A/N: Just another little snippet from the "Henry 'verse" set forth in A Glimpse and continued in A Spark and on a few tumblr one-shots. Not necessary to read any of those to read this

"Sweetheart, please. Please, honey. Sam, c'mon Sam. Please stop crying."

Unfortunately for her fatigued father, two-month old Samantha Castle was not interested in pleas, bargans, or making any sort of contractual agreement. She simply wanted to cry and cry she did—ever since waking up at one a.m.

Feeling the ache in his left arm beginning to seep bone-deep, Castle shifted the wailing infant so that she rested on his right shoulder. The move caused only a millisecond break in her cries, and Castle began to pace yet another circle around the nursery she shared with her sister. As he was convinced he'd walked at least one mile—probably more like two—around the same path since the wee hours, he wondered which would wear through first: the carpet or his socks. Probably the socks.

"C'mon Sam." He continued. "Daddy will buy you a pony. Daddy will buy you ten ponies—a whole farm full of ponies if you just. Stop. Crying," he said, enunciating each of the last three words firmly. Yeah, the pleading definitely wasn't working—not that he expected it to.

Feeling his knees begin to wobble, Castle knew he could pace-and-rock no longer. Not even sure he had the energy to sit on the rocking chair he sunk down on to the floor in front of Sam's crib and stretched his legs out long. Then, he slid the infant from his shoulder and onto his lap, where she was cradled in the crevasse of his thighs. Gazing into her gummy, opened mouth as more lamenting sounds escaped, he let out a heavy sigh. Allowing his head to loll back against the crib sides, he shut his eyes.

Twins? No big deal. It will be totally, completely fine. He had been the one convincing his large-bellied wife that having twin girls was going to be no problem at all. They could totally handle it.

He was an idiot.

Okay, okay, all things considered it wasn't that bad. Sure, the first few days home from the hospital were a bit chaotic, but they got on a rhythm and, most importantly, had the babies on the same eating and sleeping schedule. For the prior few weeks everything had been going like clockwork. Thanks to their 60/40 split between breast milk and formula, both girls were growing at a rate their doctor was pleased with. They were happy and healthy—at least, Johanna was.

Castle dozed for almost five minutes before a soft tap at the door roused him. He glanced up to see his wife walk in, her hair still in the same messy bun atop her head that she'd created somewhere around three a.m., still in her pajama pants and his t-shirt. Normally, he would have found her adorable, but with barely more than two hours sleep in the prior twenty-four, he was a bit too grumpy to appreciate her beauty.

"Having any luck?"

"Does it sound like I'm having luck?" He snipped and then quickly backtracked. "Sorry, I'm just…tired." In fact, the word had almost lost meaning. He was beginning to forget what being well rested felt like—not that he expected to be well rested with twins. Decently rested—possibly even passably rested. Even remotely rested would have been preferable at that moment.

Kate sighed and dropped to her knees beside her husband. She reached out a hand and placed it softly on her daughter's chest, but this action did not assuage her cries. "I know."

"How's Anna?"

"Still fine. Happy as a clam, actually. Your mother just got here; she's sitting with Anna and Henry."

"Oh did she get here?" Castle sighed with notable relief. He was hell bent on not calling either one of their parents if at all avoidable. He was forty-eight years old, had four children and a wife. He did not need his mother.

He'd given up that mantra somewhere around the sixth hour of non-stop crying.

Kate nodded with a hum. "Just a few minutes ago. Go say hi; it's my turn."

He gazed at her cautiously. "You sure?" She had only been up from one to three thirty, but then gone to bed at Castle's insistence. As she was a critical source of their daughters' nutrition, she needed her rest. Besides he, the practically professional father, could handle it. Sam had always been daddy's little girl—from the moment she arrived in the world—and he could absolutely quell her cries. Right.

"I'm going to try and feed her again. Maybe that'll help?"

Rick nodded and passed over the crying girl. Thus far that morning she had refused both breast and bottle, but as she was going on twelve hours without eating, hunger was bound to be a factor in her discomfort. Mustering up the last few ounces of strength within him, he pushed himself up onto his knees and then into a standing position. "Just come get me if you need me."

"Oh Samantha…" Kate sighed as she dropped her hand away from her right breast. After almost five minutes of trying it was clear the crying girl had no interest in latching on and nursing. With a frustrated huff, she pulled her t-shirt back into place and cradled her infant a bit tighter.

