbles over his own feet, trying to walk but his legs feel like rubber, his heart leaping because did she just-? Did he hear-? But she walks on, completely unfazed, greets the man in front of them and he stops short in his tracks, yet again. How did he not notice the white, horse-drawn carriage, the coachman with the black top hat waiting on them earlier?

"Come on, Castle," she ushers him up and he's still a bit shaky inside, stunned and speechless but he dutifully climbs up the steps into the carriage, sits back on the cushy red leather that's cold against his butt cheeks and thighs. Kate swings up the wide shoulder bag she's brought with her before she climbs in after him, nestles next to him on the seat, her thigh pressed warmly against his. He takes her in for a moment, his insides flooded with warmth, with the swirl of quiet happiness before he looks around at the Christmas decorations, the quixotic carriage, the way she's chosen to surprise him.

"Nice choice. Both romantic and cheesy; I am impressed, Detective Beckett."

"Shut up," she grins, but then she snuggles closer, rests her cheek on his shoulder. Thick, oversized sherpa throw blankets are folded in the corners of the seats and he reaches for one, wraps it over both of them, tucking it tightly around her legs. The carriage startles to life, lurches forward.

When they cross through the archway that opens into the 'Christmas Wonderland', the speakers attached to the carriage pick up the sound broadcasted through the park, a playful, modern rock-pop version of 'Joy to the World' wrapping around them and Castle looks around in awe, watches in fascination as thousands of LED lights come to life around them, right and left and in front. The carriage slowly pulls them along the path and the lights bounce, flicker, dance around them in arches and shapes, vertical spears that shoot into the sky, waterfalls of color; trees and snowflakes and stars, every burst of light coordinated to the rhythm of the song, bright and colorful. It's beautiful and festive and… fascinating.

Kate bumps his side and he lifts startled eyes to her; she smiles, handing him two heavy ceramic mugs, pours in hot liquid from a thermos. White steam rises from the mugs, curls and swirls in the cold evening air, rich with the scent of thick hot chocolate. He watches in fascination as she stows the thermos back in the shoulder back, pulls out a small flask next. She pours a serving in each mug, swirls the liquids with a plastic stir stick.

"Try it," she urges him eagerly, her teeth hooked over her bottom lip. Castle lifts the mug to his lips, lets the hot liquid glide into his mouth, the rich thick chocolate taste coating his tongue, melted with the sharp tang of peppermint and a mellow bite of-

"Alcohol in public? Law breaker," he teases, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Egh, it's New Jersey. It's permitted to be consumed on a bus, limousine or boat," she recites off the cuff, has probably even researched it before their trip, or maybe she just knows these crazy facts, holds all this knowledge in that wickedly smart brain of hers. "I think that includes a carriage. Sorry to disappoint you, Castle," she flashes her eyes at him, grin wide and pleased, "but no law breaking tonight."

He leans closer, crowding into her, nuzzles his tongue over the patch of tender skin underneath her ear. "Maybe not yet."

"Stop it," she giggles, ticklish in that spot, squirms away from him. "Watch the show."

He nips on his drink again. "What did you put in this?"

She smiles. "It was my grandmother's secret hot chocolate recipe, and mint chocolate flavored Baileys. You like it?"

"It's amazing!"

"Oh wait." She digs around in the bag again, brings forth a red and white striped candy cane. She peels off the cellophane, sticks it in his mug. And then she unearths a can of whipped cream from the depths of the bag and squirts a liberal amount on top of the hot chocolate.

He peeks his head over the opened bag. "You gonna pull out a lamp next?"

She smirks. "Oh, it's a jolly holiday with you, Rick," she sings, rolling the R's when she switches the lyrics to his name.

"Nice one," he chuckles, clinks his mug to hers and then he sits back, spooning dollops of whipped cream off his drink with the candy cane and sucking it into his mouth while the show around them flares and flashes, bright and so cheerful, reflecting the pure joy that blazes through him. "This is _so_ cool! Thanks for bringing me here."

A next song starts; an instrumental version of Carol of the Bells, the hard beats of the orchestra ebb and flow with its softer interludes, the lights in bright bursts around them and he clasps his hand over hers, feels as if the beat of her heart pumps through him in rhythm with the music, thrumming along his veins and he can only stare, astonished by everything, enraptured by her.

She turns over her hand under his grasp, caresses her thumb over his skin. Her eyes lift to him, the flutter of heavy lashes captivating, her smile loving, a tad wistful. "I just… I wanted to thank you, Castle. In case I won't make it back in time tomorrow night…"

She sighs and he clasps his fingers around her hand, lending her the quiet support and understanding, trying to patch up the tear she feels between living up to the promises she's made herself, the conviction she feels is vital, to watch over everybody else's safety on this day in honor of her mother, and the lure of a cozy, peaceful Christmas Eve, the aching want to just be with him.

