Every Wrong Move-A Caskett One-Shot set (USA) Thanksgiving 2015
Title: Every Wrong Move:
Summary: "She reaches for a smile, something that says she believes it's really enough, but she's already thinking. Already dismissing it and knowing that she isn't really. That she's doing this, or she's damned well going to try, however many ways it's crazy."
A/N: One shot, set (USA) Thanksgiving, 2015. Spoilers up through Mr. & Mrs. Castle (8 x 08)
I owe my soul to each fork in the road,
each misleading sign.
'Cause even in solitude, no bitter attitude
can dissolve my sweetest find
Thanksgiving for every wrong move that made it right.
- "Thanksgiving," Poi Dog Pondering
"It'll be fun," he says, and means it. In a way, he means it.
He nudges closer to her. Manhandles her a little. Possessive, and that makes her blood pound. He's still furious. Controlled, but furious, and she has to bite her tongue. She has to stop apologizing, because that makes it worse for him, and she's still figuring that out. Still accepting that it's how he works.
That there are some ways they're not so different and some ways they are. That he swallows all of it down, just like she does. Fury and hurt and fear. He swallows it down, but for him, somehow, it's not toxic. It's how he sifts through everything. How he can be so maddeningly level-headed and articulate when the confrontation comes.
"Fun," she echoes and wishes that it didn't sound so dubious. So sorrowful. Wishes she could stop making it worse, but it's too late. He turns playful. Forcing it and not, because this is him, too. Mischievous and thrilled with the two of them, even at the worst of times.
"Grilled cheese. Tomato soup out of a can." He brings his mouth to her ear and makes her shiver. "We won't even have to get dressed. That's way fun."
His hands are moving over her. His lips on her spine and the insistent weight of his body pressing into hers.
"Way fun," she moans faintly before she's lost again.
It's a crazy idea in a dozen different ways. She tells herself that from the beginning. From the middle-of-the-night moment when she has to leave, and he's the one consoling her.
"Not long," he whispers, coming up behind her. Fastening the button she can't reach at the nape of her neck, because her limbs are heavy and sore. Turning her body to fit it snugly against his own. "Thanksgiving. Just the two of us. The whole day."
"Fun." She reaches for a smile, something that says she believes it's really enough, but she's already thinking. Already dismissing it and knowing that she isn't really. That she's doing this, or she's damned well going to try, however many ways it's crazy.
There's no time, for one thing. She's down to days. Almost down to hours she can count on fingers and toes. His and hers finger toes, anyway.
But she pushes on. She damned well tries, and here she is groveling. Exposing every part of herself that's still raw and terrified. Begging, and that's so not in her nature.
She knows that. Every single one of them knows that it's not in her nature. She sees the truth of it staring back at her when she knocks on Kevin and Jenny's door. On Lanie's and Espo's, and when Alexis and Martha half rise from the booth in the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop halfway across town and sink back down, heavy with relief. Holding on to one another. She sees it in her dad's eyes. Caution. A wary kind of hope. Because it's not in her nature to ask for anything.
She sees the same thing over and over. Surprise. Doubt. But love, too. For him. It feels like that at first. That when they soften and nod and say they'll make it work somehow-they'll figure it out-it has to be for him, because who would do it for her?
That's what it feels like, and she sinks lower and lower with it, because he was right and here's proof in spades that she's broken. That she doesn't know how to think of herself any other way, even with Jenny pulling her into a hug, her swelling midsection between them, and Kevin's hand on her back, both of them murmuring relief. Congratulations and conviction that they'd known the two of them would find their way. Even with Lanie squeezing her fingers until they ache, telling her it's about damned time over and over. Even with her dad looking like a weight is lifting from his shoulders, right then and there it's hard.
It's so hard to think that any of it could possibly be for her.
He's oblivious. Utterly unaware and it's wonderful and terrible at once.
She's butterflies from head to toe and she's missed that. The giddy, girlish pleasure she's learned from him. That she had to learn all over again, after her mom, though if anyone had asked she'd have said she couldn't. Not ever.
But here she is. Excited. Nail biting and prone to grin too hard, and he catches her. He closes his fingers around hers and twirls her. Backs her into dead-end hallways and dark-enough corners and kisses her. Presses a too-hard grin of his own to hers and whispers, I know. I missed you and it's so hard not to . . . I know.
It's wonderful until the middle of the night. Until she's alone again on cold, rock-hard extended-stay mattress, because that's how they're doing this. It's how they have to do this, and neither of them should be grinning in public.
