fortuitous.

Because this idea would not leave me alone.

fortuitous: (adjective) happening by chance rather than design

He finds her leaning over the sink, her palms pressed to the countertop, a mug sitting next to her hand. Her shoulders are tense, her knees locked, her chin resting against her chest, making her hair part over the back of her neck and cascade over her shoulders. She's still wearing the yoga pants she wore to bed last night, along with her baggy, grey NYPD hoodie. She looks so vulnerable, in the kitchen's dim light.

He walks over to her, worry creasing his forehead and furrowing his brows. She's not usually up this early, not on her days off after finally wrapping up a long case. And even when she is, she's not standing in the kitchen, alone and tense. No, she's usually wrapped in his arms, fingers trailing up and down his chest, relaxed and peaceful. For a minute, as he approaches her, he wonders if she had a nightmare.

It's not impossible, really. Though their case wasn't overly...strange or gruesome, it was long and strenuous. Their killer, however inexperienced, did an extremely good job at covering their tracks. In fact, they did so well, that on multiple occasions, the team thought it was a professional job...or a serial killer. And those are the kinds of cases no cop ever wants to deal with. Luckily, though, they caught the killer yesterday, and to say Kate was relieved that it was just a normal case would be the understatement of the century.

They took a bath last night, her back pressed against his chest, sipping wine and listening to the sounds of the water. She had been quiet but relaxed, resting in his arms as he held her close, pressing the occasional kiss to the crown of her head. It had been calm, serene in the privacy of their bathroom, just the two of them, oblivious to the rush of New York City, at least for the evening. It was wonderful.

So now, now that she's standing here in the kitchen, tense and alone and not in his arms in their bed, he's starting to wonder if the bliss of last night went down the drain with the water from their bath. He wonders if she spent the night haunted by memories and fears and Bracken and Tyson and Nieman like she sometimes does. He wonders if she spent the night alone on the couch, as he slept in their bed, oblivious to her pain. And, oh how he hopes she didn't.

He walks up behind her, his hands finding the curves of her hips, his chest pressing gently against her back. She jumps slightly, and that surprises him almost as much as finding her side of the bed empty had, because she usually knows he's coming before he's even in the room. And then she relaxes against him. He presses a soft kiss to the back of her head, his fingers splayed over her hipbones.

"You okay?" he whispers, his lips finding the shell of her ear through her thick, luscious hair. He squeezes her hips gently, pulling her a little closer. "You weren't in bed this morning. I'm not used to waking up alone anymore." His hand trails up her stomach to find the the base of her sternum, the split of her ribcage, and he pulls her back against him.

Her head falls against his shoulder. "Sorry," she whispers, her breath warm against his neck. He wants to tell her not to apologize, that he's sure whatever had her up so early was more important than his momentary annoyance at the cold sheets he had woken up next to. "Woke up and couldn't sleep," she adds as an explanation, her hand falling to rest over his on her hip.

He hums against her head, his lips finding her forehead for a brief moment as the noise fades away. "Really?" he asks, his voice as low as a whisper, as quiet as her gentle breaths. "Because you seemed kinda... tense when I walked in earlier," he explains, squeezing her hip again, "and you're drinking tea." Her head falls from his shoulder as he speaks the words, both their gazes landing on her mug of translucent golden liquid.

"Yeah," she confirms, her voice an embarrassed whisper that gets lost in the kitchen, as though she thought he wouldn't notice. She reaches down and her fingers wrap around the mug, which she takes a slow, careful sip from before setting it back on the counter. "I, uh… I'm just not feeling the best. Tea seemed more appealing than coffee." She shrugs as though it's nothing, but he knows better.

"You never drink tea. In fact, this tea is here because mother left it when she moved out. It's been sitting in the cupboard for months," he tells her, and the way her head falls, her gaze finding the sink, tells him she knows he's right. He lets his hand fall to the curve of her waist, and he turns her gently, slowly in his arms, until he can see her face and she's looking up at him. "Kate, what's wrong?"

