So I had a totally different idea for this chapter; wrote down what I wanted then thought I'd better have a back up plan incase my first idea didn't go so well. I didn't even start typing up my first idea, cause this one just took hold of me and wrote itself really.
Determination and perseverance were etched in every line on his wife's face; her teeth were gritted with a mixture of pain, motivation and love. She wanted to see her son properly. With the assistance of the nurse, Liberty, Rick had pulled his wife up into a sitting position on her bed, and she was now making painstakingly small movements toward standing up.
"Katie, take it easy." Rick said softly, concern lacing the tremor in his voice. He knew how determined she got when she fixed an idea in her head, how she would chase that idea until she had it within her hands.
"Help me up." was her terse reply, gripping his forearms in a tight, vice like grip.
"Okay." Rick placed his hands under her upper arms, applying a light though reassuring pressure as she pushed herself up onto her unsteady feet, swaying slightly into Rick. "I've got you Kate."
Suddenly the intensive care nursery was in her full view. She was standing up properly, leaning into Rick for support, reassured by the firm pressure exerted by his arm wrapped around her waist. Turning her head slightly, she brushed her nose against his cheek. "Thank you."
Leaning his forehead against hers, Rick caught her lips in a tender kiss, a soft dance of love; she was – is – going to be an amazing mother. "Always."
"Oh my god Rick, he's perfect. Look at him, that's…that's our son." Kate's voice is soft, in awe of the tiny little person on the other side of the window, 'Baby Castle' barely readable on the miniature bracelet encompassing his spindly wrist. The tiny little person that came into this world so dramatically, now sleeping peacefully. As peacefully as allowed, Kate thought; the multitude of machines beeping, flashing lights, and the cords running up and down his tiny body served to make him appear small, fragile and helpless in his incubator.
"He really is perfect. He's beautiful, Kate." Rick agrees, holding her hand softly, tenderly. A smile blooms on his face. "We made a person! That is so cool! Oh he will look so cute in the little laser tag outfit I brought!" Rick bounces on the balls of his feet, his face alight with excitement.
Kate laughs softly, and places her free hand on her husbands shoulder, trying to calm him down. "You are twelve aren't you…let's get him home first, kay?" She sighs, turning her attention back to their 'little man', as he'd been so fondly nicknamed by the nurses. "I just want to hold my boy."
Leaning in, Rick places a sweet kiss on his wife's forehead, breathing in deeply. "I know," he expels on a huff, sensing her turmoil. "I know you do honey."
The waiting was the hardest part. He'd flipped through the selection of magazines without taking in what they were about. He was anxious, worried. She'd been in surgery when he'd arrived, so he'd been alone with his thoughts for some time. The waiting room was cold and grey. The coffee he'd received sat cold and untouched. Hearing footsteps, he raised his head and stood suddenly. A doctor in blue scrubs approached him from behind double doors, a look of pity already crossing his face.
'Mister Castle? I'm Doctor Marshall. I'm sorry but there was nothing we could do to save either of them. Your wife lost too much blood; she died during the cesarean. And your son…well, he just wasn't strong enough.
'No! NO!'
Rick woke with a gasp, his hands clenching the arms of the chair he'd been sleeping in. Breathing heavily, he rubs his hands over his face, wiping away a tear he hadn't known had leaked out. It had seemed so real. "Just a dream Castle, get a grip…" He muttered to himself. Shakily, he sat up straight and raised his eyes to look over the sleeping form of his wife. Her chest was rising and falling slowly, her hands clasped softly over her waist. Seeing their son had calmed her somewhat, even if standing up had taken it's toll on her energy stores, and she'd been happy enough to be wheeled back down to her room where she was again hooked up to an intravenous line. A rumbling sensation took hold of Rick, who glanced at his watch and noted that it was well past his normal lunchtime. Was it only five hours ago that she'd been waking up from the induced coma? The emotional and physical toll the morning had taken on the both of them made the day feel longer than what it had been.
Rick quietly slipped out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. A café, if he remembers correctly, is situated on the ground floor. Everything in his mind is blurred, as it was when he ran through the hospital last night searching for his wife.
"Richard!" Martha Rodgers' voice sounds out from behind him, shoes clacking on the tiled floor. Turning, Rick sees his mother hurrying towards him down the corridor, looking every bit the concerned parent and grandparent. "Jim called me this morning, he said Kate went into labour three days ago and she's been in a coma!? Is she okay? Is my grandson okay?" Martha stretches out a hand to her son, taking in his crumpled appearance and weary face.
Rick stands there, taking comfort from the familiar form of his mother. All of a sudden, an upwelling feeling of anxiety and grief, pushed to the bottom of his soul since seeing his wife come out of surgery, comes spilling up his chest like a wave claims the sand on a beach. "They're fine, Mom," he says, his face crumpling as tears fall down his cheeks.
