fic: Castle -- Lonely Were the Shepherds
Crossposting to duplicate for archive purposes and reader convenience. This is the story I wrote for Yuletide Madness this year.
Fandom: Castle
Ratings warnings and pairings as the show.
Summary: Christmas Eve and family. (825 words)
---:::---
Beckett flipped her phone closed. "That was low."
Castle turned his best who, me? expression toward her, but he didn't bother to hide his grin. "So, you'll be joining us?"
"Has it occurred to you that I might have other plans?"
"Then you'd have told Alexis no." He grinned and she shook her head.
"Fine, what can I bring?"
"Your cheery disposition?"
She glared at him.
"Mom's got more wine than we can drink, food's already set. Just show up." Castle beat a quick tattoo on the desk, then hopped up and away, too cheerfully for an adult to justify.
--
Alexis opened the door and took the top two bags. "I apologize in advance, Gran's in charge of the music and dad the food this year, so he's off picking up dim sum and we've got kazoos on the stereo. It's easier when it's the other way. Even dad gets tired of that stupid run over by a reindeer song after an hour and shifts to something else."
"And your grandmother picks up the dim sum?"
"Well, yeah. It's New York."
Beckett nodded as she followed Alexis to the open kitchen.
"But you'll find out next year. Did you know the Sex Pistols recorded Christmas carols?" She pulled the cheesecake from the bag and grinned as she set it safely in a corner. "We aren't really pulling you from anything, are we?"
"I normally work through the holiday. Let others have the time."
"Well, I'm glad you came."
"Thank you for the invitation."
--
"Here, no use in keeping a nearly empty bottle."
"Thank you, Martha."
"Thank you, for joining us. I need someone to keep me company, once the wine kicks in." She glanced fondly to the couch, where both her son and granddaughter were wholly unconscious, curled on one another. His head was tipped back against the couch and she'd curled in his lap like the toddler she hasn't been for years.
They sat in shared comfortable silence. Castle had pulled open the blinds at some point, and the reflected lights of the tree blinked in counterpoint to the lit windows and tower signals of the city outside.
"It's late. I'd best be going."
"Somewhere to go to?" Martha's voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp.
Beckett ducked her head. "Just home."
"So tell me, Kate." Martha said, her voice firm. "What's at home? That isn't here, of course. Tell me truly, dear. You spent Christmas Eve last year sitting alone, surrounded by more ghosts than Scrooge."
Beckett set her jaw. "Actually, I spent it at my desk."
"Surrounded by ghosts," Martha insisted.
"By my work, by my life."
"Of course, dear. And that's more comfortable than this?"
Beckett stood. "Comfort has nothing to do with it."
"Hush, you know what I mean," Martha waved off the words with a practiced languid hand. "You'd argue if I used the word "better", too. Stay. Sit. Rest. Sleep." She crossed her legs with studied nonchalance. "We do have a guest room, you know."
"You're not offering your son's bed?" She'd meant it harshly, but she sounded tired to her own ears.
"Not mine to offer. Not that he'd mind, of course." Martha rose and joined her in the kitchen. "Just, be happy, or if not happy, be at ease." She gestured dramatically at the tree in the other room, the garish garland taped to the counter. "Live in the moment."
"That's awfully zen for Christmas Eve." Beckett twisted the stem of the wine glass between her fingers. The dregs of the merlot colored the bottom of the bowl. She refused to let herself compare it to blood on glass.
"Then I'll be blunt instead. Don't be alone."
--
Beckett glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The too-bright light was unkind, showing the darkness under her eyes, the creases in her shirt. She looked tired. She was tired. It was late. She thought of last Christmas, of losing track of the hours until the short straw crew had trickled into the station, of the year before that, her knees cold as she watched the candles in a stranger's church burn down to guttering. She rubbed her eyes again and opened the door. The cd had restarted, she thought, back to the sax-heavy instrumental one. Martha stood by the front door, Beckett's black wool coat in one hand, and a full wineglass in the other.
Beckett paused, and thought, and sighed, and took the wineglass. Martha's smile was brighter than the lit star on the tree and she tossed the coat over the stair railing with an air of victory.
"I do need to sleep at some point, you know," Beckett said, as she sipped her wine. Another merlot. Martha was consistent.
Martha led her back to the overstuffed chairs by the window. "Oh, that's fine. Did I ever tell you about the West Coast tour? That puts Rick to sleep like a charm…"
---:::---
And at some point, I need to heave the rest of the library onto AO3, since I have the account there and all. Enh, eventually.