Then it's not wonderful. Then she misses him and second guesses herself and thinks he'll hate it. Thinks that all he really wants is what they talked about. Her sneaking into the loft. The two of them. Grilled cheese and tomato soup out of a can. The two of them and no one else after all this time apart.
Then she lies awake thinking how much could go wrong. What a stupid risk it is, and for what? Nothing he'd miss if she did nothing more than they'd planned.
Except it's not nothing, and she knows that. When she thinks of him holding her in the dark. Easing her arms into the sleeves of her coat like it's nothing. Like it's any other middle-of-the-night and she's gotten a call. The kiss he gives her and the way he whispers, Soon. See you soon.
When she thinks of that. His strength and sheer kindness, a stillness comes over her. Steely, determined butterflies that curl her hands into fists and she knows it's the right thing.
The necessary thing, because there's the two of them and then there's this world around them. This family in all its strange, unshakable connections, and she wants to show him that she knows. That it's hard-it's so hard for her to believe-but she knows it is for her as much as him. This love, day in and day out. This happiness that they have each other at last.
She knows it's for them and she has to do this, however many ways it's crazy.
Slipping into the building is easy enough. So easy that guilt flares again. He was right. It could have been this way all along. The garage two doors down has a narrow passage no one seems to know about. It twists once, the sinks below street level, leading right up to the old storm cellar.
It's that easy, but there's no time to dwell. No time to beat herself up for the fact that she doesn't have to so much as turn her face away from a passing janitor before she makes it to the front door. Before she's gliding soundlessly through the hall and into the bedroom. Easing the double doors soundlessly closed behind her.
It's that easy, and his heavy lids are flickering open, though she's been quieter than quiet. He's smiling half in his sleep. Clumsily lifting the covers on her side of the bed, but she perches on the margin on his side, her heart going small and big again when she realizes he leaves room for her, whether she's here or not. That he must have been leaving room for her all along.
"Cold," he murmurs as she leans down to kiss him, and she is. The day will be mild, but the sun won't show its face for hours yet and there's dew clinging to her hair. To the lashes that flutter and tangle with his.
"Is that a complaint?" She dives for the hollow of his collar bone and plants the freezing tip of her nose against his skin.
"Never!" He yelps, but he's already undressing her. He's already half sitting up. Already half pulling her onto his own body and over to the far side of the bed. Her side. He's already rolling on top of her. Warmth and weight. "Never," he says again, his palms practically burning her skin as he bares it. As he strips away scarf and jacket and top. "Cold. A problem to solve."
"But I like it out of the can."
He's sulking. Chin on his fists and elbows on the counter, but it's a feint. She knows long before he lunges for her, and she's already dancing to the far side of the island, one can in each hand, securely tucked behind her back.
"No you don't." She sticks her tongue out at him. "My nonna's recipe is to die for. And no one likes it out of the can."
He opens his mouth to argue. To lie, and a shadow passes over his face. A somber instant that reminds her he's just as raw as she is in this. Just as battle weary.
"I don't want to go out," he says instead. An adjacent truth. "You said we didn't have to get dressed."
That brings the spark back. The wickedness, but she can't let him win this one. However much the way he's looking at her makes her want to. The way he's licking his lips and baring his teeth.
"You said that!" She backs away, half suspicious that he's suspicious. That he's guessed she's up to something.
"Ah, but you agreed it would be fun." He catches her. A sudden move and he has her around the waist. He takes the cans from her and sets them carelessly aside as he backs her up against something. Cabinets. Wall. With his teeth on her skin she can't tell. "Way fun. Your exact words."
"I want to do something for you." Her voice is all kinds of things it shouldn't be. Breathy and wanting, yes. Of course, that.
But . . . meek.
Shy.
Embarrassed.
Pleading.
It's all the things she's not and she can't be. Especially now. The things she shouldn't and doesn't allow herself to be, ever. Ever, and it has him pulling back.
"Kate." He swallows hard. Closes his eyes, like he's rehearsing. Or sifting for the truth of things, maybe. Shaping whatever he wants to say into this new, careful honesty with all its sharp edges. "This is enough." He pauses. A minute nod like he's sure of it. What he's said and what he will say. "You're here. We're together. You don't need . . ."
"I want to, Castle." It's a lie. It's the truth. It's what she needs to do. To show him. "Please. It won't . . . we'll be back before you know it." She slips out from under his arm. Holds her hand out. "Please?"
