Spirits
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3 December 3
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Kate moves gingerly.
Yup. End of sentence there. She moves gingerly. She can't do any better than a slow crawl, and even when she wants to be better, she just can't.
She breathes out and eases back against the office couch, flinching at the shift in position. Castle is rustling somewhere in the kitchen but the office has her sequestered with the baby, corralled by the fences and desk furniture.
It's a little crowded in here; she has to admit.
"How's it going?" Castle calls out. "You making it?"
"No," she bites out, slumping back against the leather. "This was a huge mista-"
"Wasn't a mistake," he says, before she can even finish. He comes around the corner with a spatula in hand, pointing it at her. "Had to be done."
"I'm such an idiot," she moans. She can't even lift her arms. Everything aches. The baby is entirely out of her reach. "This was the stupidest-"
He's suddenly looming over her. When did he get so fast going over the baby gates?
Castle pokes her with the spatula and she huffs, trying not to laugh. Laughing hurts so badly. It all hurts so badly.
"Cross your arms over your chest," he says. "I'll help you up."
"Where'd Carter go?"
"He's just behind the desk."
"Don't let him eat the damn cord-"
"He's not. Just some dust bunnies."
"That's not funny," she mutters, glaring up at him.
"It is a little. Cross your arms, Beckett, or I'll poke you again."
She growls but obeys, her palms curling at the tops of her shoulders as she leans forward. Castle stuffs the spatula into his back pocket and bends his knees to squat in front of her.
She hates this part. But she leans into him, her forehead against his shoulder, giving him her weight. He slides his palms under her thighs and lifts, preventing her from using her abdominal muscles and helping her to stand.
Kate finds her feet after a moment's awkwardness, her heart pounding a little too hard. His breath is fast and warm against her hair, the top of her ear, and they stand there for a moment, both of them collecting themselves.
"You got it?" he says finally.
She nods.
"Oh, no," Castle grunts. "He really is eating a dust bunny. No, no, Carter. Stop that."
Kate is left swaying alone as Castle dives past her. She turns only her head and watches as Castle scoops up their son, swiping a finger in Carter's mouth. Carter squawks and throws himself backward, but Castle is wise to his tricks, keeping a firm hold and swiping fur out of his mouth. But he does give a glance her way to ascertain her condition.
She nods; she's stable. "We're about to have dinner, Car." She reaches out slowly and Castle steps in closer so that she isn't extending. She curls her fingers around the baby's chubby leg. "I promise Daddy will feed you."
He shrieks, causing Chaplin to come running from the kitchen in concern. Castle jiggles the baby with one hand, picks up the baby gate with the other. She passes through - slowly - and he puts it back while she fends off Chaplin.
The dog is trying to jump her, tail wagging, excited by the baby's shrieks of protest. Castle is hushing the kid and trying to knock Chaplin away at the same time. She's left helpless, unable to do a thing about it. If she reaches out, she pulls every muscle in her abs and the stitches at the incision site. She can't even walk quickly to get out of the dog's range.
"Charlie, stop," Castle growls, kneeing the dog away again. "Down."
That does it. Chaplin drops to his belly, puts his head on his paws, those great big eyes staring mournfully up at them.
"Hey, look at that," Castle beams. "He obeyed me."
Kate curls her fingers in the back of Castle's shirt, needing his momentum to keep her going. "Look at you all commanding," she says (more of a gasp). Her sternum burns like a flaming arrow straight down to her belly button. "Told you he would if you sounded dominant." She sucks in a deeper breath and that hurts. "You gotta use that bedroom voice, Castle."
He chuckles appreciatively, already outstripping her. He's leaning over the high chair to seat the baby, who is not appreciative in any way, and Kate keeps moving forward, inch by painful inch. Carter is bucking the safety straps, batting at his father's hands, screeching in that way he has. Castle tries to talk to him, explaining that dinner is coming, that he needs to be good for Mommy, that no one wants to hear his screaming.
When Kate finally approaches, she drops her hand to the top of Carter's head, narrows her eyes at him. "Carter."
He squawks, shifting to look at her, and then drops heavily into the high chair, all the fight going out of him. "Mama." He bangs the tray with both hands and then beams up at her.
Castle sighs. "Great." He manages to finish buckling in the kid and then he shifts to attend her. "You said one word."
She lets him guide her down to the kitchen chair, giving him a half smile. "Use your firm voice, Rick."
"You mean my bedroom voice?" Castle stabilizes her as she sits, keeps her from tilting off balance. "Wasn't that what got us this little hellion?" His eyebrows wriggle. "Panic attack sex."
She blows out a fast breath in lieu of laughing, and he leans over to kiss her cheek. She can't catch the side of his face and curve her fingers at his ear, she can't twist her torso into him, she can't even crane her neck and kiss him back.
She barely delivered his kid. The physical therapists said it was a bad idea, so soon after being shot twice, that her body wasn't up for it, but she wouldn't listen.
And then after that, she tore muscles, she sprained tendons, she ripped things that shouldn't be ripped. Because she can't stop herself, because she always has to do more, because it isn't good enough to just have a baby, she has to also be some kind of supermom.
She can't stop herself. She flings herself into self-sabotage, she hurls herself into the black hole. Her mother's murder, the entangling case, the hired killers, the death. Everyone dies, she told him long ago, and then she did it anyway. She never stops.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" she groans. And that hurts, emotions hurt.
"You had surgery. Give yourself a break." He moves for the kitchen, gathering dishes and uncovering pots. "Bread?"
"You made bread?"
"Yeah. Better this way. But it's garlicky, so." He brings back two overfilled bowls, the whole kitchen redolent with the scent of lamb stew.
She stares down at the bowl, biting her bottom lip.
"Hey, stop that," Castle said. "You'll make Carter yell at you, and we've had about enough of that."
She nods, swallows. But Rick does everything even though she promised him he wouldn't be doing parenthood alone again. He has to do everything, and she's feeling more than just useless and post-surgery blue.
"I said stop."
Her head comes up at the edge in his voice, and she sees Chaplin stop begging at the table and go belly down again.
"Hey, look at that," Castle beams.
She smiles.
It's not so bad, is it? It can't possibly be as bad as it feels right now.
"Am I bad mom for being a cop?"
Castle's jaw drops.
From the highchair, Carter shrieks and slams both hands to the tray, rattling the whole kitchen with the sound.
"That's what we both think about that," Castle says, dropping back down into his stern voice again. "You're a badass captain, anyway. Not just some cop. Also, I forgot to give Carter his crackers. Hang on a sec, kiddo. Dinner is coming right up."
He jumps to his feet again, the steam curling from his stew, and she's left sitting helplessly at the table while Carter whines and arches his back.
This is miserable. And she brought it on herself.
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