Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

"I'm going completely insane," Castle says as he leans against the kitchen island, his voice three parts self-pity and one part desperation.

Beckett peers at him over the rim of her mug. "I doubt it."

Castle feels a little jolt. "I'm serious. I'm about to lose my mind."

"How long has this been going on, anyway?"

"Started an hour ago, before you woke up." He twitches.

"Hmm," she puts down her mug. "What have you tried so far?"

"Holding my breath. Drinking water from the wrong side of the glass, which resulted in nothing but a wet shirt." Another jolt.

"Oh my God, Castle! A huge mouse just ran under the fridge, right behind you."

He doesn't flinch, which seems impossible, given his musophobia. "That tiny thing you do with your lip gave you away, Beckett. I knew you were about to tell me a fib."

"I was just trying to scare you. It's supposed to be a sure-fire cure for hiccups."

"What are hiccups? Is Dad sick? Why does he need a cure for hiccups?"

Castle's head and shoulders jerk. "I bet you can die from hiccups."

"What! Dad is going to die?"

While Castle is not the King of Hypochondria, or even the Crown Prince, he is at the very least an earl—probably a duke—so Beckett is exercising restraint. "You cannot die of hiccups, Castle," she says, as patiently as she can. "Especially not after an hour. Hold on a sec." She grabs her cell and executes a quick search. "Here you are. A guy in Iowa set the world record for hiccups, from nineteen twenty-two to nineteen ninety. Sixty-eight years. You've got a long way to go."

"Sixty-eight years?" Castle yelps. Horrifying as the information is, it hasn't scared the hiccups out of him. "He must have died from them, then."

"Nope," she says with a smile, as she puts the phone down. "He lived another year, hiccup-free."

"Not a comforting factoid." He jumps, and winces. "How old was this guy, anyway?"

"I'll check." Beckett does another search. "Hmm. Wow. That's something."

" 'Hmm, wow, that's something'? Doesn't sound good."

"He was ninety-seven when he died, Castle. Turns out he got the hiccups after a bad fall when he was in his twenties. He ruptured a tiny blood vessel which led to his brain's inability to suppress hiccups."

"Maybe I should get an PET scan, see if I ruptured a blood vessel." He gingerly pats the top of his head, and hiccups again.

Beckett walks round the counter, kisses him on the cheek and grabs his chin so that he is forced to look into her eyes. "Castle. I do not think that you need to see a doctor. Besides, I haven't told you the 'wow' part. The guy had eight children. Sex with hiccups? Think about it. Has to be pretty great."

"I'd never expect a silver lining like that from you, Beckett. That's usually my job."

She gives him another kiss. "I'm stepping up at the moment, what with you being hiccup-impaired."

"Even with that great sexual insight of yours—and by the way, I'm happy to test your theory right now—I am going mad with this."

She lowers her lashes and tosses back her hair. "Then follow me to the laboratory and we'll run a few experiments."

"Oooh, I always love experiments," he says, backing her out of the kitchen. "Does this laboratory of yours happen to have a bed?"

"Of course. It's a full-service, fully-equipped lab."

Some time later, flat on his back on the seriously rumpled sheets, he hiccups loudly. "Damn."

She pokes him teasingly in the ribs. "That was amazing. Still sorry you've got hiccups?"

"Might be worth it to have them for a while," he says, laughing and rolling onto his side. "I think I know now why the guy had eight kids."

"Still, maybe we should look for some of the more credible cures," Beckett suggests. "I have to get up anyway, so I'll see what I can find online." She swings her legs to the side of the bed and looks over her shoulder at him. "You stay here, lover boy, count your diaphragmatic spasms."

Fifteen minutes later she reappears, carrying a tray with an odd assortment of things from the kitchen: a jar of peanut butter and another of honey, a tin of cocoa powder, bottles of vinegar and Tabasco, a saucer of dill seeds, a glass of water, and a bunch of spoons.