She sighs, resigned, and her tense shoulders loosen slightly. "It's just cramps, Castle. You don't have to worry," she says softly, meeting his gaze once again. "I'm sure it's just that I'm due for my period soon or something like that. So don't freak out on me, okay?" Her hand finds his neck, fingers running through the hairs at his nape, a gentle, comforting caress. "I'm fine."

He presses his lips to hers gently, briefly, the soft kiss good morning that he usually gives her as soon as they wake up. "Okay. As long as you're sure, Kate." He reaches up, cradles her cheek in his palm and presses their lips together again. "And that you'll tell me if it gets worse," he adds as they pull apart, making her roll her eyes at his protective nature, but he knows she'll agree, just because she knows how much he loves her and how much he has to take care of her. "Humor me?" he asks, anyway.

She smiles. "Okay, Castle. If it gets worse, I'll tell you," she promises, still smiling at him despite her independent nature. He smiles back and squeezes her waist in silent thanks. "But I'm sure everything will be fine, and that a day in with my husband and movies will make it all better." Her hand trails down his neck, over his shoulder and to his bicep, which she squeezes gently. "Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," he whispers back.

She doesn't pay attention to the movie. His arm is draped over her shoulders, holding her close, and her head is on his shoulder. Her own arm is draped over her middle, hand pressing against the epicentre of her discomfort, and she tries to relax. She really does, tries to settle into his embrace and get lost in the story of the movie he downloaded from iTunes, but she really can't.

It wasn't a lie, really. It just...wasn't the whole truth, and part of her doubts that he really believes her, anyway. Because she knows that he won't push her for anything unless her thinks she's in danger, and with mild abdominal pain in the privacy of their home is not what either one of them consider danger, not after years of chasing killers and near death experiences.

But Castle knows her well, and knows her body just as well. At the end of the first day of her period, during the first month of their relationship, he had shown up at her door with a bottle of expensive wine and comfort food and they had spent the evening watching movies, how he had known it was her 'time of the month' remaining a secret for the sake of their new relationship. Now, though, now that they're married, he doesn't keep it a secret that he knows, and she certainly doesn't bother trying to hide it from him.

Usually, that's not a problem. In fact, she usually appreciates it, the way he tones down his theories and has her morning coffee ready before she can even open her eyes. And of course he knows she gets cramps during her period, cramps bad enough to have her taking medication at work, but they rarely wake her up, and he knows that, too. He knows her body in every way possible, and she loves that about him, but today, it might just work against her.

Because it wasn't a complete lie. No, it does feel just like cramps, mild pain that comes and goes in waves, tense muscles beneath her flesh, and she's truly sure that it's nothing to worry about. She just doesn't know why she's having cramps, because, as much as she does usually get cramps with her period, she's not actually due for her period for another week. And he'll figure that out soon enough.

It doesn't seem to be bothering him yet, though, because he sits back and watches the movie, his arm wrapped around her, holding her close. And she leans against him, leans on him, presses the heel of her hand against her stomach and watches the TV screen, watches the lights flash across it and listens to the voices that fill the living room as they stay silent. But she doesn't pay attention.

She laughs when he laughs, smiles up at him when he smiles down at her, accepts the gentle press of his lips when he offers it. But, really, when he asks her what she thought, she has nothing to say, because she really wasn't paying attention and she has no idea what happened in the movie, and that's when it suddenly seems to dawn on him.

His eyes fill with worry, his forehead creasing, his hand squeezing her shoulder. She smiles sheepishly, squeezes his thigh gently. His arm comes out from around her shoulders and his fingers curl gently around her neck, pulling her close until her cheek is cradled in his palm and his other hand is resting low on her abdomen, where he knows the cramps usually are.

