Disclaimer: Nope.

A/N: Okay here's another piece from my tumblr. Thanks so much to all of those that reviewed, fav'd and followed that first chapter. I love all of my readers. You guys are seriously amazing.

Prompt: Beckett having a home birth

This was prompted by Ris and I love her so much. I put the prompt up here at the top just in case you aren't into baby fics and want to skip out on this one. :)

It's not a place…it's home

It's harder than he realized. Seeing someone in so much pain and yet so determined, so strong, so set on doing this. Castle never thought this would be their plan. He never pictured any of it going like this when she'd jumped in his arms and told him they were having a baby. But here they are. And he's so in awe of her, of her strength as she walks around the loft despite the contractions rippling through her. She chose his shirt for this. One of his button downs and it doesn't fit anymore but that didn't stop her. She just left it mostly open.

She paces, pausing only when she needs a moment to breathe through it and he's at her side the whole time. His palm on her back, he can feel her muscles spasm tight and when she leans on him, he just whispers in her ear. Thoughts and silly things. He makes her smile or laugh and he's so proud to call this woman his wife. So proud that she's going to be the mother of his baby. He asks again to be sure, ignoring the look from the midwife. He just wants everything to be exactly how she wants it. He just wants Beckett to be comfortable.

"Last chance to make it to the hospital, you sure about this?" He knows she is, the moment she smiles at him and smudges her lips over his, he knows.

"I want to do this."

"Okay." He doesn't say anything more about it. She's sure and they've put in enough research and time preparing that everything is ready.

He remembers when she mentioned a home birth, can still feel the unease that raced into his veins. His brain had been thinking complications but she'd coaxed him down from that ledge with ease. Made him do some research to assuage his fears and gave him lists of things she wanted and reasons she wanted this instead of the hospital scene.

Now he's glad for it.

Now he understands because she's comfortable here. Smiling between contractions and talking with their midwife as if there isn't a baby about to come out of…okay he's just gonna stop that thought. He may be an adult and he may already be a father but he does better thinking of only the fact that a baby is coming. Story ends there.

They have everything set up. She has options. And the scent of lavender in the air calms her. She'd asked specifically for lavender and maybe he went a bit overboard. Twenty-five candles seems a a bit much now that he really thinks about it. Because only two are burning and they're enough but at least they have a supply.

It's been hours of walking, of her stretching over an exercise ball, sitting on it, rocking side to side. This is way more intimate than the hospital scene because he can be next to her, behind her, in front of her. He can touch her more freely without fears of IV lines and monitors strapped everywhere. And she's happy. He is too. They're having a baby. Today. He's gonna be a father again and she'll be a mom. They've had these talks late at night whilst curled in bed. He's held her when she cried because she misses her own mother. But today is the day and it's hard to watch her face when a contraction hits, hard to see her in pain.

But he fully supports her decision to do this. He waits till she's back on the ball, moves behind her to massage her shoulders. She hasn't told him to go away, not once has she hinted that he's hovering too much and he uses that to his advantage. He revels in it. She needs him and she tells him with every pained look, every brush of her fingers over his arm, every soft word.

She gets quieter as more time passes. No longer talking or joking around. Her hair starting to stick to her skin with sweat and he doesn't wait for her to redo it, he does it himself. Pulling it from the braid and arranging it in a messy bun so it's off her neck. She mumbles her thanks right as a her muscles tighten and a gasp makes it out before she can contain it. He rubs her back because there's nothing else he can do. He can't make it hurt less and he's incapable of doing anything to help.

Eight hours. It's been eight hours and she's upgraded from breathing through contractions like they're barely anything to gripping his arm and biting her lip to keep quiet. He's not sure he's ever fully appreciated how strong she is.

Hour nine is worse. And finally she breaks. Asks how much longer before she can push. She curls into him now, buries her face in his shoulder. But it's soon. The reply is soon because she's almost there. Almost fully dilated.

That's when it gets serious. When the smiles and touches and whispered words become less. When they move to the tub and the water soothes enough that she asks him to join her. That's why she wanted this. Why she decided on a home birth. She wanted him with her. Not just at her side but with her. So he does. He strips down to his boxers and settles in behind her. This is theirs. The moment.

"Better?" He whispers it against the top of her head. Kissing her damp temple and stroking his hand over her stomach.

