Ferret Calm, Ferret Bright-A subdued sequel to Silent Night, Ferret Night and A Business of Ferrets
Title: Ferret Calm, Ferret Bright
WC: ~1100
Rating: T
Summary: "Kevin and Jenny's place is wall-to-wall cheer and slightly tipsy people. Castle tries to see it for what it is: A neat, welcoming space all dressed up for the holidays. Their last hurrah with friends before the baby arrives. He tries to see that, but he's having flashbacks."
A/N: So first there was Muppet47's Waiting Game, which is BEST ACTUAL. And then Msolly was generous enough to let me borrow the ferret for Silent Night, Ferret Night last Christmas. And then Brain wrote A Business of Ferrets last New Year's.
And then there was this. Different from the lunacy of those two stories, but still firmly situated in the Ferret-Verse.
It's three chapters and then a complicated epilogue that will tie back to a chapter of Material Witness. I think.
Kevin and Jenny's place is wall-to-wall cheer and slightly tipsy people. Castle tries to see it for what it is: A warm, welcoming space all dressed up for the holidays. Their last hurrah with friends before the baby arrives. He tries to see that, but he's having flashbacks.
Holly berry conception wedges and sparkly foil babies dance out of the corner of his eye and disappear every time he turns to face the horror head on. They mercifully dissolve into something close to normal. Bright plaid bunting that is 100% ferret free. Wobbly snowflakes hand-cut from silver paper dangle here and there, a gift from Jenny's class. A cutesy nativity scene with a cardboard manger that's seen better days. One and only one baby in sight, tucked away in his manger.
Just flashbacks, he tells himself. But a peal of laughter goes up from a knot of people and he stiffens. He could swear he heard a war cry, dying away. Flashbacks, he tells himself again, and he knows he's not alone.
Lanie has a tight hold on Esposito. They're both drinking, slow but steady, and Lanie keeps him walking. Strolling the perimeter because it makes him feel like he's in control. Castle meets Lanie's eyes across the room. She nods. Esposito's ok. They're all going to be ok.
It's easy to believe it. Mostly easy. The party is fun. Everything's on the sweet side, and if it were anyone but Kevin and Jenny he might hate it a little. But she's radiant and he's that ridiculous mixture of nerves and pride and adoration. They're magic together. It's like their wedding all over again and Castle's envious of it. Of Christmas cookies and wine. Burl Ives running low beneath the hum of friends and it's . . . lovely.
They have the world's weirdest receiving line going. Someone decided it was a good idea to rub Jenny's belly for luck, and now almost everyone's in on it. A chain of laughing, red-cheeked friends, shoving their way through the living room.
No one is necessarily getting anywhere. People join the queue and wander away. They crowd around and cut in front of one another with good-natured profanity. They blush and duck their heads when Jenny scolds. They point guilty fingers at one another and mutter apologies.
Lanie tugs Espo to the front. He scowls and recoils, but Jenny laughs. She throws open the swingy hem of her cheery Christmas sweater and grabs his hand. A little shout ripples through the four of them.
Not a war cry, Castle tells himself.
And it's not. It's the furthest thing. Javier's face lights up. He crouches and whispers something to the bump. Jenny swats at his ear and Lanie follows up with a sharp tug. They all grin and pretend not to notice that Esposito seems to have something in his eye all of a sudden. That Ryan does, too.
Lanie turns. She throws a smile to Castle over her shoulder. A little something loosens in him. It's ok. They're all ok.
Mostly.
Kate's gone again. He's trying not to notice. He's trying not to wonder where.
He's been keeping an eye on her. It's been getting on her nerves. This makes the third time she's ducked him.
It's fine. He tells himself that and mostly believes it. She's not gone. She hasn't left, so there's that. But she's ducking him.
She was in line just a little while ago. At the tail end, nodding at someone's story and sipping steadily at her wine. It's the last he saw of her. She's out of sight now. Just out of sight, not gone.
He should let it go. Give her the space she obviously wants.
He just wants her to be ok, that's all, and he's pretty sure she's not. She was. She has been, most of the evening. Happy and a little drunk. Smiling hard and throwing herself into the party. For Kevin and Jenny. For him. Because she wants to be ok, and for her it's not flashbacks or last year's Christmas-themed baby-making den that are the problem. It's not about ferrets and flinching at the tinkle of every tiny bell.
She's been winding down, little by little. It's Christmas in general, not just last Christmas, and he worries even though he shouldn't. Even though it gets on her nerves.
It's just that she's a happy drunk right up to the point that she's not. And the last time he saw her-the last time before she started ducking him-he thinks she was at the tipping point.
It happens fast, and he doesn't have a lot of experience with it. She's pretty careful.
She's a cop. Drinking's practically in the job description to begin with, and for a woman crashing the old boys club . . . well. She drinks. She's just careful.
It's understandable. It's interesting. Or it used to be. When there wasn't a them yet, it was interesting. A character point to build from.
He thought for a long time it was her dad. She'd told him the story early on. Before he probably deserved to know.
He'd watched her so carefully then. Noticed everything in his will to know her. But this was different. Poignant and mixed up with the first thing she'd really shared with him. The first willing story and all the details rising up from it.
How careful she was. Always. The way she'd knock back her first with gusto. Beer or some kind of shot. Nothing mixed unless the evening dragged on. Never wine unless it was just Ryan.
And the second round was always on her. He'd noticed that, too, and the way she'd always skip that one. The way she'd hit the bar with her almost-empty glass and head back with the same one. The same almost-empty close to her body and her hands clutched loosely around fresh ones for everybody else.
For a long time, he figured that was the whole of it. Her dad. Bad memories of the worst time in her life. Of the life she saved and shouldn't have had to. Bad memories that made her careful.
He knows now it's only part of it. That's part of it. Genes and destiny maybe, but he's been on the wrong side of the door once or twice. He knows it's more than that. He's watched the moment happen knows some of it's her, too. Some of it's the fact that she's happy drunk right up until she isn't.
And he can't pretend he's not worried about that.