Home, Sweet, Home
a Dash Companion
Kate brushes her fingers over the soft down of dark hair, traces the tiny, almost translucent skin of Dashiell's ear, skims her thumb over the little bumps on his cheek. His face is so long, so narrow, but he's all screwed up in sleep, his body hunched into hers, like he wants closer, back under her heart.
The hospital is noisy and he startles awake whenever the door opens. She lulls him back down, easing him rung by rung into dreams again, only to have him be jostled out of his sleep once more.
She presses her lips to the top of his head, feels the heat of him against her kiss.
She has a baby boy. Oh, she has a baby boy.
She curls her legs up and shifts onto her side just a little, Dashiell in a tight clump high up on her chest, skin to skin because he seems to fall asleep easier that way. She keeps her palm at his neck, her fingers spread wide to brace his head and she lets herself curl in around him, watch him in the dim light of the room.
Their last night in the hospital. She wants out. She wants to go home - three days is too much. But Castle was threatening to sue after the retained placenta, and the whole staff has been hovering, and making her crazy with it - Castle was wise to go home and get some sleep, let her have some peace.
She feels fine now; she doesn't remember passing out, doesn't remember the blood. She remembers his face when she woke, a terror she's never - never - seen before. It sticks in her throat when she least expects it.
Dashiell shifts in his sleep, a sign he's waking again, poor thing, and she nuzzles his cheek with her nose, breathes him in. That so-small fist comes against her chin, fingers slowly splay open, the flick of nails already needing to be cut.
Kate shifts back to look and his eyes are open. That strange grey as they slowly begin to darken, trying to focus on her face.
"Hey, sweet boy," she murmurs. She's such an idiot, but how could she know? How could she ever have known what this does to her, what just the sight of him, the feel of his little body in her arms, the smell-
She's not taking this from Castle either, could never - not now, now that she knows - could never even think of taking the baby and living apart from her son's father. How ridiculous that she ever thought she should. She wanted to give them time to get on track with each other, adjust to the newly arrived, unbreakable bond between them - oh, all kinds of crap she thought was so smart, so practical.
Kate eases closer and kisses her son's forehead, pulls back to see his eyes opening again after that reflexive blink. She reaches a hand between them and splays it over his body, so long but still so small, that paper thin skin at the insides of his arms, the soft cotton of his onesie, the thin blanket tangling her fingers.
Dashiell suddenly startles, eyes wide, and the door clicks open a beat later.
"Kate?"
She turns her head and sees Castle slinking in, all humbled awe and held-back joy in his posture.
"Hey," she murmurs, smiling at him, silly and wide.
"He's awake," Castle whispers, coming closer, his eyes on his son.
"Yeah."
"You tired?"
"I'm okay."
He's just standing there, head tilted as his gaze travels over Dashiell, and she realizes that he wants to hold him. Wants him. And she doesn't want to give him up.
"Sit with me," she says instead, easing onto her back again, Dash curled up practically at her neck now.
"Sit?"
"Come on, Castle," she whispers, scooting over in the hospital bed.
He gets a hip up, but pauses, studying her, and she nods in encouragement. He finally slides in next to her, his hands awkwardly in his lap.
"Like this?"
She frowns at his careful whisper, the way he holds himself stiffly. Whatever. She has no energy to figure this out right now. Kate presses her shoulder to his and turns into him, feels the rigid muscles of his side begin to soften.
"We can share," she murmurs, lifting a smile to him.
His hands come up to receive the baby, his eyes darting from her to his son, back and forth like he doesn't know where to look, and Kate shifts Dashiell half into his father's arms.
"We can share," Castle breathes out, and she feels his mouth at the top of her head, his reverent kiss. "Yeah. That's good."
She keeps one arm under Dashiell, but Castle has him, he's fine, and it feels so good to lean against Castle's side and let her eyes droop, her body rest.
"I love you, Kate," he whispers at her temple.
"Love you too," she murmurs back.
He holds his mewling son against his chest, cups his hand over the boy's ear as he sways; it seems to do the trick. The pitiful cries temper, drop to nothing, and he feels Dashiell's body grow heavier.
He's so long and skinny. Alexis was round and fat as a baby, but Dash is thin bones and alien face, a little creature they're still trying to figure out. He doesn't much like sleep, even though he needs it, but he does love to be held, swaddled tight against them.
Okay, so Castle has probably spoiled him a little, picking him up and holding him while he sleeps. His fault. But he's on duty tonight and he likes nothing more than swaying slowly with his son in front of the living room windows, helping him drift back to sleep.
