Castle bolts straight up in bed.
Heart thumping.
In a panic.
He doesn't need to check the clock; he can tell by the light effusing from the edges of the drawn curtains that it's late.
No surprise that Kate's not here, she usually leaves for work around seven, but no crying babies either? That's what worries him.
Most mornings Kate finishes nursing the twins around six-thirty, brings them down to the kitchen, straps them in their highchairs, then wakes him up. She showers for work while he feeds the girls some breakfast, usually rice cereal, but just last week they started introducing jarred food.
But today... It's after eight and it's quiet. Too quiet.
He kicks at the covers; struggles with the soft fabric of the sheets. They're wrapped around his ankles and he can't seem to get free. He practically falls out of the bed, torso first, catching himself with a stiff arm to the floor.
Once free, he searches the room for something to put on. He knows he went to bed clothed. Well, he had on a pair of boxers, at least – green, cotton, little fountain pens on them. Kate gave them to him as a joke…
Oh yeah… Kate? She got in late from work. She was wired, said she needed a workout to calm her down. She climbed in bed, and then she climbed him.
He turns back to the bed, throws back all the covers. He finds the boxers wadded up near the bottom of the mattress. Huh? So maybe it wasn't just the sheets that had his feet all tied up.
He grabs the underwear, hops around; still unsteady on his feet, catches a glimpse of the baby monitor just as he pulls the boxers up to his hips. He doesn't see any red lights, no green lights either; the thing's been turned off. He doesn't know how that happened. He knows it was on somewhere around four in the morning.
He remembers hearing Kate humming something to Erin, encouraging her back to sleep. The baby, almost one hundred percent better - save a runny nose, has had a little trouble getting back into her normal sleep pattern after spending a night on the couch with Jenny, and two in bed with her worried parents. She's woken up a couple of times the last few nights for no other reason than wanting some attention from her Mommy.
Ah yes, messed up sleep patterns.
That's what he tells himself as he rushes into the living room. His girls are sleeping in.
"Here comes the old man."
He hears Kate before he sees her. She's using her 'let's make fun of Daddy' voice. The one where she gets all animated - head nodding and eyebrows lifting. Erin and Elena think it's hilarious and usually crack-up laughing at her.
Of course, sometimes it feels like they're laughing at him.
But not this morning; neither one laughs. They're too busy gulping down spoonfuls of baby food. Kate's shoveling it into their awaiting mouths; first one then the other. She doesn't bother with two bowls or two spoons. They figure the girls are in constant contact so there's no way to keep them from swapping germs, anyway. Might as well make things easier on themselves. Dr. Glazier has advised against it; says that keeping their bottles and spoons separate will help minimize the chances of passing along viruses.
Although, Elena never even came down with so much as a sniffle the whole time Erin was sick.
"Hey?" His voice comes out rough. He hasn't used it since last night when Kate…
He shakes his head, clears his throat, and tries again. "Going in late today?"
If she is, it must be really late because she's still in her pajamas. Which for her consists of the tee-shirt he tossed on the floor when he fell into bed around nine o'clock last night after a long day home alone with the girls, over a pair of dainty skin-tight panties. Yes, there are some benefits of a house devoid of flamboyant actresses and impressionable college students. Not the least of which is that his hot wife struts around half-naked most of the time.
"No, I took the rest of the week off."
She says it so nonchalantly, and no he did not just trip over himself. It was the area rug. He's always catching his toe under the damn thing.
"What? But you said you feel better about taking Christmas week off if you work Thanksgiving. Please tell me you didn't trade…"
"No, still off then too. It'll be their first Christmas." She nods at the babies, shovels another spoonful of food into Erin's gaping mouth. "I wouldn't miss that for anything."
He can tell there's something more too it, but he doesn't push her. He's learned that about her - don't push, she gets there faster that way.
"Morning sweet baby girl."
He leans over the back of a highchair, gives Elena a series of loud smacking kisses to the cheek. The happy baby squeals, reaches up to grab at his face. She manages to get a finger up his nose, but he pokes at her underarm and she quickly drops it; squishes his fingers for a second, then gets totally distracted by the spoon of green goo Kate waves in her face.
He rounds the side of the other highchair, manages to squeeze himself into the small space between it and Kate's knees. He squats down in front of Erin; an approach from behind so early in the morning would only make her cranky and sullen. She likes to see who's coming up on her; no surprises, just like Kate.
So he catches her eye, "Morning gorgeous," then waits for it. That slow-forming smile that cracks open her whole beautiful face. Her eyes light up, her chubby hand lifts from the white plastic tray to his lips. He gives her warm palm a little peck, swipes at the moisture on her face with his thumb, before giving her a soft kiss on the lips; her little fingers curling at his ear.
Elena may be the cuddlier of the two babies – willing to let anybody love on her all day long, but Erin is more touchy-feely, and only with him and Kate – lately mostly Kate. He does somehow manage to get it out of her in the mornings though, when she's still pliant from a good night sleep and having recently left the comfort of Kate's breast.
