"Doctor, can I just – "
Castle leaves Kate and the baby, in their blissful state, and pulls the doctor by the arm into the hallway.
"Mr. Castle, I – "
"No, you lied to her."
"I did not lie to your wife."
"You didn't tell her you were using forceps."
"I didn't want to add stress – sir, your baby was running out of oxygen. If we waited she could have severe and permanent damage to her brain. I needed to do what I thought was best."
Castle rubbed a hand through his hair, exhausted.
"And that means using a tool that nobody uses? It's 2013. Are you kidding me?"
The doctor repositions his clipboard, looking at his feet.
"I want you to tell me everything."
"Mr. Castle. I have. Your baby will be fine."
"No. No. You don't get to say that. You want to know why? Because when you guys – you doctors – say something will be 'fine' it never is. Babies die. Those tiny things –" he says, waving a finger towards the door, "they sometimes don't make it. And when you're worried about them, you know what doctors say? That everything will be 'fine'. So, I need you to tell me exactly what is going on."
"I told you. We're going to look after Nora. We're going to watch her. She has a bruise on her face. That will go away within days. I don't see any nerve damage in her face; however, she is at risk for temporary facial nerve injuries. We will see if that happens, and if it does, she will heal in a few weeks. After she feeds, we will see her body adapting. We will see how she is surviving the first few hours – just like we do with every baby born, Mr. Castle."
"And what about my wife."
"What about her?"
"I want to know what's happening with her."
Castle's hands are on his hips. He can't look at the doctor, not now. The wall was too blue. The floor was too clean.
"Kate – Mrs. Castle – is fine. The forceps did not damage her at all."
"Are you sure – "
"Forceps rarely – "
"No. I said no. I know exactly what forceps do. Do you think, after losing my son, that I would just sit here and not know everything that could happen to my daughter? And my wife!"
"She didn't tear more. She's fine."
"I can't be raising a baby and have a wife that suddenly becomes an 80-year-old."
Castle looks from the floor to the doctor.
"No. I can. I can have a wife like that. But Kate can't have a life where – she's young! She can't be wearing diapers!"
"Mr. Castle, she will not be wearing diapers."
"Yea, you better make sure she isn't."
The doctor took his last sentence as a chance to leave, to let him digress.
Castle enters the room and sees the same scene: Kate with the baby. Smiling. Touching her face. Kate's feet move a little, under the blanket, as she rocks the baby back and forth – slowly – still in her bed.
"Hey," he interrupts.
She looks up, her hair slicked back into a bun; the roots still damp, and a slight smile on her face.
"Hey."
Castle leans on the wall closest to the door and, for the first time since his daughter was born, really looks at her. From afar, with her mother, she seems perfect. The bruise isn't visible to him. Her tiny feet curled into a pink blanket. Dark hair just brushing the surface of her head – her head that might be damaged. Castle's smile fades, turns to worry. Again. Her feet might be perfect, now. Her hands might be perfect. For now. Everything might change from this exact moment.
"When are you feeding her?"
"I – I don't know. I don't even know what to do. They said they'd come back."
Castle saw her smile fade – not disappear – but he could see that she was concerned. She's never done this before – be a parent – and he knows that she's scared.
"You'll be fine –"
"I know. It's just feeding her – I mean, people have done it before."
Her nerves have caused her voice to shake. It's hitting her, he can tell. The shock of being a parent to a living child.
"No, I mean about the other thing," he says, coming to the side of her bed again. He leans to the edge, his leg partly on the bed.
She looks up, her eyes wide and her smile gone; her vulnerability bouncing from her daughter to her husband. Castle brushes his hand against her cheek and rubs his thumb along her jaw. He smiles to her, letting her know that they agree.
"I never – I never –" Kate says, a yawn cutting off her sentence.
"I know. I forgot it too."
Kate slides her feet around the side of the bed and her planned walk – head down, feet shuffling the few feet to the side of the room – to the yellow bassinet in the corner.
"I just didn't think I could be this tired – and I've pulled all-nighters with you before – we've been up for two straight days on cases. And I still have never been this tired."
Castle shakes his head, agreeing with her, but his eyes are closed. His body is sitting up, but his back slouches forward and leans to his legs. He's up. He has to stay up with her, but his eyelids disagree.
"Can you – can you just grab that towel over there."
Without looking, he knows exactly what towel she needs. It's the same towel they needed two hours ago when the baby was hungry. Now the baby needed to be changed – maybe she was just lonely. Looking for someone to hold her – again – at two in the morning.
Castle repeats her actions as his own – his feet shuffling to the chair, his hands grabbing the pink towel from the arm, and walking back to the bed. Trying to not trip over the baby's dirty clothes on the ground, he opens his eyes to see the edge of the mattress and sits down. His back to her, he hands her the towel puts his elbows on his knees, his hand in his head.
"She's not hungry."
"I know," he answers.
"Well you could have told me."
"You fed her two hours ago. She's bored."
"It's 2 am."
"She doesn't care. She's a baby."
"Nora, honey. Baby. What are you doing?" Kate says, the baby resting in her legs.
The baby never started crying, but whimpered a little. The whimpering – which always grew louder if they ignored it – had woken them up.
"See if she needs to be changed," Castle says under his breath.
"Don't you think I would have checked that first."
"Did you?"
"Yes," Kate says as she feels the baby's diaper.
"Nora, please, please go to sleep. It's been two weeks. Please. Just once," Castle says, whining, rolling over to the baby, who's inherited Kate's smile.
"That's not a smile Castle," Kate says, repeating his thought.
"That is a smile."
"She's two weeks old."
"And the book said that she might smile now. It will be in the first month. We're halfway through the first month."
"She might have gas."
"So, that's still a smile. Just a smile that will force us to change her – again."
Kate smirks at him and looks back at Nora, who had closed her eyes.
"Kate. Don't. Move." Castle whispers.
"I want to go to sleep too!" she whispers back.
"If you move, she will open her eyes. Here, move your legs down."
"Castle, I am not sleeping sitting up – "
"How tired are you."
Castle stirs, looks over at Kate, in the middle of the bed, with her feet resting against a pillow, Nora sleeping between her closed legs.
Castle, trying to not wake any of them, slides closer to Kate, putting his legs next to hers. He mimics the exact position Kate is in, trying to make it as smooth as possible.
Carefully, slowly, he lifts Nora, putting her between Kate's right let and his left leg.
She doesn't wake. Her hands don't move.
Once more, he picks up the pink blanket she is on and quickly shifts her to his legs.
She stays asleep.
Castle sighs, relieved that she's not crying.
He looks over at Kate, without moving his legs, and pulls her down.
Kate stirs, opens her eyes, startling at the lack of weight on her legs.
"Shh. It's okay," he says, pointing to the baby.
Kate, smiling, reaches over and kisses his cheek. She rolls over, stretches her back, and moves away from him – not waking the baby. She's back asleep within moments.
Castle, awake for a second, looks at Nora sleeping. She's lying between his legs, her fist at her mouth and her nose scrunched. But she's sleeping. Castle grabs a pillow from Kate's legs and put's it on the side of his that are facing the floor. He snuggles Nora deeper into the crease between his legs, straightens his back against the headboard, and closes his eyes.
Thoughts? How do you like the name? And the story so far?