"Back before I know it?" He folds his arms over his chest. Glowers. Teasing, but making her work for it, too. Making her come to him and wriggle her fingers into his. Making her tug him along, even though he's given in already. Even though he comes along, dragging his feet. "Fine. But naked for the rest of the day."
"Naked," she agrees, laughing. Shivering and second guessing all over again. "The whole rest of the day."
He's impossible to get out of the loft. Almost impossible, until she bluffs.
"You're right, Castle," she says with wide, innocent eyes. "No reason we both have to go. You stay. I'll be . . ."
"Not a chance." He snags her by the loop of her jeans before she even reaches the door handle. He spins her around again. Presses her back and kisses her hard. "The day. You promised me a whole day."
"Then come on." She slips on a giant pair of glasses. Pulls a wide scarf over her hair, and he's into it all of a sudden. Totally into disguises and staggered departures. Totally into the adventure
He runs to the office and back, a ball cap and two new-looking metro cards in hand. "Aliases."
"Aliases." She arches an eyebrow, but doesn't ask. Decides not to ask, because he's into the intrigue. Because she is, and playing at it this-treating it like some kind of grand adventure-might be the only way she finds the courage to step out the front door without him.
She holds her breath until she spots him on the subway platform. It takes her a second, even though there's no more than a handful of people waiting for the next train. Clerks and servers and shift-workers unlucky enough to have drawn the holiday short straw. Underground dwellers with their pull-along wire shopping carts.
And him, blending in somehow. Fixated on his phone, and she doesn't know how she forgot that he's good at this when he wants to be. That he thinks on his feet and he's never been a liability, not matter how many years she spent selling that particular lie to herself.
She stares down hard at the ground, guilt choking her. Fear of failure-fear of screwing this up and losing him-blurring her vision, and it's dangerous. All this feeling is dangerous and she's on the brink of calling it off again. Calling it all off when he catches her eye and winks. Catches her eye and makes her fall in love with him all over again.
Makes her remember that she doesn't have to be broken. She doesn't have to be alone.
"What is it?" He startles her. Scares the hell out of her, truly, because she didn't hear him at all.
"Castle," she cuts him off, giving her watch an irritated glance. "You're early. And we're not supposed to . . ."
"It's a deserted alley." He crowds into her. Has his hands all over her. "It might be the deserted-est alley in all of New York."
"Deserted-est?" She laughs against his cheek. She can't help it. All giddy butterflies again.
"Shut up," he mumbles into her mouth. "Who's the wordsmith here?"
That rouses her. Settles the butterflies with a flare of fear. "And who's in law enforcement?" She curls her fingers around his lapels and jerks hard enough to make him look at her. "If this is gonna work-if we're going to go after this together . . ."
"I know." He presses a kiss to her forehead and steps back. "I know, Kate. And I'll . . . I'll behave." His mouth twists. There's a glint in his eye, and he's not giving in. "But we're here. And I've gotta know. What could possibly be in your Nonna's tomato soup that requires dragging all the way . . ."
"Let's see." She tugs at him. Tugs at the door at her back. "Let's go see."
He's speechless for the second time since she's known him. Absolutely speechless, and it's just as well. It's deafening. The little hole-in-the-wall restaurant crowded, its cloth-covered tables groaning under the weight of what has to be two dozen desserts.
Absolutely wall-to-wall with their friends. With their family, and the cheers are deafening. The applause, and then the two of them are being swung around the room. From one set of arms to the other and who knows what anyone is saying other than they're glad. They're truly glad.
"You did this?" He makes his way to her, somehow. Plucks Sarah Grace from her hip and hands the squealing, delighted little girl off to Alexis. "Kate. You . . . they know?"
She takes a breath. Screws up her courage, because she hasn't really faced it yet. The whole of it. "Enough," she says, taking his hand. "What they need . . ." she nods from Jenny to her Dad. To Martha and Alexis and Ryan and Esposito. "To keep safe. And to be . . . to be our family."
"You did this." He says it again. Awed.
"It's not . . ." She's blushing. Uncomfortable, because it seems like so little. "Not a real Thanksgiving. People . . . Jenny and Kevin have to go to family . . . and my dad promised Aunt Theresa . . . but I thought we could all . . . " She stammers. He's silent. Holding her hand tight with his face all lit up. "I needed to do this."
"You didn't, Kate. I meant what I said. You didn't need to do any more than you had when you came home." He takes a step toward her. Ducks into her downcast line of sight and kisses her softly. Sweetly. "But I'm grateful. I'm so grateful you did."
A/N: I am likewise grateful to the people, too many to name, who reach out in kindness and support. I'm sorry that I let that get lost in the other crap, but I am truly grateful.
