Wonderful Life

Dash cuddles against her, whimpering, sounding like a toddler again, his fingers tangled in the hair at her neck.

"It's okay, baby," she murmurs, juggling his backpack, her own bag, the boy. She remote locks the car, shifts him higher in her arms, heads for the elevator in their parking garage.

"Momma," he mutters, rubbing his face in her neck.

She called the pediatrician on the way back from the kids' preschool, confirmed it was the chicken pox after she sent them a picture of his spots, then stopped off at the corner drugstore for Calamine lotion. Dr. DeLameran has given her some suggestions, but there really aren't drugs for chicken pox. If it gets bad, DeLameran can give him an antiviral, but that shouldn't be necessary.

"Momma."

"Yeah, baby," she murmurs into his ear, stepping onto the elevator. "How do you feel?"

He gives a pitiful noise against her chest, his teeth at her collarbone like he did when he was a baby. She leans in and presses the button for their floor.

"No biting, Dash. I know you feel bad, but you're four years old. We'll get some medicine when we get upstairs, okay?"

"I feel bad," he whines, draws his arms tightly around her neck.

"I know," she sighs, shifting side to side as the elevator lifts. He lays his cheek against her shoulder, his mouth open as if it's too much energy to breathe through his nose. Kate curls her hand through his hair, scratches lightly until she feels scabbed bumps.

He whimpers.

"I know, I know, poor baby." He's got chicken pox on his scalp? Jeez, this is going to be miserable for them both.

She steps off the elevator, and since they're the only ones on this floor, she drops their bags in the hall in favor of getting a better handle on Dash. He's a heavy four year old, and awkward, all thin and long limbs, bony knees at her ribs.

He whines against her skin, making those pitiful Castle noises as she heads for their door. Keys still in her hand, she jostles Dash trying to get the door unlocked, murmurs against the top of his head as he mewls at her.

"Okay, sweetheart, it's not the end of the world," she laughs. "Come on. You and Daddy, such big babies."

"Me and Daddy?" he asks, tilting his head to look at her.

She nudges the door wider with her toe and carries him into the living room. "You and Daddy are so alike. All this drama."

"What's drama, Mommy?"

"Hm. A lot of emotion. A lot of heart in things. All right out here where everyone can see it and pay attention."

"Oh, I like drama then."

She chuckles and presses her lips to his temple. "I know you do, my best man. Where do you want to camp out? Couch or bed?"

"Couch," he says with relish.

"All right. Let me drop you there and then go back for our stuff."

Of course, he tightens his arms around her neck, bringing his mother down with him as she tries to make him bounce in the couch cushions. He giggles at her, and her heart lifts at the sound, so she plays it up, staggers over him, falls on top of him on the couch as peals of laughter erupt from his little body.

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy," he gasps, his hands tugging at her ears to pull her away.

She lifts up, smiling at him, and he collapses back against the couch, cheeks flushed, forehead damp. She bites her lip and brushes her hand against his skin. "Okay, change of plans. Let's get you some water and some medicine first, okay, wild man?"

"Mm, no medicine?"

"Yeah, medicine."

"I don't like it," he whines. "I can't, Mommy. Don't make me."

"I know you have trouble, but I'll help you. And we have banana popsicles in the freezer, baby. You want one after you take your medicine?"

His eyes brighten, but his mouth is still twisted. He's always had trouble with this. They tried the chewables, but no. No good. He's still got to take the liquid tylenol, and even that is an ordeal. He's going to gag, and she's going to waste four or five doses trying to get it down him, but he has a fever. And she'll have to be tough.

"Popsicle for medicine. Deal?"

He sighs. "Deal."

"Can I stay in here all day?" Dash says with a sigh.

She chuckles and brushes the wet hair off his face. She's added two cups of finely ground oatmeal to his bath water, along with the lavender bubble bath. Dashiell has immediately stopped trying to scratch the angry looking places on his torso. He even has a spot on his big toe, another under his chin. He's got it bad.

"Where's my Ellie?" he murmurs, closing his eyes as his shoulders slump. She swipes her finger over a stain of red under his chin, a spot of children's tylenol. What an ordeal. He's all worn out from their epic battle to get the medicine down him.

"She's staying with Papa tonight."