"This has been the most amazing Christmas time I've ever had, and you did that, for me. _You_ made it wonderful, brought me so much joy and…"

He sweeps his mouth over her lips, soaks up her words, the warmth of her tongue, the flavor of mint and chocolate and her, so unmistakably Kate that he shivers with it, draws her closer, against the quiver of his chest, her soft whimper surging into his heart, aching for her, always, always, never-ending.

* * *

.

_**AN:**__ This LED Christmas light show does exist (in fact I've visited it just last night!) – but I have transplanted it to a different location for the purpose of this chapter. If you'd like to see what it actually looks like, visit my tumblr where I've linked to a video of one of the songs during the show. :)_

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_Twitter: at nic6879_


	24. 24 Where the Love Light Gleams

**Window 24: Where the Love Light Gleams**

She stirs her coffee, inhales the fragrant steam that rises from the mug, then takes a first sip. The flavors burst over her tongue, rich hazelnut and the dark roast of the coffee, softened by thick cream and a small spoonful of sugar. She relaxes back against the couch, her arm pressed against Castle's, warm and solid by her side.

The loft is quiet now, the late evening curling around just the two of them peacefully. The fire roars in his fireplace, its warmth wrapping around her like a cozy blanket, the lights of the Christmas tree shining brightly upon them and she closes her eyes for a moment, soaks up the comfort of this moment, the quiet happiness that seems to tingle through her blood.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs and she opens her eyes, watches him as he rises off the floor, his knees cracking. He vanishes through his study and she admires the curve of his taut butt cheeks for a moment before she leans her head back against the edge of the couch, letting her eyes fall closed.

She missed her mother today, like she did every Christmas before this. But sitting together, having a festive dinner with Castle's family, she realized she also missed her father. Very, very much. When there was no reason for it, when he was still there, when they had each other. So she'd called him, and he agreed to come over for dinner tomorrow night. Not quite ready to do the full Christmas Day, but it's a start and she's glad for it, hoping for small steps because she wants him ready, needs him to be there one day when it's her family, his grandchildren-

Her heart thumps and she reins in her galloping thoughts, tingling all the way down to her fingertips. She sucks in a deep breath, tries to calm the flutters in her midsection that have been her unvoiced companion all night, ever since she knocked on his door with that gift bag bumping into her calf.

"Hey." His warm voice draws her from her musings and she blinks open her eyes, smiles lazily up at him as he sinks back down next to her on the floor. She doesn't know why they ended up sitting in front of the couch instead of on it but she likes it down here, her legs outstretched underneath the coffee table, looking up into the dark green and gaily dressed branches of the tree that rise high into the ceiling, almost never-ending.

He keeps staring at her from the side, smiles at her pensively, fidgeting with the seam of his pant leg.

"What is it, Castle?"

"I wanna give you one of your gifts tonight already, when it's just the two of us…" He trails off, reaching for her hand, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "If that's okay with you?"

"Yeah," she nods, the butterflies in her stomach intensifying. "Of course." She reaches up to the couch, pulls down the sparkling red gift back she's brought with her. Now or never. "I actually had the same idea." She laughs breathlessly and he joins in, sounding just as nervous as she is.

And then her eyes widen and her heart starts galloping in her chest, the blood roaring in her ears when he places a small, black velvet box on top of her knee.

"Castle-" She tries to suck in a breath but her lungs feel constricted, her thoughts racing and then his eyes widen too, his eyebrows raised almost comically.

"No, no Kate, it's not…" He flips it open for her and it's only now that she realizes that the box is larger than it would be if- More rectangular than square. Her eyes spring to the gleam of silver that flashes on the bed of black velvet.

"A key." She slowly reaches for the cool metal, lets its weight press into her warm palm, stares at it against her skin.

"Yeah, for the loft," he explains needlessly, his voice a bit roughened and she's still gaping at it, her skin warming the metal, making it her own.

"I want you to be able to just come in whenever you want. I want you to be at home here…" He rambles on and she tears her eyes away from the key, looking up at him, finds him staring at her, darkened eyes boring into her intensely. The smile stretches across her face automatically, widens to her cheeks, her skin flushed and tingly with warmth.

"Thank you."

"Did you…? I mean, you aren't disappointed that it isn't-"

"No, Castle that'd be… We're not…" She sighs, shakes her head. "No."

Yet for a short moment, this one terrifying, wondrous moment it had seemed real, and her heart had thudded with all the possibilities, tempting, alluring. Big, but not as intimidating as she feared it to be.

She reaches out, cradles her palm over his cheek, finds his eyes, still wide and apprehensive. She takes a moment, waits one, two beats of her heart, and then she leaps.

"Some day?" It's both question and promise and his mouth falls open as he gasps in an astonished breath, and then he nods, slowly, his mouth stretching with a tender smile.

"Some day."

He leans forward, rests his forehead against hers and she closes her eyes, lets the quiet promise soak into her skin, enrich her blood with it all, with everything there is to come. He wants her in his life in all ways already, gave her a key to fill in where his words leave off.

