A/N: I should be working on my thesis paper but I had a terrible, awful night and I wrote this instead. Character death, you've been warned. Not sure if this is tissue worthy but you know, some people just don't like if you don't give them a warning, so there it is. Enjoy! (As much as you can enjoy this, I guess. Are you still gonna read it after all my rambling? It's almost 2am here, so I think I'm entitled.) Usual disclaimers apply, not beta-ed, so my mistakes are all mine.
"morning without you is a dwindled dawn."
emily dickinson
She's sitting on the sofa, talking to her husband.
It's early in the morning still, the sun just cresting over the horizon and shining through the windows of the loft. She's still got a few minutes before the kids come bounding down the stairs, waiting for breakfast and bursting with excitement that it's finally Friday.
She's got the coffee mugs placed on the table. She's sipping from one; decaf, but it's coffee nonetheless. She lets the warmth seep into her bones, wake her up, calm her down. She takes a deep breath in, exhales through her mouth with a huff.
It's time to fill him in on everything. She knows it's been a few weeks too long but time's just gotten away from her and it's no excuse, she knows. She wouldn't have one good enough if she didn't stop and talk to him today.
She tells him how the kids are doing in school: how Mary suddenly hates math and still won't eat carrots at dinner and how Tyler still loves wearing his glasses and have his hair slicked back.
She goes on about what Alexis is up to and how his mother still talks in riddles, coming in and out of the loft like a summer breeze, always lingering and never gone for good.
She talks about the precinct and how nothing's really changed in the last few weeks. She says that the boys say hello and even tells a little white lie, tells him Gates passes along a 'hi.' Pfft, imagine that. Kate's laughing at the mere thought. It's okay – he probably doesn't believe her anyway.
She stands and grabs a piece of paper from the desk and comes back to her spot on the couch. She rattles off to him the things she needs from the grocery store, her to do list for the weekend, what she needs from the craft store for the kids to make their science projects.
It's not until she gets a shiver and knocks her coffee cup with her hand, spilling the hot liquid all over the table and onto the floor, that she finally loses it.
She allows herself fifteen seconds to shed her tears before she gets up and stumbles to the kitchen, retrieving a ball of paper towels and soaking her morning coffee up off the glass table and off the wooden floor.
Everything is dry when she sinks back into the couch, running hands over her eyes to rid her face of the tears and then up into her hair, trying to get the knots out.
She sits back up and takes his photo from where it sits on the table in front of her, unaffected by her coffee mishap. She holds it delicately in her fingers, as if it'll break in her hands. Running her pointer finger over his face, over his eyes, up into where his hair falls into his eyes, she can almost feel his hair between her finger tips, soft and light.
"Oh, Castle. I miss you so much."
Then, there's a breath on her neck and she shivers again, new tears stinging her eyes and she just swears she can hear his voice in her ear –
"Everything will be okay, Kate."
She sighs, shakes her head quickly, eyes trained on his photo.
The lone tear rolls down her cheek and lands on the small protrusion from her abdomen and the small baby there moves, makes his presence known.
She sighs again, one last time before she brushes her lips over the glass of the picture frame, places it back on the table with a lingering glance.
"Happy birthday, Castle."
Leaning back into the cushions once more, she rests her hands over her swelling belly, and continues to tell Castle about her last doctor's appointment, how their son is growing right on time and how the last sonograms make it seem like their little boy will look just like him.
Soon, she'll have to get up and make sure the kids are awake and brushing their teeth, getting dressed. She'll have to pop waffles into the toaster and pull a light sweater on over her bump to go to work in the crisp April morning. She'll bring the kids to school and go to work and be productive with her team. She'll be stressed and maybe she'll be able to get through the entire day without crying but that's then. That's hours into her day.
This is now, and for now –
She's sitting on the sofa, talking to her husband.