"Oh," he says, sounding sad. Kate pushes her fingers through his hair, lightly rubbing his scalp. He hums, the sound high and babyish in his throat, his head moving to seek her hand. She won't let him scratch, but he gets to dictate the next spot she has to rub.

"How's that?" she says quietly.

His eyes open, mirrors to her own. "Good, good. More?"

"Little more," she says, trailing the flat of her nails along his scalp, over the bumps, careful not to pick at them. She cups the back of his head and leans over to kiss the tip of his nose.

He laughs and opens his eyes, his lashes tangling with hers. "Hey, Mommy."

"Hey, my sweet boy. You feel better?"

"The bath is so good."

She grins and rubs at the nape of his neck, then down his back through the bubbles. His shoulders squirm with delight.

"Can we call Daddy?" he says.

"Sure. Your daddy said he couldn't get to his phone until eight though."

"Can I leave a message?"

"Of course."

"Video message?" he asks, lifting one little eyebrow.

"That too, if you want." She strokes a thumb over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed as she feels more chicken pox than he had only an hour ago.

He sinks down a little further into the bath. "Can I have my toys?"

She wrinkles her nose at him. "There's oatmeal in the bath."

"So? Oatmeal's good, Mommy."

Kate sighs. She'll have to run the bath toys through the dish washer to get the oatmeal out. Ooh, actually, that might cook it. Not a good idea. She is not washing his bath toys by hand-

"Please? I'm sick, and I don't feel good, and I want to play with my spider-mans."

Jeez, she's a sucker for that face. Has Castle been giving him lessons?

"Okay, baby. All right. Let me go find them."

"First can you itch me?"

"Where?"

He lifts both arms and thrusts his chest out. "All here. Alllll over."

Kate's lips twist at his display, but she rubs her fingers over his torso, giving him a good, soft scratch.

He sighs, arms drooping, and she takes a moment to slosh more oatmeal bathwater over his skin.

"How's that?"

"The best. Now my spider-mans?"

"Okay, fine. Spider-man." She flicks water and bubbles into his face as she lifts from her knees, smiling at his giggle.

Feeling better then. Good.

She cuddles him on the couch, his skin damp and smelling like oatmeal and mint, his body cooler now than an hour ago, but still a little furnace, like his father. Kate scrolls through the guide on satellite, murmuring the names of shows to him as she goes.

"No Noggin, Mommy," he says petulantly, his fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. She changed into jeans and a Yankees raglan while he played in the bath and she feels better now. Less sticky. Less germy too.

"Okay. Cartoons? Tom and Jerry, Scooby Doo-"

He sighs. "Something new."

"New?"

"Can we watch one of Daddy's shows?"

"No," she answers automatically. Disney? He scorns Disney. Any Star Wars on here, because he loves the Storm Troopers-

"Please, Mommy? Daddy's got cartoons. Here let me show you." He takes the remote from her and calls up the list of recorded shows, scrolls through them. "See? This one."

"Can you read that?"

He presses his mouth into a hard line, concentrates. "Um. V-vuh. . .I don't know that first word. Something. Brothers."

"Uh-huh. Venture Brothers. And that's a big time no."

"What about this one? Uh. . .oh. Daddy let me watch this one. Aqua Teen Hunger Force."

"Daddy did, huh?"

"It's good. I like it."

Kate lets him select the last show, wary about it. As it begins to play somewhere in the middle (Castle apparently has let him see this then), it's - uh - not exactly easy to follow and - no. No. Nope. "Too silly for me," she sighs. "Let's try something else."

She takes the remote back from him and scrolls through the adultswim stuff, moving past it to get to the seasons of shows he's got permanently installed on the DVR. Babylon 5, Battlestar Galactica, a few series of Doctor Who, Fir-

"Oh, Mommy, what about that one?" Dash says, grabbing the remote and rising to his knees on the couch. "Mommy, this is the one about the space cowboys. Oh please, oh please, oh please-"

"Baby, I don't know-"

"Daddy fast forwards through stuff when we watch his cartoons. So you could do that?"

She chews on her bottom lip and nods. "Okay. We'll watch the space cowboys."

Kate doesn't mean to get sucked in but-

But.

Ack.

She's sucked in.

