She sits on the couch, legs crossed and swimming in a sweatshirt three sizes too large. The glass of gatorade Castle slipped her an hour ago rests in her lap, the blue drink chilling her hands. She doesn't notice, doesn't register the cold against her palms as she stares at the unpacked box in the corner of the office.
Her face feels swollen and red, her cheeks stained with salt still but she can't cry anymore. Too tired to put the energy into sobbing on the floor, absolutely exhausted to her soul from the past three days.
"I made some toast," Castle murmurs, their whole home hushed in the aftermath. "Can you try to eat?"
She blinks, lingering in the momentary darkness. Through the blankness, she hears him set the plate on the desk and feels him sit beside her on the couch, his thigh pressing against her right knee.
"Kate." Her eyes open and refocus on the corner of the box. "It's going to be okay."
He shifts closer, moving to tug her into his space but she shrugs him off, turning her whole body toward the windows.
"I lost her, Castle," she whispers. "I lost our baby. How can you even look at me?"
The glass in her hands falls to the floor when he hauls her half across his body. His hand cups the back of her head, letting her burrow into his neck with her fingers curled tight into the flannel of his shirt.
His lips and the scruff of his stubble brush her cheek as he speaks. "Because it wasn't your fault." She starts to protest - of course it's her fault - but his thumb presses into the soft hollow behind her ear. "It wasn't your fault. You did everything right. Things beyond our control happened but it is going to be okay."
"Doesn't feel that way," she says. "We just told everyone. How do we tell them that she's gone?"
"We'll find a time and place that feels right."
She curls into him, her knees against his stomach. "I can't stop looking at the crib," she confesses.
The crib they bought before the doctor's appointment that destroyed their bubble of joy. The crib Castle tried to hide in the corner of his office, tucked into the shadows. Out of sight, out of mind not quite working.
Kate shifts back, reaching for the plate of toast. "Split with me?" she asks, already nudging one of the triangles toward him.
They eat the toast together as night settles over them. "Bed," he says, tugging her up to her feet and steadying her as she sways.
The next morning, the stain of gatorade on the carpet has been cleaned and crib box has disappeared.
She feels an inch closer to okay.
It takes six months. They talk it over, weigh the risks with the positives. So when a steady heartbeat fills the tiny ultrasound room, the heavy sadness on their shoulders lifts as the doctor assures them that they have every chance for a healthy pregnancy.
Seven months pregnant, she finds the crib hidden in the back of Alexis's old closet. Thirty minutes later, in the empty room upstairs, Kate pushes the white crib into place against the wall.
"You sure?" Castle asks from the doorway as she steps back to meet him.
"Yes," she says, strong and confident as she smooths her hand over the round swell of her stomach. "I'm sure. Time for some good memories for that crib."