"What's wrong sweet girl? I wish you could tell me what it is…"

When Sam's cries went on for over twenty minutes—a true rarity for the tough little one who barely more than whimpered or whined when she was hungry or wet—she and Castle assumed she was ill in some way. They immediately separated her from her twin, taking Anna down to the bassinet in their bedroom and leaving Sam in her crib. They checked her temperature, but found it barely elevated more than a fraction of a degree. They changed her diaper and clothes. Sang to her. Rocked her. Everything the seasoned parents could think of, but with no avail.

"You just feel like crying, huh?" Kate asked her little girl, feeling a burning sensation beginning behind her own eyes. "Well, that's okay; Mommy kind of feels like crying too."

She hated this. She hated the moments when the only thoughts in her mind were that of her own shortcomings and failures as a mother. Shouldn't she, as a mother, be able to quell her child's cries? What did it say about her that Sam's cheeks had the ghost of moisture tracks and her voice grew hoarser with each wail?

Rationally, she knew she was being too hard on herself, but since when was that new? Kate Beckett strove for perfection in every aspect of her life; motherhood was no different. Still, she tried to remind herself that sometimes situations were beyond her control—especially when it came to parenting. They had been lucky with Henry. He was generally happy baby who turned into a curious and precocious toddler. More importantly, there had only ever been one of him, so his needs were much easier to satisfy.

Upon fully realizing that her brood of children would jump instantly from one to three, Kate knew she would need to make concessions. The nursery would not always be spotless. Toys littered around the office or dining area were to be expected, but as long as her children were happy and safe, she would be fine with that. Unfortunately, Samantha seemed to be failing the "happy" category for that moment.

Straightening herself up, Kate sniffed back her tears. Though she may have wanted to, she knew crying would not help the situation; nothing positive would come from it. She just needed a plan—to try something new. Except…she was convinced they tried everything. Perhaps, if she just shut her eyes and rocked her daughter for a few minutes an idea would come to her.

"Well think of it this way." Martha chimed in while grinning down at her youngest grandchild, who was happily gurgling while holding on to her own feet. "With pipes like that she could be a fabulous Broadway singer one day."

Castle lifted his head from the couch only enough to gaze over at the red-head. "Thank you, Mother; that's extremely comforting at this moment."

"Daddy?"

He turned to see the bright blue eyes of his two-and-a-half-year-old, his brown hair still mussed from sleep, a bit of dried oatmeal from breakfast crusted on his chin. Castle licked his thumb and reached out to rub the boy's face clean. "Yeah buddy?"

"Wanna play truck?" Henry asked, holding up his bright red fire truck which boasted real life sounds! (Until his parents had removed the batteries, that was.)

"In a couple minutes, bud. Daddy's very tired. Why don't you come sit here with Daddy?"

"No."

"Okay." Castle lowered his head again and shut his eyes, hoping to get a five minute power nap in before relieving his wife of their unhappy infant.

"Have you tried giving her a bath?"

Rick grunted, barely acknowledging his mother's comment now that his head was tucked comfortably against the arm of the sofa.

"Have you tried giving Sam a bath? I remember this one time you were screaming your head off—it was awful. But a warm washcloth on your chest seemed to—what are you doing?" she asked when her son bounded off the couch.

"Going to tell Kate!"

"I cannot believe this worked." Kate whispered to her husband. He sat against the outside edge of the Jacuzzi tub, his left hand draped lazily in the water. Cuddled against Kate's chest was a naked—and sleeping—Samantha. Kate had barely been in the water a few minutes before her cries quieted to whimpers. A minute after that she'd finally succumb to exhaustion.

"Wonder what it was upsetting her?" Castle asked gently.

Kate shook her head and shut her eyes. "We'll never know." She skimmed her fingertips down Sam's back in one long, smooth stroke. She wasn't sure if it was their skin-to-skin contact, the soothing warmth of the water, or perhaps she'd finally become too exhausted to continue, but she was finally sleeping and Kate didn't want to question that.

"Can I get you anything? Should I make the water a bit warmer?"

Kate shook her head. "No, not right now. I'll sit here for fifteen or so minutes then we'll try to move her." The thought of moving, waking Sam, and causing the cries to begin anew terrified Kate. Yet, practically she knew they could not stay in the tub forever. The water would grow cold and even if they could warm it up, it still would not be good for either of them to be submerged for a long duration. Hopefully, ten to fifteen more minutes would be enough to put Sam in a deep enough sleep that Kate could leave the tub, even if that meant taking her to bed and letting her sleep against her bare chest for a few hours.

He smiled and pushed himself to his feet. "Sounds good."

Kate stopped him before he walked away. "Rick? Thanks for this."

With a shrug he replied, "It was Mother's idea."

She shook her head. "No, not just the bath. Everything. The whole night. Thanks for being my partner."

He leaned down and brushed a kiss against her head. "Always."