"Is it that bad?" he asks, his voice getting lost in the living room, dancing to the song of the movie's credits until they fade away to nothing, and she's left staring into his eyes, her hand resting over his on her stomach. His eyes are wide with sympathy, with hurt at her pain, even though it's really not that bad. She's been through so much worse. "Kate?"

"No," she tells him. And it's true. It's not that bad. It's not fun, and it's gotten worse since the discomfort had her rolling out of bed during the early hours of the morning. But really, it's nothing to worry about, and she knows that. She's been on the verge of death too many times, and has been in pain bad enough to bring her to her knees way more than she ever imagined she would be, and in comparison, these cramps are nothing.

"Kate?" he says again, and this time he sounds truly suspicious, like he really thinks she's lying to him, or hiding how bad she's actually feeling from him. "Kate, you promised you would tell me if it got worse," he reminds her, and her eyes fall to his chest, because she did, and she hasn't told him, "so, please, tell me the truth. Has it gotten worse since this morning?"

She sighs. "A little," she answers him honestly. She squeezes his hand before he can say anything, though. "But, seriously, Castle, it's nothing. It's just a little worse. I'm fine." She smiles, hoping it's in some way reassuring. He still looks just as worried, though. "I promise. I'm fine," she repeats, squeezing his hand again. "Just, a little tired. Can we take a nap? An actual nap?"

He grins. "Anything you want," he whispers to her, his lips pressing gently against her forehead, the final word getting lost as a mumble against her skin. She smiles, leans into his touch. He pulls away and stands up, holding his hand out to her. She takes it, and lets him pull her to her feet. His arm wraps around her waist, pulls her close as he leads her to their bedroom.

He lets her lay down first. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and smiles up at him. With a few practiced twists of her wrist, she has her hair thrown up in a messy bun, and then she lays down, settling back against the pillows. He lays down on his side of the bed, waits for her to roll onto her side before pulling her against him, pressing his chest to her back and holding her close. The heel of his hand massages the skin near her hipbone, soothes some of the pain.

She doesn't sleep.

He doesn't sleep. He holds her in his arms and doesn't sleep. Because she's tense in his arms, shoulders square and abs flexed, and he's sure it's subconscious, but he still hates it. He hates it because it's as much evidence that she's in pain as is the fact that she doesn't sleep, either. He hates knowing she's hurting, and he hates not knowing why, and, most importantly, he hates knowing she's in pain and she doesn't know why.

They lay there for about half an hour, neither one of them willing to talk, both of them knowing that the other is awake, neither one of them wanting to address the elephant in the room. He holds her close, rubs small circles into the skin near her hipbone, remembering how that sometimes helps with her cramps, hoping he can bring her some kind of relief. But so far neither time nor medication has done anything, and he's not sure how much he can do for her, either.

Eventually, she starts rocking against his hand, searching for more pressure against the pain. He sighs to himself, realizing that it's still getting worse, and props himself up on one elbow, looking down at her face. He presses the heel of his hand harder against her hip, and her abdominal muscles tense once again, but she stops rocking, stops searching for relief that's not coming.

He eyes are squeezed shut now, her shoulders locked in a tense square. Her fingers are curled into a tight fist around the material of her hoodie, her entire body tense from the pain. He hates it. He hates seeing her like this, but he's never actually seen her like this before, especially not due to physical pain. But she looks almost pitiful, her entire body rocking back and forth like she's trying to rock the pain away.

He sighs to himself again and sits up slowly, slipping his arm out from under her. She rolls onto her back, the support of his frame lost, and her eyes open into tiny slits filled with pain. He presses his hand against her skin, presses against her stiff muscles and pained tissue. Her back arches slightly, the pain pulling a strangled breath from her throat. He hates seeing her like this.

"Kate," he says, his voice sounding pained even to his own ears. He runs his free hand up her side, takes her hand in his and squeezes her fingers gently. "Kate. It's still getting worse," he tells her, as though she doesn't already know. She nods, no longer trying to deny it. "Is there anything I can do?" he asks. She shrugs, a forced motion that has her gasping and wincing, as though, even though the pain is in her abdomen, moving her shoulder makes it hurt more. "Should we go to the hospital?"