Castle is sitting up against the headboard and looks suspiciously at the tray that Beckett has set down next to him. "What is all this stuff? It's a repulsive combination. The only thing missing is eye of newt."

"You're not supposed to take them all together. You drink or swallow or slowly chew any one of these things by itself and it should knock those little suckers right out of you. Now, which one do you want to try?"

Her question is met with a mixture of derision and disgust. "You're kidding. Why would I drink hot sauce if I could have cocoa?"

"It's not exactly hot chocolate, Castle. You don't get to drink it; you have to chew a spoonful of cocoa powder, which is not nearly as appealing or as easy as it sounds."

"I thought," hiccup, "that you were supposed to be helping me."

"I am. How about the peanut butter? You just have to chew a big spoonful. According to the article I read, doing that will interrupt your 'swallowing and breathing patterns'." She scoops some out and and waves it front of him. "C'mon, open wide."

"You should try that, Dad. Peanut butter is my favorite."

He does as directed, opens wide, chews, scrapes bits of goo off his palate with his tongue, and finally licks his lips. Hiccup. "Mrrph. Didn't work." Neither do the dill seeds. The honey is a waste of time. "I'll try one more, but that's it. Pass me the vinegar, please. I'm going for broke here." He takes an enormous swig, holds it in his mouth, rolls it around, grimacing the entire time. Finally, he swallows it and shudders. And then he waits. And waits. And waits. After five minutes without hiccupping he says, "Ahhhhhhh, I think that did it!"

"Told ya, Castle," Beckett says, putting everything back on the tray. "I'm glad you're still alive."

"Me, too. I was really worried about Dad."

"Close call though."

She clutches her heart. "You're right, Castle. Three hours? An incredibly close call. I'm so relieved that I could snatch you from the jaws of death."

"Mock me if you will, Beckett. Wait until it happens to you."

"It did have that one spectacular side effect, though, didn't it?"

"It did. Hell of a way to start a day." He reaches out to tickle her foot. "And now, regrettably, we both have to get dressed and get out of here if we're going to be at the Ryans' brunch on time."

That evening they're both on the sofa, about to watch a Truffaut movie. Beckett is trying to get into a comfortable position. "Are you sorry that you missed the hiccup record by sixty-seven years, three hundred sixty-four days and twenty-one hours, Castle?"

"Much as I'd like to be in the Guinness World Records for something, no. Okay, movie's starting."

"Thanks for agreeing not to watch the dubbed version. It's so much better hearing the French."

"You're welcome. Plus I really hate the lip synch being off."

"This is another one of those where I won't know what's going on? Okay, I'm going to sleep."

About halfway through the movie Beckett says, "This was a really appropriate choice, Four Hundred Blows. The baby is kicking like you wouldn't believe. Feels like four hundred blows already."

Castle turns to her and smiles. "Soccer time, huh?"

"No," she says, resting her hand near the bottom of her stomach. "It's weird. It's so rhythmic, like marching or something. It's driving me a little nuts, actually."

"I'm not kicking you, Mom. I promise."

"Actually, it's not kicking."

"I told you so."

"Lemme feel," Castle says, putting his hand next to hers. "Wow, I see what you mean. It's a really regular beat."

A few minutes later, Beckett rubs her belly again. "Maybe we should be watching Peter Pan. I feel like the crocodile that swallowed the clock. Tick, tock."

"I'm going nuts, too, Mom. I'm jumping around in here and can't help it. Oops, there I go again."

Beckett sits bolt upright. "Oh, my God. I just realized what it is. The baby has hiccups."

"I have hiccups? I must have caught them from Dad. Quick, drink whatever worked on him to make them stop."

It's Castle's turn to sit bolt upright. "Really? Hiccups!" He fist pumps gleefully. "Yes!"

"Definitely your kid, Castle," she says, putting her head on his shoulder. "At least I know they can't last more than another month."

"Are you kidding? A MONTH? Let me out of here."

A/N Many thanks to reviewer wendykw for mentioning fetal hiccups!