A/N: Today it's an important day for me, because exactly a year ago I published for the first time. Anotherhumanbeing, thanks for the encouraging nudge. Apparently it worked. Now, let's hope it's good. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.
Beckett wakes suddenly with a start, her eyes shooting open and her back rising in a rapid movement from the armrest. It takes her only half a second to get her bearings. She's stretched out on the couch with a book, which she had been reading, lying open across her stomach. Oh, she's fallen asleep, she realizes. But judging from the light's intensity that seeps in through the windows, she must have drifted off no more than a few minutes. It's still early in the afternoon, but she's exhausted. He woke her that morning at 5:30 and she hasn't had a single moment to rest until now.
Falling back onto the cushion, she turns her head to the left and locates the source of the sound that has woken her. The almost one-year-old baby boy —his birthday is in exactly one week— is holding one plastic cup in each of his chubby hands. He brings the yellow one to his mouth and nibbles on it and drools it all over, burbling meaningless vowels and consonants around the toy.
A few feet behind him, the study's door is open wide and Castle is, as always, behind his desk, his quick fingers stroking the keyboard, making the most of their day off to catch up on his writing.
Another short bang cuts through the open space of the loft and Beckett lowers her gaze back to the baby. He catches his mother looking down at him and he smiles and bumps the cups together a third time, making them clatter loudly in the quiet living room. Kate's lips stretch into an adoring grin. It's so funny to watch because, even though he expects it, every time he makes the cups smash together, his whole body flinches slightly at the noise, his eyelids flutter like the flapping of butterfly wings, and then a sweet, gurgling giggle slips out of his mouth.
All mothers may say the same about their children, but every time she looks at her son she can't help but think he truly is the most beautiful baby boy ever. His soft, light brown hair, sparkling like gold when the sunrays touch it, his fair skin, round and rosy cheeks, dimpled when he smiles —which is almost always. And, of course, his —and hers— huge hazel green eyes surrounded by long, dark lashes.
He is sitting in the middle of the big rug, toys scattered all around him. He's been trying to build a tower out of a group of Stack and Nest cups for a while now. So far, he's managed to pile up several pieces, the blue cup onto the orange, and this one onto the green, but he's determined to fit the bigger red piece onto the smaller yellow one, and every time all the construction comes down. Around the eighteenth attempt, it seems the tower —although not in the proper order— is holding upright, but after a few seconds it ends up bending toward one side like the Tower of Pisa and it collapses again. The red cup hits his tiny, socked foot and rolls away across the rug and disappears under the sofa. The baby tilts his head all the way to the left —he almost loses his balance before he catches himself with one arm on the rug— and stares intently at the red cup under the couch for a long moment. When he sees the toy isn't going to come back on its own, he lifts his gaze to his mother's face and sighs in a funny way, his small shoulders rising and falling visibly.
The baby boy sweeps his eyes around him, studying each and every one of his toys with scrutiny, to —Beckett guesses— decide which one will be his next entertainment. Nothing seems to draw his attention, though, because he lunges forward and gets on all fours. After rocking back and forth a couple of times, he makes up his mind and crawls over to the couch where his mother is lying on. With much expertise, he raises an arm to grab the edge and pulls himself up to stand against its side.
"A tatatata," he babbles, each syllable synchronized with the gentle tapping of his hands on her stretched legs.
"What are you saying, sweetheart?" she asks in her high-pitched mommy voice.
His pink lips curl up to display an irresistible six-baby-teeth smile. "Tata," he whispers, his huge eyes sparkling up at her. Clutching the edge of the couch with both his hands, he starts moving to the left with short, side steps until he gets to the corner. Then he extends an arm, hand going for the small rainbow rubber ball lying there, but it's out of his reach and the tips of his fingers only caress the smooth surface. The ball rolls to the other side, tips over the edge and bounces away across the floor toward the front door. "Tata…"
In case she needs to catch him if he falls, Beckett tries to keep an eye on her son as he slides around the short end of the L-shaped couch, but her lids still drift closed when a large yawn erupts from her mouth. Oh, man, she thinks, she really needs a shot of caffeine if she wants to make it 'til nightfall.
When her eyes open again, she finds that her son has let go of the couch and is taking slow, unstable steps toward the front hall. Her tired brain needs a long second to process what she's seeing.
"Oh, my god…" She jumps to her feet, the book slipping off her lap and dropping to the floor, landing silently on the thick rug. "Oh, my god!"
"Castle! CASTLE!"
Kate's booming shouts snap him out of the trance the story has drawn him into. "What?!" He leaps off the chair and hurries into the living room. "What is it?!"
"He's walking! He's walking!" Beckett squeals in utter admiration, bouncing on the tips of her toes and her eyes fixed ahead of her.
"Wha—?" he starts to say as he follows his wife's line of sight. And then he sees. The baby is tottering around with wobbly legs, arms raised and spread wide at either side of his head to keep steady. "Oh-ho, wow… That's my boy!" Castle chuckles. "Wait. Wait! We gotta film this!" He feels his pockets for his phone but he doesn't have it on him. He quickly goes to retrieve the cell from the desk in his office and rushes back. Kneeling on the floor to get a good angle, the writer starts narrating the event like a news reporter. "Okay. So, it's uh… Sunday 22nd of February, 2015, and Oliver is taking his first steps and—Oh! Watch it, kid," he says as the baby loses his balance and falls backwards on his butt, the diaper making him land soft on the hardwood floor. But, apparently, Oliver doesn't care about this little slip, 'cause he quickly pushes himself back up and starts to tumble around the open space again. It seems like he is liking this new walking thing he's just discovered as exclamations of delight and cute giggles come out of his mouth. "Oh, my gosh… This is awesome!" Castle shifts the camera lens to take a shot of his wife. "And here is the proud mother of— Kate… Are you crying?"
She hasn't moved from her spot, still standing by the far end of the couch, her hands cupped over her mouth and her eyes, fixed on the baby, welled up with tears. "Yes," the whimper bursts from her quavering lips.
"Oh, honey. Come here." Castle stands up and hugs her. She circles her arms tightly around his waist and rests the side of her face against his chest, her watery gaze still following the baby cruising around the room. Castle swings them gently from side to side, comforting her in this crucial and amazing milestone of life. He presses a kiss on top of her head and murmurs in her ear, "Does this make up for missing out on him crawling for the first time?"
She frees one hand to dab at the tears under her eyes. Then, she nods against his shoulder and answers shakily, "Totally."
Thank you so much :)