"No!" she all but shouts, springing up and onto her elbows, and falling back again, a groan being torn from her throat. And then she suddenly seems to relax, only slightly, and he lessens the pressure against her hip, rubs circles into her skin with his circle. "No, Castle," she repeats, taking a slow, deep breath through her nose and releasing it as a gentle blow. "No, I'll be fine."

He squeezes her fingers again. "Kate," he whispers to her, once again a pained sigh that has her eyes slitting open and meeting his. "You're not due for your period until next week. This isn't cramps, and we both know it." Her eyes fall closed again as he speaks, her head falling back onto her pillow. "And I know you can handle anything, Kate, but this could be something serious. It could be your appendix or something." He sighs. "I've never seen you like this."

She tenses again, her body going rigid against the bed, her breath catching in her chest. "Not," she gasps out, her words fading as she presses his hand back against her hip, rocks up to put as much pressure on her sore flesh as possible. "Not… appendix," she manages, her eyes still squeezed shut. "Wrong side." The words are gasped, but true. Her appendix would be on her right side, but the worst of this pain is on her left.

"Okay," he agrees, squeezing her hand tightly, "not your appendix. But it could still be something serious, Kate. This pain, it's messing with your ability to speak. That's not good." Her muscles loosen again beneath his hand, and he regards her stomach with a curious look. "I don't know what's going on, okay? But I know you're in pain, and I hate that, so please, Kate, if you don't have any other ideas, can I take you to the hospital."

"I do have an idea," she says, squeezing his fingers. Her smile is slight and not at all reassuring, not when he knows the pain is going to come back in full force in only minutes, and she'll be rendered stiff and unable to speak, struggling to breathe all over again. "I… Sometimes the bath helps when the cramps are really bad, Castle. And I know this isn't just menstrual cramps, but maybe it will help?"

It's probably not a good idea to agree to, really. Not when he knows she's in so much pain. Not when he knows that Kate Beckett is letting him see that she's in this much pain, because honestly, he's seen Kate fight through so much pain, physical and emotional, and still get up and pretend nothing was wrong. And here she is, stuttering and in pain, letting him comfort her the best he can, because it hurts her so much that she can't even be bothered to try with hiding it. So really, he should be making her go to the hospital. But he doesn't.

He agrees to try letting the bath help before bringing her to the ER.

She's still lying in their bed when he leaves. Though she can't seem her, her eyes still squeezed shut as though that will block out the pain, she can hear his footsteps as he walks away from their bed and into the ensuite bathroom. She tries to open her eyes, to watch the light from the bathroom fill the bedroom, to watch him prepare a hot bath for her just like he knows she likes it, but the pain returns in full force before she can gather the strength to do so.

She presses her hand against her stomach hard, her eyes squeezing shut mostly involuntarily. Her upper-body lurches forward, her chest pressing against her knees. Her thighs trap her hand against her stomach, her arm holding them against her chest, even though she doubts her ability to move. Her chest constricts with the pain, like the pain is too much for her body and takes away in ability to breathe involuntarily. It reminds her too much of her panic attacks.

That's how she's laying well Castle comes back. She doesn't see him, still incapable of opening her eyes, but she feels his hand press against her lower back. His strong, expert fingers rub the base of her spine, trace tight circles into her tense muscles, rubs away some of the pressure in her lower back. His other hand comes to her face, wipes the baby hairs that are out of her bun away from her face with his palm.

"You're burning up, Kate," he whispers. His breath hits her face, but his voice sounds distant, like he's speaking from miles away. His palm presses to her forehead, hot against her skin and she wants to pull it away, tell him that he's not doing anything to lower her temperature by making her feel hotter, but she can't find the strength to do so. He runs his hand up and over her head. "I'm really worried about you."

