AN: So, here's my Christmas fic. I won't lie, it's pretty predictable and actually based on an old Christmas tale. I'm curious if anybody can guess which story inspired this fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.

Richard Rodgers releases of sigh of contentment, nuzzling into the warm body of his wife next to him in bed. Curling in closer, he wraps an arm around her while simultaneously burrowing under the covers. He needs the heat, and so does she. As much as he loves the snow and winter, having the heat being turned off doesn't exactly do it for him.

A soft hum from Kate interrupts his thoughts as she turns, eyes still hazy with sleep.

"Morning babe," she greets, giving him a soft kiss on the lips. "Cold?"

Placing a kiss on her neck, he mumbles "A little, but I can fix that." His hand drifts to her hip, squeezing.

She lets out a soft chuckle before sitting up. "As much as I would love to do that, I do have to get to work." Sighing, she slips on her robe, heading into the kitchen. "We both get paid this week, so the heating bill can be paid off."

"Thank god," he mumbles as he dresses. Money's tight as it is, both of them struggling to make ends meet, with her job as a rookie cop and he a waiter. He wishes he could give her more, but right now, it isn't an option.

Trekking into the kitchen, he grabs her travel mug, passing it her as the coffee pot boils.

"So, anything on your Christmas list?" he inquires.

A hint of a smile touches her lips before she frowns. "You know we can't do gifts this year."

"Doesn't hurt to ask," he teases.

She tosses him an eye roll before putting on her watch. As she does so, he frowns, noting the band. The leather strap is practically in tatters, the edges fraying and the middle coming apart. He knows she's been to the watch repairer numerous times over the years, unwilling to part with the heirloom. However, he knows another visit is not going to happen anytime soon.

"I really hope this doesn't come apart," she mumbles, grabbing her mug. "I'll see you later, Babe." She leaves him with a quick peck on the lips.

Once Kate departs, he prepares himself for work, realizing he still has another two hours until his shift.

Sauntering into the bedroom, he plops himself at the small desk, grabbing the ball point fountain pen he's had for years, scribbling down some more of the manuscript he's been working on. Time flies and soon words fill six pages, not really a record for him, but still pretty good.

Placing his pen down, a groan emanates from him as it rolls until it falls and winds up behind the desk. He really should get a case for it.

Once he retrieves the utensil, he goes off to work, hoping for decent tips. Maybe the holiday season will make the customers generous.

He can only dream.

Kate traipses through the snow, the crunch of her footsteps blending in with the chaos of Rockefeller Center as she watches the crowd. Most huddle near the giant tree, posing for pictures. Others stand around the ice rink, observing the skaters whirl around the rink with their loved ones, their expressions relaxed and full of joy.

The sight fills Kate with nostalgia for the Christmases of her childhood. The carefree and innocent nature of it all. Now, she's bogged down with bills and the stress of a low paying job. However, she's not unhappy, mostly. She's has Rick, her loving husband, and they make do with what they have. However, she often longs to be able to give him more, but she knows her love is enough for him, and his is enough for her.

As she travels, she swears the patrol route is teasing her as she passes all the high-end shops, the windows displaying the expensive gifts and advertisements for the season. She briefly envies those who flit in and out of the shops without a second thought, while she and Rick can't even afford a decent tree to display in their small living room. The feeling doesn't last as she notices some guy harassing shoppers.

Shaking her head, she waves him off with a warning before continuing her walk. Soon, she hits a shop, one that specializes in art and writing supplies. She peers through the glass, examining the different products inside, lips twitching as she spots several things her husband would love on the displays. Her eyes slide to the prices, wincing at the numbers on the tags before stepping back. Yeah, no way.

A moment later, her radio crackles, calling her back to the squad car. Sighing, she obeys the order, chancing one last look at the shop, her lips forming into a thin line.

She really wishes she could afford one gift this year.