Summary: "She reaches for a smile, something that says she believes it's really enough, but she's already thinking. Already dismissing it and knowing that she isn't really. That she's doing this, or she's damned well going to try, however many ways it's crazy."
A/N: One shot, set (USA) Thanksgiving, 2015. Spoilers up through Mr. & Mrs. Castle (8 x 08)
I owe my soul to each fork in the road,
each misleading sign.
'Cause even in solitude, no bitter attitude
can dissolve my sweetest find
Thanksgiving for every wrong move that made it right.
- "Thanksgiving," Poi Dog Pondering
"It'll be fun," he says, and means it. In a way, he means it.
He nudges closer to her. Manhandles her a little. Possessive, and that makes her blood pound. He's still furious. Controlled, but furious, and she has to bite her tongue. She has to stop apologizing, because that makes it worse for him, and she's still figuring that out. Still accepting that it's how he works.
That there are some ways they're not so different and some ways they are. That he swallows all of it down, just like she does. Fury and hurt and fear. He swallows it down, but for him, somehow, it's not toxic. It's how he sifts through everything. How he can be so maddeningly level-headed and articulate when the confrontation comes.
"Fun," she echoes and wishes that it didn't sound so dubious. So sorrowful. Wishes she could stop making it worse, but it's too late. He turns playful. Forcing it and not, because this is him, too. Mischievous and thrilled with the two of them, even at the worst of times.
"Grilled cheese. Tomato soup out of a can." He brings his mouth to her ear and makes her shiver. "We won't even have to get dressed. That's way fun."
His hands are moving over her. His lips on her spine and the insistent weight of his body pressing into hers.
"Way fun," she moans faintly before she's lost again.
It's a crazy idea in a dozen different ways. She tells herself that from the beginning. From the middle-of-the-night moment when she has to leave, and he's the one consoling her.
"Not long," he whispers, coming up behind her. Fastening the button she can't reach at the nape of her neck, because her limbs are heavy and sore. Turning her body to fit it snugly against his own. "Thanksgiving. Just the two of us. The whole day."
"Fun." She reaches for a smile, something that says she believes it's really enough, but she's already thinking. Already dismissing it and knowing that she isn't really. That she's doing this, or she's damned well going to try, however many ways it's crazy.
There's no time, for one thing. She's down to days. Almost down to hours she can count on fingers and toes. His and hers finger toes, anyway.
But she pushes on. She damned well tries, and here she is groveling. Exposing every part of herself that's still raw and terrified. Begging, and that's so not in her nature.
She knows that. Every single one of them knows that it's not in her nature. She sees the truth of it staring back at her when she knocks on Kevin and Jenny's door. On Lanie's and Espo's, and when Alexis and Martha half rise from the booth in the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop halfway across town and sink back down, heavy with relief. Holding on to one another. She sees it in her dad's eyes. Caution. A wary kind of hope. Because it's not in her nature to ask for anything.
She sees the same thing over and over. Surprise. Doubt. But love, too. For him. It feels like that at first. That when they soften and nod and say they'll make it work somehow-they'll figure it out-it has to be for him, because who would do it for her?
That's what it feels like, and she sinks lower and lower with it, because he was right and here's proof in spades that she's broken. That she doesn't know how to think of herself any other way, even with Jenny pulling her into a hug, her swelling midsection between them, and Kevin's hand on her back, both of them murmuring relief. Congratulations and conviction that they'd known the two of them would find their way. Even with Lanie squeezing her fingers until they ache, telling her it's about damned time over and over. Even with her dad looking like a weight is lifting from his shoulders, right then and there it's hard.
It's so hard to think that any of it could possibly be for her.
He's oblivious. Utterly unaware and it's wonderful and terrible at once.
She's butterflies from head to toe and she's missed that. The giddy, girlish pleasure she's learned from him. That she had to learn all over again, after her mom, though if anyone had asked she'd have said she couldn't. Not ever.
But here she is. Excited. Nail biting and prone to grin too hard, and he catches her. He closes his fingers around hers and twirls her. Backs her into dead-end hallways and dark-enough corners and kisses her. Presses a too-hard grin of his own to hers and whispers, I know. I missed you and it's so hard not to . . . I know.
It's wonderful until the middle of the night. Until she's alone again on cold, rock-hard extended-stay mattress, because that's how they're doing this. It's how they have to do this, and neither of them should be grinning in public.