She shakes her head. "I'm fine. I'll be fine," she promises him, though she feels the doubt settling in the pit of her stomach, heavy and worrisome. The pain fades again, her stomach loosening in a way she had never felt before today. She rolls onto her back, letting her feet fall to the mattress, reaching up to take his hand in hers. "It's probably just from exertion or something, babe, or from the muscle spasms. Nothing serious."

"Yeah," he agrees, "or it could be a fever which would indicate that you have an infection or a serious problem, Kate. You know it's better to be safe than sorry. You know I only what to make sure you're okay." He presses his lips to the back of her hand, letting them linger there for a moment before brushing the back of her hand over his cheek. "I love you, Kate, and I just want to make sure you're okay."

She sighs. "I know. I know you do. But I'm fine," she tells him. "Just… I'm just in pain, Castle. It's nothing serious. I'm sure it'll pass." She winces as her abdominal muscles spasm, telling her that the pain will soon be back. He seems to notice, because he squeezes her hand gently before slowly rolling her back onto her side. His one hand traces circles into her back as the other does the same against her stomach.

Her thighs trap his hand in place and she rocks slowly back and forth on her side, holding her thighs against her abdomen as tightly as she can. She can feel the sweat building at her hairline, can feel her whole body heating up, the tank top she's wearing under hoodie sticking to her back. She tries to focus on her breathing, inhales and counts to four, holds her breath for four seconds and exhales for eight. It's her feeble attempt at slowing her heart rate and keeping herself calm.

As the pain fades again, her muscles loosen. He slips his hand out from between her stomach and her legs. His hands gently guide her onto her back again, and she forces her eyes open so they meet his. He's looking down at her, eyes wide with worry, and she sees him begging her to let him help. She's not sure if he can help, though, so she just glances towards the bathroom, silently asking him to bring her to her bath.

He scoops her up in his arms, taking her hint, and her head falls against his shoulder. Her hand lingers on her stomach. She knows the pain will come back, knows there's no point in moving her hand away. He sets her down on the toilet, rests her back against the cold porcelain. He slips her tank top and hoodie over her head, cradles the back of her head in his palm and presses a soft, worried kiss to her forehead. His eyes are still locked on hers as he slips off her yoga pants and panties.

He holds her when the pain comes back, propping her feet up on the toilet and wrapping his arms around her tense frame. While his one arm holds her against him, wrapped around her legs and holding her close, the other hand rubs her lower back again. She presses her own fingers against her stomach, feels his lips press to her temple over and over again, and when the pain goes away again, she sags against his chest.

He gives her a moment to catch her breath before his arm slips beneath her knees again, his arms pulling her against his chest, heaving her up into the air, cradling her in their strength. She smiles slightly, a silent thank you for understanding and helping and being here for her, even though she knows he needs no thanks. He presses another soft kiss to her forehead, and whispers to her that he wishes he could take the pain away.

Slowly, he settles her in the bathtub, resting her legs in the tub before slowly resting her back against the porcelain. The water is hot, and soothes her aching muscles slightly, much like it does after a long, exhausting case. The tub itself is cold, pressed against her back and cooling her burning skin. Castle's hand caresses her face gently before he takes a step away from her.

She wants to ask him to stay, ask her to hold her hand and sit with her, talk to her until the pain fades. She wants him to stay with her, to comfort her with his presence, to hold her hand and tell her everything will be okay. She wants him to stay. But he explains that he's just going to get her a glass of cold water and a cold cloth, to help her cool down. She lets him go.

The pain comes back almost as soon as he leaves, but worse than ever before. Her stomach is tight, her muscles all locked like she's flexing them, but she's not, and it hurts so much that she throws her head back against the tub and braces her feet on the bottom of the it. Her breath hitches, her chest aches, her head pounds. It burns, low in her stomach and she's not sure if it's the increased pain or the fear that rips the scream from her throat before her mind can catch up.

"Castle!"