Just when he thinks Dash has dropped off, the boy's head pops back up, a startled cry drifting into the cold air.
"Hush, wild man, hush. You need to sleep."
Castle curls his fingers at the back of Dashiell's head, presses his lips to the side of his son's face, feels him squirm, pitiful sounds coming from him.
"Hey, hey, you're okay. Sleep is good for you. I promise. Your big sister's asleep; Mommy's asleep. Now it's your turn. So it can be my turn next."
Dashiell whines and presses his face into Castle's chest, rubbing back and forth. He eases the baby away, but those long, red scratches haven't shown up yet. He's kind of proud of himself for that. They still haven't figured out what causes them, but at least Castle has somehow prevented them tonight.
His son lets out another sharp cry and Castle winces, shifts the baby closer, dipping his knees as he walks to give the kid a little more drag. The movement seems to help; Dashiell's body wilts against his father.
"Okay, okay, I got you. Let's see. . .want to hear a bedtime story? Will that help? I bet it will, huh? Alexis always liked my stories. And your mother does too, even though she still has trouble admitting it. So let's think of a story."
He sways as he paces before the broad windows, his mouth at his son's temple, murmuring his words and kissing his skin. He can't help it. His son - it's his son.
"Once upon a time. . .see all good stories start like that. It lets your reader know exactly what they're being set up for. If I'd said, It was a dark and stormy night - well, then you'd know something sinister was bound to happen."
Dashiell isn't asleep; in fact, he's tilted his head back to see his father, eyes so dark, mouth pursed open. But he's close to sleep. He's so very close.
"Once upon a time. There was a handsome and rich man who lived in a castle. Let's call him the King. He had a beautiful daughter who was his princess, and he had all he could want. Or he thought he did. Until one day, the King met a woman who-"
Dashiell squirms and lets out a irritable noise, a half-cry that winds down into a pitiful mewling again, like the kid is being tortured.
"Alright, alright," Castle sighs, smirking at the top of his son's head. "You're our kid, aren't you? Well then. It was a dark and stormy night."
Dashiell's body stills, baby fingers flex at Castle's shirt.
"A night when most people would never go outside - the wind howling, the rain coming down in sheets and stinging the eyes, lightning licking the sky. But someone had gone out. Someone had gone out and now. . ."
As Castle trails off, he feels Dashiell growing heavier, sees his lashes float down his cheeks, startle back up. So close. Nearly there, wild man; you can do it.
"And now," he murmurs quietly. "A man is dead. Violently. Brutally. And it will take a keen mind and a stubborn will to solve his murder - just like the mystery-solving team known as. . ."
Dashiell is asleep.
"As Mommy and Daddy."
Castle sighs out in the darkness, studies his son's fine eyelids, the round slope of his nose, the crinkle of his lips as they're mashed against his father's chest.
He stays perfectly still.
He stays there for two hours, barely breathing, until he's certain his son won't wake again.
When she unlocks the door to the loft and drops the keys into the bowl on the hall table, she's not really paying attention. But then she has to bend down and collect the fast little toddler that tries to run right past her; she scoops Dashiell up and kisses his sticky fingers.
"What have you-"
Oh my word.
She stares at the monstrous Christmas tree in front of her, the massive boxes pulled out beside it, the shiny metallic tin soldiers that are nearly life-sized, the plastic bin that holds a complicated looking train, the sparkly red candles, the stacks of fresh wreaths, and already she can see where Dashiell has been playing in tinsel. Or - maybe that's just Castle.
He comes in from the study with a pile of decorations in his arms and grins widely at her. "Hey, you're home early."
She stares at him. "Why does it. . .why is there. . ."
"Cool, huh? I think this is the biggest tree we've ever had."
She can't make her mouth form words. Was this what it looked like last year? Dashiell was a newborn and she doesn't really remember the details. It was a haze of sleep deprivation and an intense craving for coffee and somewhere in the middle of all that was this two month old who absorbed every ounce of her attention and time and energy and love.
And oh. Of course. Castle proposed. So he might have been distracted from his true Christmas spirit by being so very nervous - he was so nervous last year - and now she can see that he's reverted to type.
"Castle. It looks like Buddy the Elf has decorated your loft."
He grins even wider, putting his decorations on the couch and coming to her; she's still rooted to her spot in the entryway with a squirmy boy in her arms trying to get down.
"Yeah, awesome, right?"
Awesome isn't the word she was looking for.
"Hey, so how tired are you?" he says, his face all hesitant and hopeful and eager.
