It's a lazy Sunday afternoon; a football game on TV, snacks on the coffee table in front of them. His daughter on the couch to his left, a book in her hand, his wife in the armchair to his right, a mirror image to their daughter.
The girls aren't paying much attention to the game; not their team to support. But they look up every now and again; watch a play or two, before returning to their fictional adventures.
He has control of the remote for once, flipping between two of that day's games; it's play-offs, so football is on nearly every channel. Much to the delight of his family, who, though they appreciate the sport, think having it on all day everyday was getting to be a bit much.
His daughter looks up, her hair falling into her face. As she tucks it behind her ear again, she leans over to him, a finger holding her place.
"Dad? What's this word?" She asks him, pointing to the un-known word in question.
"Strained," he answers. "It means you're working really hard to do something. In this case he's working hard to see in the dark."
"Oh. Okay, thanks," she smiles, leaning back next to the cushions. Pages are turned, terrible calls are mad on the game, the crowd cheering their disgust.
He causally reaches over and takes his daughters hand, lining up their palms, and the bony heel of the girls hand with his. He's surprised at how big her hand had gotten; all long fingers and chipped nail polish.
He links their fingers together then, picking up his beer can off the end table and taking a swig with the other.
The girl doesn't mind, lets their hands stay that way as she continues to read, so close to the end.
He absentmindedly rubs her knuckles and the webbing between her thumb and pointer finger.
He squeezes once.
I love you.
She squeezes back.
I love you, too.
[] []
It's a husband holding his wife as she cries, her hands buried in the cotton t-shirt he wore.
The double, wooden doors close behind their son and the nurses wheeling him to the OR.
"He's gonna be fine, Kate," he reassure once again, and she releases his shirt enough that he can take her hand and lead them over to the row of chairs in the very warm waiting room.
A coffee machine sits on a counter, a water cooler gurgling on its stand beside it. Magazines are laid out on tables, news and afternoon talk shows play on the TVs hung on the walls. A small bookshelf in the corner holds picture books and toys, where a young boy is playing with the plastic dinosaurs.
"We should have caught it sooner," Kate repeats, still blaming herself, knocking their linked hands on the arm of the chair she sits on.
"You couldn't have known; none of us could," Castle reassures, turning to her and uses a finger to get her eyes.
"But if I had just taken him in, someone would have caught it!" She releases his hand and stands, pacing again.
Originally thought to be a simply 24-hour stomach bug, the illness turned gravely serious in the early hours of the day. After rushing to the hospital, and being seen by a handful of doctors who poked and prodded the ninth grader until he was pushing them away in protest, the bug turned out to be appendicitis, that, had it gone undiagnosed any longer, would have taken a turn for the worse very fast.
"Kate." Castle starts, his voice sharp, trying to get his wife's attention. When she looks at him her eyes are filled with unshed tears, and she rakes her hair back before sitting next to him again. "You didn't do anything wrong," he says again. "Sometimes things like this happen; and we can't prevent them as much as we try."
"Yeah, but I'm his mom! I'm supposed to keep him from getting hurt. I'm supposed to know the sicknesses he has!"
"Kate, how many times have our kids gotten sick in their lives?" She doesn't answer, but huffs a breath, and shakes her head, picking up on his tactics; so he does it for her. "A million, right? And how many times have you or I missed it?"
Silence.
"Exactly. Out of the million sicknesses, this is the first. I'd say we have a pretty good record," He smiles, and takes her hand again.
When a blue scrub clad nurse come to get them forty minutes later, the parents' hands are still linked. As she pushes open the waiting room door, Rick and Kate jump up to meet her.
"Austin did just fine," she smiles, and watched the parents let out breaths they didn't realize they were holding. "They're just finishing up, so if you want to come with me, we'll meet them in recovery." She turns back down the hallway, and Rick and Kate follow her to the curtained off recovery area.
A few minutes later, Austin is wheeled out by a team of nurses, still under anesthesia. An oft washed, tan blanket lays across his torso, and the clear prongs of an oxygen tube stick up his nose.
The nurses busy themselves for a time hooking Austin up to monitors and checking his IV before leaving the family in peace.
It's a long, quiet quarter hour waiting for Austin to wake up. Rick and Kate share whispered conversation, and send a report to the boys' scared siblings and grandparents.
But when he does wake up, Kate's are the first pair of eyes Austin see.
"Hey, buddy," the mom says, taking her son's hand in her own and smiling at him. "You gonna be just fine."
[] []
It's a husband supporting his wife, their hands clasped as she squeezes so hard.
The doctor is telling her to push again; the nurse is holding her other hand and helping to prop her back up.
"Push, Grid, push," he prompts, leaning close to her ear. She's tired, her hair stuck to her face with sweat. He pushes the dark strands back and wipes her forehead with a towel.
The contraction ends and Ingrid falls back, whimpering and wiping away tears as fast as they come.
"You are doing so good," He whispers, kissing her temple.
"Just a little while longer, he's almost here," the doctor smiles from his position at Ingrid's feet
The couple wanted to wait to find out the sex of their baby, so the doctor calling it a 'he' was simply a temporary pronoun to fill space until they met the child.
"Okay, Ingrid, one more good push and you'll be able to meet your baby," the doctor smiles as the next contraction starts.
"Come on, Grid. You got this," Liam encourages, losing feeling in his hand again as Ingrid squeezes.
She groans and cries out, gripping even harder.
The doctor tells her to stop pushing, and in the next moment, a tiny, slimy thing is being brought into the world.
"She's here. She's here!" Liam cheers, his voice going up an octave as he sees his daughter for the first time.
"She?" Ingrid asks.
"It's a girl," Liam sighs, in utter disbelief.
Once her mouth is cleared, and her cries are filling the room, the doctor places the baby on Ingrid's chest.
The new mom starts crying, studying every feature on her daughter's tiny face. New parents count fingers and toes, letting the moment take over everything else going on in the room.
"You did it, momma. You did it," Liam says, voice breaking as he starts crying along with his wife and daughter.
"Oh! She's beautiful," Ingrid whispers.
"She's beautiful," Liam echoes.
And then father takes his daughter's tiny hand for the first time.
He squeezes once.
I love you.