Fandom: Castle
Ratings warnings and pairings as the show.
Summary: Christmas Eve and family. (825 words)
---:::---
Beckett flipped her phone closed. "That was low."
Castle turned his best who, me? expression toward her, but he didn't bother to hide his grin. "So, you'll be joining us?"
"Has it occurred to you that I might have other plans?"
"Then you'd have told Alexis no." He grinned and she shook her head.
"Fine, what can I bring?"
"Your cheery disposition?"
She glared at him.
"Mom's got more wine than we can drink, food's already set. Just show up." Castle beat a quick tattoo on the desk, then hopped up and away, too cheerfully for an adult to justify.
--
Alexis opened the door and took the top two bags. "I apologize in advance, Gran's in charge of the music and dad the food this year, so he's off picking up dim sum and we've got kazoos on the stereo. It's easier when it's the other way. Even dad gets tired of that stupid run over by a reindeer song after an hour and shifts to something else."
"And your grandmother picks up the dim sum?"
"Well, yeah. It's New York."
Beckett nodded as she followed Alexis to the open kitchen.
"But you'll find out next year. Did you know the Sex Pistols recorded Christmas carols?" She pulled the cheesecake from the bag and grinned as she set it safely in a corner. "We aren't really pulling you from anything, are we?"
"I normally work through the holiday. Let others have the time."
"Well, I'm glad you came."
"Thank you for the invitation."
--
"Here, no use in keeping a nearly empty bottle."
"Thank you, Martha."
"Thank you, for joining us. I need someone to keep me company, once the wine kicks in." She glanced fondly to the couch, where both her son and granddaughter were wholly unconscious, curled on one another. His head was tipped back against the couch and she'd curled in his lap like the toddler she hasn't been for years.
They sat in shared comfortable silence. Castle had pulled open the blinds at some point, and the reflected lights of the tree blinked in counterpoint to the lit windows and tower signals of the city outside.
"It's late. I'd best be going."
"Somewhere to go to?" Martha's voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp.
Beckett ducked her head. "Just home."
"So tell me, Kate." Martha said, her voice firm. "What's at home? That isn't here, of course. Tell me truly, dear. You spent Christmas Eve last year sitting alone, surrounded by more ghosts than Scrooge."
Beckett set her jaw. "Actually, I spent it at my desk."
"Surrounded by ghosts," Martha insisted.
"By my work, by my life."
"Of course, dear. And that's more comfortable than this?"
Beckett stood. "Comfort has nothing to do with it."
"Hush, you know what I mean," Martha waved off the words with a practiced languid hand. "You'd argue if I used the word "better", too. Stay. Sit. Rest. Sleep." She crossed her legs with studied nonchalance. "We do have a guest room, you know."
"You're not offering your son's bed?" She'd meant it harshly, but she sounded tired to her own ears.
"Not mine to offer. Not that he'd mind, of course." Martha rose and joined her in the kitchen. "Just, be happy, or if not happy, be at ease." She gestured dramatically at the tree in the other room, the garish garland taped to the counter. "Live in the moment."
"That's awfully zen for Christmas Eve." Beckett twisted the stem of the wine glass between her fingers. The dregs of the merlot colored the bottom of the bowl. She refused to let herself compare it to blood on glass.
"Then I'll be blunt instead. Don't be alone."
--
Beckett glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The too-bright light was unkind, showing the darkness under her eyes, the creases in her shirt. She looked tired. She was tired. It was late. She thought of last Christmas, of losing track of the hours until the short straw crew had trickled into the station, of the year before that, her knees cold as she watched the candles in a stranger's church burn down to guttering. She rubbed her eyes again and opened the door. The cd had restarted, she thought, back to the sax-heavy instrumental one. Martha stood by the front door, Beckett's black wool coat in one hand, and a full wineglass in the other.
Beckett paused, and thought, and sighed, and took the wineglass. Martha's smile was brighter than the lit star on the tree and she tossed the coat over the stair railing with an air of victory.
"I do need to sleep at some point, you know," Beckett said, as she sipped her wine. Another merlot. Martha was consistent.
Martha led her back to the overstuffed chairs by the window. "Oh, that's fine. Did I ever tell you about the West Coast tour? That puts Rick to sleep like a charm…"
---:::---
And at some point, I need to heave the rest of the library onto AO3, since I have the account there and all. Enh, eventually.