Then it's not wonderful. Then she misses him and second guesses herself and thinks he'll hate it. Thinks that all he really wants is what they talked about. Her sneaking into the loft. The two of them. Grilled cheese and tomato soup out of a can. The two of them and no one else after all this time apart.
Then she lies awake thinking how much could go wrong. What a stupid risk it is, and for what? Nothing he'd miss if she did nothing more than they'd planned.
Except it's not nothing, and she knows that. When she thinks of him holding her in the dark. Easing her arms into the sleeves of her coat like it's nothing. Like it's any other middle-of-the-night and she's gotten a call. The kiss he gives her and the way he whispers, Soon. See you soon.
When she thinks of that. His strength and sheer kindness, a stillness comes over her. Steely, determined butterflies that curl her hands into fists and she knows it's the right thing.
The necessary thing, because there's the two of them and then there's this world around them. This family in all its strange, unshakable connections, and she wants to show him that she knows. That it's hard-it's so hard for her to believe-but she knows it is for her as much as him. This love, day in and day out. This happiness that they have each other at last.
She knows it's for them and she has to do this, however many ways it's crazy.
Slipping into the building is easy enough. So easy that guilt flares again. He was right. It could have been this way all along. The garage two doors down has a narrow passage no one seems to know about. It twists once, the sinks below street level, leading right up to the old storm cellar.
It's that easy, but there's no time to dwell. No time to beat herself up for the fact that she doesn't have to so much as turn her face away from a passing janitor before she makes it to the front door. Before she's gliding soundlessly through the hall and into the bedroom. Easing the double doors soundlessly closed behind her.
It's that easy, and his heavy lids are flickering open, though she's been quieter than quiet. He's smiling half in his sleep. Clumsily lifting the covers on her side of the bed, but she perches on the margin on his side, her heart going small and big again when she realizes he leaves room for her, whether she's here or not. That he must have been leaving room for her all along.
"Cold," he murmurs as she leans down to kiss him, and she is. The day will be mild, but the sun won't show its face for hours yet and there's dew clinging to her hair. To the lashes that flutter and tangle with his.
"Is that a complaint?" She dives for the hollow of his collar bone and plants the freezing tip of her nose against his skin.
"Never!" He yelps, but he's already undressing her. He's already half sitting up. Already half pulling her onto his own body and over to the far side of the bed. Her side. He's already rolling on top of her. Warmth and weight. "Never," he says again, his palms practically burning her skin as he bares it. As he strips away scarf and jacket and top. "Cold. A problem to solve."
"But I like it out of the can."
He's sulking. Chin on his fists and elbows on the counter, but it's a feint. She knows long before he lunges for her, and she's already dancing to the far side of the island, one can in each hand, securely tucked behind her back.
"No you don't." She sticks her tongue out at him. "My nonna's recipe is to die for. And no one likes it out of the can."
He opens his mouth to argue. To lie, and a shadow passes over his face. A somber instant that reminds her he's just as raw as she is in this. Just as battle weary.
"I don't want to go out," he says instead. An adjacent truth. "You said we didn't have to get dressed."
That brings the spark back. The wickedness, but she can't let him win this one. However much the way he's looking at her makes her want to. The way he's licking his lips and baring his teeth.
"You said that!" She backs away, half suspicious that he's suspicious. That he's guessed she's up to something.
"Ah, but you agreed it would be fun." He catches her. A sudden move and he has her around the waist. He takes the cans from her and sets them carelessly aside as he backs her up against something. Cabinets. Wall. With his teeth on her skin she can't tell. "Way fun. Your exact words."
"I want to do something for you." Her voice is all kinds of things it shouldn't be. Breathy and wanting, yes. Of course, that.
But . . . meek.
Shy.
Embarrassed.
Pleading.
It's all the things she's not and she can't be. Especially now. The things she shouldn't and doesn't allow herself to be, ever. Ever, and it has him pulling back.
"Kate." He swallows hard. Closes his eyes, like he's rehearsing. Or sifting for the truth of things, maybe. Shaping whatever he wants to say into this new, careful honesty with all its sharp edges. "This is enough." He pauses. A minute nod like he's sure of it. What he's said and what he will say. "You're here. We're together. You don't need . . ."
"I want to, Castle." It's a lie. It's the truth. It's what she needs to do. To show him. "Please. It won't . . . we'll be back before you know it." She slips out from under his arm. Holds her hand out. "Please?"
"Back before I know it?" He folds his arms over his chest. Glowers. Teasing, but making her work for it, too. Making her come to him and wriggle her fingers into his. Making her tug him along, even though he's given in already. Even though he comes along, dragging his feet. "Fine. But naked for the rest of the day."
