knowledge

Castle comes in the door and sheds his coat, feeling the catharsis of it as he moves to the closet and hangs it next to Kate's.

Rough day. Paula wants him to do another tour, promote the next Nikki Heat novel in Europe, Asia, Australia. And a part of him does feel obligated. His fans have always been so supportive, he owes it to them to do interviews, appear on their local television shows.

But Kate's here. Kate can't come with him for six month book tour. And they've only been married five months.

He won't leave her.

The loft is cold, November air rolling in and curling in wisps at the window panes, along the gaps underneath the doors. He shakes the chill off, unwinding his scarf and touching his fingertips to the cadaveric skin of his neck.

Could use the touch of a mouth, tender and wonderful. Where's his wife.

Their bed is carefully made, the sheets stretched taught in a plane of luxurious silk, and in the middle is Kate.

Looking. . .not good. Too pale, her skin almost translucent in the most delicate places. Her wrists, her eyelids, her neck. She doesn't look at him, doesn't even give any sign that she's awake at all until he slides in beside her, his knees pulled up to nudge hers, and she whimpers.

His hand falls to settle at her spine and he dusts his mouth at her temple. "Kate? Are you okay?"

"I'm gonna-" she grits out, sitting bolt upright with a hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and terrified on his.

And then she's stumbling out of bed and to the bathroom, the clatter of ceramic jolting him hard enough that he staggers after her. He gathers her curls in a knot at her nape and holds them, his other hand hovering uselessly at her back as she wretches into the toilet bowl.

It lasts forever, ragged keening spilling from her as she tries to catch her breath, and then she's crumbling exhausted to the tile.

Castle fills a glass of water and guides her to sit up, his arm around her to keep her against his chest as she drinks the whole thing in slow sips.

"You been doing this all day?" He can't help but ask, the heat rolling off of her bringing with it the first fleeting taste of panic to the back of his throat.

Kate stands slowly, reaching for her toothbrush with her eyes still screwed closed. He takes it from her, loading it with toothpaste and passing it back, holding her up as she trembles with the effort of it.

"Yeah. Gates sent me home."

Castle nods, his hands cupped under her elbows to ease her back to their bed. His wife, his wife, and it kills him to see her suffer.

She lies back in the middle of the sheets and Rick moves to tug the covers out from under her, halted by the touch of her fingers at his thigh. "Don't. I don't want to get tangled and. . .not make it in time."

"Right. Can I get you anything?" He brushes her hair back from her face, reaches for a hair tie from her nightstand. "You think you can sit up long enough for me to braid?"

"Yeah. Feel better for a while when it's over." She murmurs, letting him guide her to sit in the vee of his legs.

He busies himself with her hair, tries to keep his hands off of her skin as best he can. She's gotten sick before, and he knows she hates to be touched.

She told him that it takes all her energy just to hold her skin together and keep her insides in place, and she can't handle him breaching the barricade.

"A stomach flu, you think?" He ties off the end of the braid, his palm spanning her back as he eases her back down to the pillow.

Kate's eyes are closed but she manages a trembling smile for him, her fingers landing at his forearm like an accident. "No. I was going to tell you at Thanksgiving."

"Tell me what? You're not seriously sick, are you?" He fists his hands so as not to clutch at her, shifting back to let her have room to breathe.

"No. Not sick. I wanted to make it romantic. Didn't know this would happen." Her chest lifts on a breathy laugh, her body in revolt so the sound doesn't even make it past her mouth.

"Kate?"

She opens her eyes, dark with vulnerability, and she curls her fingers into his waistband. "I took the test last week. Thought it would be fun to wait. Write it in your card or something."

What? What is she saying? "I don't understand."

"You know. Happy Thanksgiving, Daddy. Love, Kate and Bump." Her eyes are closing again, lashes falling like shadows against him.

It burns through him, startling clarity and hopeless, irrefutable joy. "Kate. What are you saying?"

"I don't have a stomach flu. I'm pregnant."

He chokes out a gasp, his palm coming up to cup her cheek. He presses his mouth to her forehead, her skin burning under him. "Are you sure? How far along?"

"About five weeks, I'd guess. I haven't booked in with the ob gyn yet. Wanted to tell you first."

Oh God. Oh, Kate. "A baby."

"Is that. . .okay, with you? I mean, your eldest graduates college next year. I do understand if you don't want to do it all again."

A whisper of quiet grief escapes him and he nudges closer, skating his fingertips over the footholds of her braid. "Of course I want to do it again. I always wanted more kids. I just didn't want to have to do it alone. But with you, Kate, there's nothing I want more."

"I was hoping you'd say that." She breathes, nuzzling her nose into his sternum. "I really kind of want this baby. A lot."