She nods but doesn't say a word. And he almost tells her that maybe she should take his shirt off, it's just getting wet, weighing her down but he doesn't. He keeps that thought buried because if she wanted it off, she would have taken it off when she stepped out of the panties. And she didn't.

He doesn't know how long she stays still in his arms but it has to be a record. She's been too restless, moving constantly and now she's still. Now she's content. With her eyes closed and her chest heaving. He can feel the next contraction seize her. Keeps his palm on her belly as she turns into him, face in his neck. Her body following until she's on her side. Her breath is stuttered and hot against his skin and when she finally relaxes, he takes a second to bring back her smile.

"If you weren't about to give birth to our child, I'd be enjoying this view." He pats her butt beneath the water and she huffs out what he knows is supposed to be a laugh.

Yeah, she understands his humor. Appreciates it despite the fact that her nails bite into his chest. They've barely even paid any attention to anyone else in all of this. And he's thankful they picked well for their coach. Thankful for the privacy that's been given and how they back off unless it's important. They searched for the perfect midwife. The perfect people to help them and he's glad now that they were so picky.

"You okay?" It's soft, her words no more than a whisper and he cups her jaw.

"I'm great. I should be asking you that."

"M'fine. Hurts, burns, but I'm just ready to hold -" she pauses mid sentence and he knows it's a bad one. Her eyes water, her nostrils flare and there's a tic in her jaw that he feels under his palm.

The smallest whimper leaves her lips and he kisses her. Softly. Quick but gentle.

It's their last kiss before it's time. Before they're interrupted and she's ready to push. He almost leaves, thinks she'll want to be alone for this part but she doesn't. So he stays in the water with her. He helps in any way he can.

Holding her thigh, caressing her shoulder, whispering in her ear to keep her going. A mantra of "you got this" spattered with her name or something equally endearing. She's determined. He doesn't know why that stuns him when she's never been anything but. Except this time it's so much bigger. Because she's dealing with a baby passing through her pelvis, dealing with the pain naturally and he's never been more in awe. He's never seen her like this. He's never seen the determination in her eyes when she's exhausted and sweaty. Or how she somehow manages to find the strength to push again after the last leaves her panting and slumped back against his chest. But she does.

He forgets for just a brief second that they're having a baby. That he should probably be watching. He's too busy staring at her. He barely even hears anything, it's all just narrowed down to her, her breathing. The fact that her heart is pounding or maybe that's his. Definitely his. Though he's sure he feels hers too.

And then it all rushes back in when he hears "one more push". He drags his eyes away, he missed it. He missed it but he sees now. And he really shouldn't be so excited to see that their baby has a head because that's been obvious since the first ultrasound but he is. And then he remembers. He remembers just in time because he's the one that volunteered for this. He wanted this moment.

He gets to catch their son.

And he does. Carefully. Just like they showed him, he helps deliver their baby. She's doing the work, pushing, but he gets to do this. He's the one that guides him, brings him up to the surface of the water as soon as he's born with Beckett's hands already chasing, joining because she wants him.

The moment is theirs, only interrupted for a brief moment by someone else's hands. And then it doesn't matter because he's crying. Loud and his face scrunches and Castle feels his heart burst. That's the only way to explain how this feels. To be the one right there with her. To be the first to touch their newly born baby. He kisses her shoulder, once, twice. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, to see their son. And he feels her hand touch his. Both of them listening carefully, keeping his body submerged so he doesn't get cold. His body isn't used to being outside the womb, and the water helps. He's staring again but this time it's not at her.

And then she's turning to beam up at him and he has to kiss her. He has to. It's a mix of softness, tears, her sweat but he takes it anyway. It doesn't last long, both too eager to see their baby. They did it.

She did it. But he helped some. So did their midwife but mostly it was all Kate.

She's never been stronger in his eyes.

"Castle, he's perfect."

"Of course he is. He's ours." Soon they'll have to hand him off. But they have a little while longer.

They can hold him while the rest of the process - the one he doesn't enjoy thinking about - takes place. He's not easily squeamish but he's not keen on watching either. That's why they have the midwife. She can pay attention to that stuff and he can just stare at the baby with the trembling lip and the eyes that slowly blink open. He can watch as his wife unbuttons his shirt and tries to get their son to latch on.

He can help with that too. Holding his head. He has hair. A lot of dark hair and tiny little ears. She's right. He's absolutely perfect. And this moment is perfect.