And she can't ruin it. She hasn't really given Christmas much of a thought, but he seems to be filled to the brim with ideas and plans, and she just can't do it to him.
"Not tired at all," she says finally.
"Oh, good," he says with relish, taking Dashiell out of her arms. "You go change into something comfortable. And warm. I want to take you guys somewhere."
"Out?" she says, and hears her own whiny voice.
"Out. I promise it's worth it. Go change."
Something in his voice, or maybe the joy in his eyes, makes her hurry. She's stripping as she goes down the hallway, turning over her shoulder to drop her dress shirt on top of Dashiell's head as he follows. She hears his giggles and grins to herself.
Okay, so this isn't that bad.
She pulls on a dark sweater and jeans, lets Dashiell climb up on their bed and tackle her, his sweet-scented breath in her face. "What did Daddy feed you, huh? Chocolate? I bet he did."
Dashiell puts his sticky fingers in her hair and she winces, gathering him close and carrying him into the bathroom to wash his hands. She sets him on the counter and holds him there with a thigh as she reapplies her mascara.
When she comes out of their room, following Dash down the hallway as he runs full tilt for the living room, she finds Castle hanging stockings.
Four of them in a row. Their little family.
She bites her lip and scrapes the hair back from her face. "Okay, Castle. Take me out."
He turns around with that wide, eye-crinkling grin, and he comes for her. "Beautiful. Get your coat. I'll get Dash in his. And then we'll go."
They hustle into coats, Castle carrying Dash onto the elevator and then out of the lobby as well, trying to keep him from running away. Kate forgot her gloves so she tucks one hand into his pocket the moment they get out on the street, shivering.
Dashiell rubs at his hat, trying to get it off, grunting at them for the torture device they've installed on his head, but she wrinkles her nose and tugs it down a little farther.
"Stays on, wild man. You need it."
Castle nods towards the street in front of his building and she sees his car service. "We're not walking?"
"Something of a trek with the wild man. The service will get us close, and then we'll have to walk the last few blocks."
The car is already warm and cozy, the dark night kept outside the windows. Dashiell gets strapped into the car seat between them (which Castle pays extra for them to provide), and Kate leans around the kid to ghost her fingers over Castle's knee just to see that eye-crinkling smile again.
That's why she's doing this - the late night excursion - even though all she wants is to hide in her bathtub and disappear for a while.
She figures out where they're going about the same time that the car has to finally stop and let them out. Castle wrestles with Dash as Kate climbs out on her side, watching the people streaming past them, all heading for the same place.
When she joins her family on the sidewalk, he shrugs at her. "I wanted to do something memorable for Dashiell. Just - Christmas is supposed to be amazing, Kate."
"He's thirteen months old, Castle. He won't remember any of this."
But he's right - it's still kind of amazing, even as she says it. They follow the crowd and when they finally worm their way to the best vantage point, it takes her breath away.
"We made it just in time," Castle murmurs. There's a band playing and someone over a microphone doing all the MC duties, television cameras and a tightly packed crowd, but suddenly and seemingly without warning, the massive Christmas tree lights up.
Dashiell gasps.
The Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is jaw-droppingly gorgeous this year, blazing with so many lights that she can barely take it in.
Dashiell's dark eyes are reflecting the twinkle of white flames and she leans in to kiss his cheek. His baby fingers come up to her hair and tangle, keeping her close, and Castle gives her a wide smile and just shrugs at her.
"You're right. He won't remember. But I will."
And it melts her heart a little, her Grinch's heart, makes her step even closer to her men in the darkness, lean against Castle's shoulder so she can see her son as he stares at the tree, entranced.
"I will too," she murmurs, reaching out to brush her fingers over her son's cheek. He leans in for her, hands gripping the collar of her coat, her scarf.
"Uh-oh, incoming," Castle laughs. Kate takes the boy from him and hugs him tightly, kissing his cheeks, the soft part of his neck, while Dashiell giggles and squirms so he can see.
"You like the tree, sweet boy?" She turns so that they both face the display, then shifts Dash to her other arm so that she can grab Castle's hand. He squeezes back and she leans in to kiss him, her lips curling into a smile, hoping to show him how much she appreciates this.
New traditions.
Because those over-the-top decorations, his crazy Castle Christmas - it makes her feel like she'll never be enough.
But this-
This she can do.
"Love you, Castle."
"Merry Christmas, Kate."
She laughs finally, shakes her head. "You do realize it's only November."
"Gotta get an early start."