When the pilot plays with dinosaurs, Dashiell gets sucked in too. They are both in it, and even though Kate should fast forward through a few of these scenes, should really not let Dash see that, she keeps forgetting. She covers his eyes twice, but he giggles and leans around her, rubs his face in her chest, squirms down to see.

Kate pushes her legs to the end of the couch and leans back on Dash's pillow, the boy draped over her chest, eyes drooping from the Benadryl. He hasn't been too itchy, which is good, but Dash keeps ordering her to rub her fingers over the spots on his back. She'll break out the Calamine lotion tomorrow.

The Reavers appear onscreen, the mysterious ship drifting close in space, and Kate feels tingles of terrible awareness crawl up her spine. She thumbs the fastforward button, but hesitates, glances down at Dashiell.

His eyes are closed, mouth open. Probably asleep.

She keeps watching, unable to help herself. There's something dour and alluring about the Captain, something that appeals to the dark in herself. She thinks he would be someone who understood-

"Oooh, them is bad guys," Dashiell slurs.

Kate startles, glances down at the boy. "You awake still?"

"Mm-hm, them bad guys, Mommy. They wear skin coats?"

Oh jeez. "Just a way of talking. Not really. Just trying to scare us."

Dashiell shivers, but he's grinning, blinking hard to keep his eyes open. Her little Halloween baby.

"Sleep if you want, Dash."

"I scratchy. Can you itch me?"

Castle would roll his eyes at the imprecise word choice, but she thinks it's cute. "Where?"

"Here and here and here," he says, wriggling his shoulders.

Kate brushes the back of her fingers over his spots, the hard keratin of her nails making him sigh.

"That's good. Oh, look at that!"

She glances back to the tv, her arms loose around her son, and finds herself caught in the show again.

"I like the girl in the box," he murmurs suddenly.

"River?"

"I want to ride in a box sometime."

"Sure you do."

"I could color inside. It would be my ship. It would be dark and close. I would like that."

"Mm, you would," she murmurs, watching that Captain. Sexy as hell. She misses Castle. He's pretty sexy himself.

"I miss Daddy."

Kate huffs a laugh, squeezes Dashiell a little tighter. "I was just thinking the same thing."

She can't believe she let her son watch four episodes of this show.

"Captain Tight Pants!" the boy giggles again, sprawled out on the other side of the couch. He lifts his head and a foot. "Itch me."

She absently rubs at his ankle, in that same spot as earlier, clicks the television off. "Okay. No more space cowboy for now. We'll give it a rest and watch more later."

"Captain Tight Pants," he laughs, flopping his head back onto the pillow she dragged out from her bedroom. He's got hers, she's got his.

"Uh-huh," she remarks, realizing that's gonna get old real fast.

"Can we call Daddy now?"

"We already left him a video."

"Is he not at his phone now?"

It takes her a moment to realize what he means and then she sits up, patting his legs. "Eight o'clock. We have, hmm, two more hours. You hungry, kiddo?"

"I could have ice cream?"

"You could have a hot dog."

"I could have it for dessert?"

"We'll see," she warns, shifting to get to her feet, jostling Dash's legs to make him giggle. She's just about to head for the kitchen when her phone rings.

Maybe Castle got out early?

"Daddy?" Dash asks, lifting up to look at her phone.

Kate scoops it off the coffee table. "Oh no. Just Papa," she says, answering it.

"Just Papa?" her father laughs on the other end.

"Sorry, Dad. Dash was looking for Rick."

"And well, that's similar to why I'm calling," he says gently. "Ellery's looking . . . weepy-eyed at me. I think she wants to come home, sweetheart."

"Oh," Kate sighs, closing her eyes. "Can you put her on the phone?"

"I can try."

After a moment of rustling, Kate listens hard and finally thinks she can hear her daughter's breathing. "Baby girl? What's wrong? Papa said you're sad?"

There's a hitched breath, and a pitiful noise. Kate can hear her father urging the girl to talk, but there's nothing, no voice. She glances over at her son, covered in chicken pox-

but what the hell. The more the merrier.

"Ella," she says softly. "Please talk to me."

A little whimper from the other end and then the breathy sound of her name.

"Mommy."

"Okay, okay. Papa will bring you home. Don't be sad, little cricket."