"Oh Richard." Martha says softly, wrapping her arms around her son's torso. It had been a long time since he had called her Mom, let alone cried in front of her. She wondered how long he'd been like this, with nobody to talk to. Slowly, Rick released her, bringing a hand to his pocket to fish out a handkerchief. Wiping his nose, he smiles softly. "Sorry…you've got creases in your shirt mother."
"Oh, that is the least of my worries Richard, darling!" Martha says, ignoring the fact that her freshly dry-cleaned shirt is crinkled and tear-stained. "Do you want to sit down and talk…?"
Rick considers his mother; considers the fact that, while his wife was awake and talking this morning, while his father-in-law has been stoic, and while their friends from the 12th have been holding vigil at Kate's beside with him, the person he's needed to be here supporting him most has just arrived. As another lone tear sweeps down his face, he shakes his head. "No, there's someone I'd like you to meet first."
"He's just perfect Richard." Martha says quietly, gazing at her adorable grandson squirming against a teddy bear almost as big as he is, brought from a quaint little gift shop in Lower Manhattan.
"He's so small. So delicate." Rick whispers, holding a hand up against the glass, as if to get closer to his son. God, I want to hold my son, please. "I want to hold him so badly. The nurses say we can't go near him yet, incase we compromise his immune system. It could be weeks before I get to touch my son."
Martha nods slowly, wrapping her hand around his arm, trying to offer some sort of comfort. "Does Kate know?"
Rick shakes his head again, screwing his face up, as though looking into a bright light. "No. The nurse told her the major formalities this morning, but she was still a bit groggy from the surgery and the coma. She knows we can't touch him for now, but I haven't told her it could be weeks. It'll break her heart, Mother."
"Kate's a strong girl, Richard. And you're strong as well, you'll get through this together; we're all here with you, for you. You have to remember you're not alone. And your son, he's a fighter darling. You can see it in his face; he knows he's got people cheering for him. You have to believe he's fighting." Martha urges her son, a tear slipping down her own cheek.
"I do. It's just…" Rick falters, gazing at his son as though he can see nothing or no one else, not even the nurse making notes on charts next to his son.
"Just?"
"…I thought I was going to lose them both. I thought they were both going to die. And now they're both okay…but Kate and I can't hug our son…we can't hold him and tell him how much we love him…we can't hold him and protect him!" Rick cries, breaking down as the wave of grief surfaces once more and cascades over him. Leaning against the glass window of the nursery, he watches his son through glassy eyes as he latches onto one of the teddy bears paw's with a tiny hand and clumsily, slightly wraps his tiny fingers around it. Hot tears continue to stain Rick's face, running down his nose to his chin, Martha's hand still holding firm around his arm.
"Richard, listen to me. You and Kate are protecting him! You are doing the best thing possible for your son; you're giving him the best chance at a healthy life! I know this is an awful situation. Being a new parent is hard enough without having to constantly worry if you're going to harm your baby. But darling, it's going to be okay. Being in that incubator is the best thing for him right now." Martha says sincerely, running her hand up and down his back.
"She's right, Rick." Jim Beckett's voice floats up the colourful corridor behind them, the man himself walking towards the two of them holding a tray of coffees.
"Jim." Rick gathers himself, wiping his nose on the handkerchief still clutched in his hand. "Thanks for sweet talking the nurse earlier. It meant a lot to Kate."
"Well he's a beautiful boy, he's made for looking at!" Jim stops at the window to the nursery, gesturing at his grandson. "Here, you look like you could use one of these."
Rick gratefully accepts the coffee from Jim, and takes a long sip, feeling himself being rejuvenated. "Ah that's good coffee, even by hospital standards."
"Martha, good to see you, even in these circumstances. Katie is awake, she's asking for you Rick." Jim smiles lightly, offering Martha the second cup of coffee, and keeping the third one for himself.
"We shouldn't keep our girl waiting then. We'll come back and see him soon Richard." Martha says softly, noticing the way her son's eyes glaze over again as he says a quiet I love you to his son.
"You go on ahead Mother, Jim…I just want a couple more minutes."
"This way Martha, you can tell Katie and I all about your trip to California. Rick said that's where you flew in from…" Jim's voice trails away as he and Martha make their way back down the corridor to the elevators, back to the private rooms on the floor above.
Rick stands with his head and hand pressed against the window, memorizing every little detail, every movement of his son. The way his hands are curled softly against his chest. The way his legs kick slightly, the way his body squirms constantly, the way his eyes seem to move beneath the thin skin covering them. The way his mouth opens and closes. His little legs, his little feet. Everything about him is tiny. "You're so perfect, little man. Keep fighting." Rick whispers, feeling helpless. "I love you so much."
Close your eyes
have no fear.
The monster's gone,
he's on the run,
and your Daddy's here.
Beautiful,
beautiful,
beautiful,
beautiful boy.
John Lennon