She pulls away, caresses her thumb across his bottom lip. Her stomach flutters, nervous but even more so she's excited, at once eager to see his reaction to her gift. Kate reaches behind her, grabs the red bag.

"This is for you."

He sits down on his haunches, pulls the white box out of the folds of tissue paper, and lifts the lid. She realizes she was actually holding her breath when she has to gasp for air as he lifts up the gift, looking curiously as the long chain of golden plastic beads unfolds from the bottom of the box, the origami stars folded from gold paper dangling off the chain.

"It's for the tree?" He wonders, looking surprised as he unravels the long string of beads. "You made this?"

"Yeah," she nods, leaning forward. "But that's not…" She arrests his fingers; reaches for the first paper star attached to the chain. "Remember the day you picked me up from work, and we went to see the Christmas tree?" His eyes glued to the movements of her fingers, she carefully unfolds the star, shows him where to tuck for the intricate origami pattern to simply open up.

"See, that night I wrote down a thought I had, something I felt was important." She points to the interior of the star, to the hand-written words she had carefully penned onto the paper. "About you."

Castle looks up at her, eyes widened in surprise.

"And then every night since. It's not poetry or anything," she rambles on, the flutter of nerves winning over her confidence because he is the writer and she's always admired his words, fell for them long before she fell in love with him, and it's truly nerve-wracking to give him something he's so much more accomplished at.

"They're probably not very good, not well written but I wanted you to know. To have them. The words."

"You…" He reaches for the first star, lays it onto his palm, his movements measured. "You gave me words."

"Yeah." She nods.

And then his smile widens, his eyes sparkling, bright blue with exhilaration. "Wow. Kate. This is…"

"Read them already," she nudges him impatiently, nervous, so nervous because those are her words, for him, and she's been holding them in for a long time and he really, really needs to read them now, finally.

"Okay, okay," he laughs but she sees the tender spark in his eyes, the warmth with which he regards her, pleased and happy and so in love that it takes her breath away.

"Can I read them out loud?"

She feels her cheeks flush. "Uhm, sure. They're yours to do with as you wish."

He smoothes a finger over her handwriting on the inside of the paper star, and then he reads:

'_I love the way you can quiet the turmoil of my thoughts, how you lighten the burden of my days.'_

He looks up, his face awed, astonished. "Kate… wow. I'm so glad I can be there for you like this. I was always hoping…" She nods, resting her palm over his knee.

"I wanted you to know this." She points to the remaining stars. "All of this."

He unfolds the next star, his eyes skimming over the words, quietly at first before reads them out loud, his voice filled with awe and tenderness and she watches him read, take in all her carefully guarded thoughts.

'_I love how your eyes light up when you see me first thing in the morning, and your sleepy smile when we go to bed.'_

'_I love the taste of your kisses and the feel of your lips on mine.' _

'_I love the feel of your body pressed to mine, the heat of your skin, the fire of your touch that makes me forget everything, everything but you.' _

He pauses for a moment to look at her, eyes blazing, so filled with longing for her that a swirl of images unravels in her mind, a frenzied movie of all the ways she wants to touch him, feel him surround her, naked and strong. She licks her lips and his eyes darken but she wants, needs him to read these first, all of them. Her eyes flick to the next star and he reaches for it, his fingers not quite steady.

'_I love that you can make me laugh even when the world around us seems only dark and grey.'_

'_I love how you spoil me, with your gifts, your laughter, your care, your love._

"Kate, those are incredible," he murmurs, his brow creased as he focuses, already unraveling the next star, the next secret she's revealing to him.

'_I love how you make me dream of a future, of all those wonderful things I never dared to hope for, that I never thought I could have.'_

'_I love how much you need me, the way you seek my touch, my closeness, my comfort.'_

She watches as he keeps reading, sees it in the creases of his face, the spark of his eye and the tilt of his mouth, just how much it means to him, every word she's written. Many things she's sure he already knew but she understands how he needs words, how each written sentiment gives credence to all his hopes and dreams.

'_I love the way you touch me, how you worship my body until I no longer know where we start and where we end.' _

'_I love how you look at me, your eyes alight with love, the admiration in your smile, how you respect every part of who I am. _

'_I love that I miss you when you're not with me.'_

She stops him before he reaches the very last star, leans forward to kiss him tenderly while her hands reach for the folded paper, unravel it for him.

She says the words just as his eyes fall on them, infuses them with her voice.

'_I love you.'_

* * *

_The End_

**AN:** Thank you all for reading, for the lovely and heartwarming stories and thoughts you've shared, for the love and excitement you've shown this story. A very special Thank you goes out to that wonderful group of you who have faithfully reviewed every chapter – there are not enough words to express how much your enthusiasm has meant to me; you have kept me going when doubts were nagging. If I've made this Christmas season more joyful for just one of you, then it was all worth it. :)

Thank you for an amazing year in this fandom. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all!


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