And, he takes it whenever he can get it.
Kate watches him 'make love' to his babies. He doesn't like it when she says it like that. Something about it making him feel dirty. But she doesn't know any other way to describe it; the way he knows his children as individuals, then acts and does accordingly. How he devotes his every moment, not only to their well-being, but to their happiness.
The way he loves her the same way.
Kate places the bowl and spoon, both practically licked clean by her ravenous children, on the bar. She leans forward, places her cheek at his back, his scapula shifts slightly at her touch.
He's warm and smells like sleep and sweat. It's how he smells now. Where before he smelled of soap, and cologne, and the slight hint of fabric softener. Now it's baby wipes, and diaper cream, pureed carrots.
That's partly why she took the rest of the week off. Not that she care's how he smells, because let's face it, somehow the smell of soured breast milk that emits from most of his shirts these days can totally turn her on. But because he spent much of the last two nights tossing and turning, mumbling something about Nikki Heat, and edits, and Gina. The latter of which, she barely likes to hear coming out of his mouth when he's awake, much less when he's asleep – in their bed.
So, she stumbled to his study somewhere between three and four to check his laptop. He's late with chapters, he has edits waiting to be done, Gina wants him at some fundraising event this Saturday.
And he hasn't said a word.
Erin finally lets him go, babbles something at him as he turns away from her.
His lips meet the top of Kate's head for a quick kiss, then he's up, surveying the kitchen for something to clean his hand with. With a shrug of his shoulders he wipes his sticky thumb near the hem of his boxers.
Kate tosses the wet wash cloth she was going to use to wipe down the girls at him. "Yuck, that explains why all your shirts have some sort of crust all over them."
"Well, I didn't want a mouthful of snot and pureed peas. Not before breakfast, at least." He grabs the empty jar from the sink. "Oh, sorry - green beans. Explain to me again why we can't feed them the good stuff like bananas and peaches and applesauce."
Kate can't help but laugh at him. The way he tries to get the babies on his side with that goofy voice, his lips all crazy-shaped as he talks. Ah, crap. It seems to work too, because the girls are both laughing at him. Elena pounds on her tray as if she's demanding some Gerber Hawaiian Delight. She can't really blame the kid. It really is good. Rick bought a four pack of the stuff, but she won't let the girls have any sweets yet. So, the tropical mix made it into Kate's purse, then to her desk at the Twelfth.
Castle's always telling her she needs to eat more.
"Dr. Glazier says to make sure they like all the veggies first. You introduce them to the sweets first and they'll never touch the rest. And we've broken enough of our Pediatrician's rules already don't' you think?"
He nods in agreement. Doesn't mean he won't try to sneak them some pears or plums before they've gotten through the rest of the veggies though. She knows him, too well.
"So, what's up Kate?"
Yeah, she knows him so well, that she can see it. He's happy she's here, but he's curious about why. Worried about why.
And she can't very well tell him it's because somewhere between wanting to shoot him for mumbling his ex-wife's name in his sleep, and then reading his emails – which she never does because she thinks it's a violation of his privacy, but he doesn't care because 'what's his is hers' – and then having to rock their youngest back to sleep because he was so tired he didn't even hear her screams through the monitor, that she just now realized how selfish she's been.
Or that she's been so caught up in not letting motherhood affect her job or maybe it's the other way around, and trying to figure out who she would be if she chose not to be a cop anymore, that she completely forgot about him.
About his job.
About how fatherhood the second time around has affected him. How it has already affected his job.
No, she can't tell him any of that.
So she hops off the barstool, "The plan is for Mommy and her girls to leave Daddy here to work, or rest, or both."
The fact that he doesn't whine or try to argue about going with them tells her a lot; worries her even more. She takes the jar out of his hand, tosses it back in the sink.
"So go, take care of that, it can't be comfortable," She points at him, "and let me fix us some breakfast."
He's not sure what's she's pointing at. His eyes follow the direction of her finger. There's nothing on his chest. He looks lower. Oh, yeah that. He smiles, looks back up at her, waggles his eyebrows.
"It's morning, Kate."
"Morning? That's what you're going with here, Castle?"
There's no waggle with her, just the lift of one very well-manicured eyebrow. Which naturally causes the lift of something else. He swallows hard, tries not to embarrass himself.
"No, not morning, Kate. It's you, definitely you that has me uncomfortable."
She stalks toward him, and damn it's the sexiest thing he's ever seen. His dirty tee shirt, her dirty mind.
She stops mere inches in front of him. Her hands skim across his chest, down his stomach, then around to his back. She fiddles with the elastic at his waist, and then lower.
And seriously are they going to do this here? In front of the babies? He might be okay with that.
Her breath is hot at his cheek, she's going to say something, and whatever it is will probably send him right over the edge.
Then suddenly her cold wet hand slaps his ass through the open fly of his shorts.
"They're on backwards Castle."