"Naked," she agrees, laughing. Shivering and second guessing all over again. "The whole rest of the day."
He's impossible to get out of the loft. Almost impossible, until she bluffs.
"You're right, Castle," she says with wide, innocent eyes. "No reason we both have to go. You stay. I'll be . . ."
"Not a chance." He snags her by the loop of her jeans before she even reaches the door handle. He spins her around again. Presses her back and kisses her hard. "The day. You promised me a whole day."
"Then come on." She slips on a giant pair of glasses. Pulls a wide scarf over her hair, and he's into it all of a sudden. Totally into disguises and staggered departures. Totally into the adventure
He runs to the office and back, a ball cap and two new-looking metro cards in hand. "Aliases."
"Aliases." She arches an eyebrow, but doesn't ask. Decides not to ask, because he's into the intrigue. Because she is, and playing at it this-treating it like some kind of grand adventure-might be the only way she finds the courage to step out the front door without him.
She holds her breath until she spots him on the subway platform. It takes her a second, even though there's no more than a handful of people waiting for the next train. Clerks and servers and shift-workers unlucky enough to have drawn the holiday short straw. Underground dwellers with their pull-along wire shopping carts.
And him, blending in somehow. Fixated on his phone, and she doesn't know how she forgot that he's good at this when he wants to be. That he thinks on his feet and he's never been a liability, not matter how many years she spent selling that particular lie to herself.
She stares down hard at the ground, guilt choking her. Fear of failure-fear of screwing this up and losing him-blurring her vision, and it's dangerous. All this feeling is dangerous and she's on the brink of calling it off again. Calling it all off when he catches her eye and winks. Catches her eye and makes her fall in love with him all over again.
Makes her remember that she doesn't have to be broken. She doesn't have to be alone.
"What is it?" He startles her. Scares the hell out of her, truly, because she didn't hear him at all.
"Castle," she cuts him off, giving her watch an irritated glance. "You're early. And we're not supposed to . . ."
"It's a deserted alley." He crowds into her. Has his hands all over her. "It might be the deserted-est alley in all of New York."
"Deserted-est?" She laughs against his cheek. She can't help it. All giddy butterflies again.
"Shut up," he mumbles into her mouth. "Who's the wordsmith here?"
That rouses her. Settles the butterflies with a flare of fear. "And who's in law enforcement?" She curls her fingers around his lapels and jerks hard enough to make him look at her. "If this is gonna work-if we're going to go after this together . . ."
"I know." He presses a kiss to her forehead and steps back. "I know, Kate. And I'll . . . I'll behave." His mouth twists. There's a glint in his eye, and he's not giving in. "But we're here. And I've gotta know. What could possibly be in your Nonna's tomato soup that requires dragging all the way . . ."
"Let's see." She tugs at him. Tugs at the door at her back. "Let's go see."
He's speechless for the second time since she's known him. Absolutely speechless, and it's just as well. It's deafening. The little hole-in-the-wall restaurant crowded, its cloth-covered tables groaning under the weight of what has to be two dozen desserts.
Absolutely wall-to-wall with their friends. With their family, and the cheers are deafening. The applause, and then the two of them are being swung around the room. From one set of arms to the other and who knows what anyone is saying other than they're glad. They're truly glad.
"You did this?" He makes his way to her, somehow. Plucks Sarah Grace from her hip and hands the squealing, delighted little girl off to Alexis. "Kate. You . . . they know?"
She takes a breath. Screws up her courage, because she hasn't really faced it yet. The whole of it. "Enough," she says, taking his hand. "What they need . . ." she nods from Jenny to her Dad. To Martha and Alexis and Ryan and Esposito. "To keep safe. And to be . . . to be our family."
"You did this." He says it again. Awed.
"It's not . . ." She's blushing. Uncomfortable, because it seems like so little. "Not a real Thanksgiving. People . . . Jenny and Kevin have to go to family . . . and my dad promised Aunt Theresa . . . but I thought we could all . . . " She stammers. He's silent. Holding her hand tight with his face all lit up. "I needed to do this."
"You didn't, Kate. I meant what I said. You didn't need to do any more than you had when you came home." He takes a step toward her. Ducks into her downcast line of sight and kisses her softly. Sweetly. "But I'm grateful. I'm so grateful you did."
A/N: I am likewise grateful to the people, too many to name, who reach out in kindness and support. I'm sorry that I let that get lost in the other crap, but I am truly grateful.