In Case of Emergencies

with thanks to TA Barron, whose story of his son's emergency inspired this fic

Rick Castle shifts in his chair on stage, trying his best to keep the smile going.

His throat is killing him. Maybe it's the dust motes he can see swimming in the stage lights.

The headache that started on the last flight has lingered in the background, waiting for just such an opportunity as this. He wants to crawl into bed and be miserable, but he's got a presentation and then a signing at the university.

He feels out of sorts. Probably doesn't help that Kate sounded so lost this morning when they had their usual phone call. Poor Kate. She's walking that fine line of not being allowed to handle much of the Bracken case, and yet wanting so badly to not have it out of her control. She's irritated because of it, and he spent the conversation trying to tiptoe around those minefields, while she was obviously exhausted - single parenting two school kids with fun issues isn't easy.

His head is killing him. He clears his throat and the scratch persists.

The university professor's introduction of him from the podium is superb and practically effusive in praise of the characterization of a strong female police officer in New York City. And this is one of the University's tenured professors - not in language or literature, but in Criminology, which Rick finds fascinating - and his English is impeccable, cultured, lovely to listen to.

If his head weren't pounding.

Rick is in a leather-upholstered chair alone on the far right of the lectern; it's not a podium, to be precise, and if life with Dashiell has taught him anything, it's the need to be precise. He would explain to his son how the term podium has morphed over the years to mean anything a person stands at to give a speech, but originally it was only the platform someone stood on. Podium. As in podiatry. Arthropods - jointed legs.

Speaking of jointed legs and insects - he still can't believe Kate has allowed an ant farm inside the loft. He was against it, just as he was against the lizard, but he supposes if his girl gets her Abe Lincoln, then poor Dash gets his - ants.

Kate has been texting him pictures of the set-up - it's a do-it-yourself project that Dashiell found on WikiKidsHow, or whatever it's called - and it's definitely educational. Dash has learned all about ant colonies and eggs and tunnels, as well as spent some quality time with Kate.

Even Ella is interested in the ant farm. Ellery who has been secluding herself away from their family ever since Sophie was born and Castle started spending time with his first grandchild. He knows - he gets it - he's trying to be better, but in the middle of trying comes a three-month European tour.

The speaker has apparently come to a flourished close and gestures towards him with beaming, cherubic attention, and Castle stands up and smiles back, waving a little to the people out in the crowded lecture hall. He steps up to the podium - lectern, sorry, wild man - and adjusts the bendable arm of the microphone.

The lights are brilliant, the air is electric and waiting, and he lives for this - recalcitrant daughter and ant-farming son, notwithstanding. Head cold, notwithstanding as well.

Rick Castle leans in to the microphone on stage at University of Amsterdam - they produced six Nobel Laureates, and he's honored, he really and truly is - and he opens up the book, lays it flat on the lectern, and he intones his near-memorized first chapter of Naked Heat.

"Nikki Heat pondered red lights - and why they seemed to last so much longer when there was no traffic. The one she waited for at Amsterdam and 83rd-"

There's light laughter due to the fact that they are, actually, in Amsterdam, and Castle lifts his head to acknowledge that fact. Only to feel his phone buzz in his inside jacket pocket.

Hard.

For some reason, it completely throws him.

He's been in Amsterdam five days, and there are only a small handful of numbers which are allowed to call in and bypass the do not disturb. And they all know his schedule, so none of them should be calling.

His phone vibrates again, tickling his ribs where it rests, tickling his throat.

Castle blanks, the words completely deserting him, and he has to look down at the book to figure out what comes next. He's been on tour for a month, this reading is long by rote, but the text blurs and fades away. He didn't even bring his notecards.

His talk with Kate early this morning, his six a.m. and her midnight, comes back to him with startling clarity. At the time he thought - there's something going on. He thought maybe the impeachment pre-trial stuff was weighing on her mind, and she didn't want to burden him, but maybe it's more, worse, maybe it's an actual threat.

He can't get the words back. The room is beginning to unthread from the spool of his control, people shifting in their seats, creaks of the building, and his phone vibrates again in his pocket, insistent. Sweat beads on his forehead.

Castle reaches inside his jacket and takes out his phone, but it's not Kate.

It's Dashiell.

Castle clears his throat and leans into the mic. "I apologize. My son is - I have to take this."

The room breaks, concern and surprise, but he ignores them, ignores his publicist's assistant who is sending him a frantic no no no, and he steps away from the lectern, already answering the call.

"Dashiell?" he husks. "Where's mom?"

"Dad, Dad! They're all going to die!"

"Dashiell," he barks, heading quickly off-stage and behind the curtain, searching for the exit. "What's wrong? Where's your mother? Ellery-?"

"Mom's at work."

Rick takes a breath, opens the backstage door, stepping out into cool afternoon, the sun dipping below the roofline of the university buildings. "Mom's at work. And where are you, Dash?"

"In my room. Gram's here, but Dad-"

"And where is Ellery?"

"I don't know - in her room? But, Dad-"

"Dashiell," he says, rubbing his forehead with a finger and thumb. Relief is trickling down him like ice water, making his knees a little weak. "Do you remember what I said about the phone? Only-"

"But it is! This is a dire emergency."

Rick hears the assistant coming after him, so he lets the stagedoor slam shut and heads around the side of the building. "Dash, what's the emergency? Is Mom-"

"My ants are all dying. Dad, they're dying."

"Your - aunts?" he blurts out. "Oh, your ants."

"Mom said I could get one!" Dash shrieks.

"No, that's not a problem. I know you got an ant farm. I thought you meant like Aunt Lanie. It's a pun, Dash."

"My aun-" Dash giggles helplessly, and the sound eases the pinch around Castle's heart. It can't be that bad, whatever it is. Can't be anything to do with Kate. Dashiell always - he's got that sensitive way about him, and Dash would be absolutely giggle-less if Kate's upset about work. Or hurt.

"Dash? My wild man, you said it was a dire emergency."

"Oh, Daddy," Dash says, voice hitching. "They're drowning. My ants. They're drowning dead."

"Ohhh," Castle sighs. "Kiddo, ants are - they're not exactly easy to keep alive."

"They made tunnels!" Dash exclaims. "They're happy! They like my farm!"

"Did you try to feed or water them without Mom's help?" Do It Yourself project off the internet, and this is what happens.

"I..."

"Dash, from what I remember, an ant farm - you maybe put in a few drops with an eye dropper. Or let it roll off your fingers. Otherwise, it floods the tunnels."

"I think I flooded the tunnels," Dash whispers. "Oh, no. Dad. Dad, I've killed my ants. My whole farm. I murdered them. It's a massacre."

"Well." Castle winces. "Dash. I'm sorry. I really am."

"Dad."

"It's - I know it feels sad right now, but it's not the end of the world, buddy."

"Mr Castle?"

He jerks around and the assistant is right there, frowning, arms crossed. He covers the phone with a hand and brings it away from his mouth. "Give me a few minutes. It's an emergency."

The woman's face changes, from disapproval to concern, and she whips out her phone. "I can have you on a plane in-"

Castle has to really work at keeping a straight face; he nods seriously and swallows back his laughter. "Right, I appreciate that, Jean, I really do. But let me get the details first, and I'll let you know."

"Oh," Jean blinks. "Okay. Well - I can have the car pull around and take you back to the hotel? And... we can go from there?"

"Sure," he says, nodding. "That's good." He brings the phone back up and Jean is already scurrying away to get everything accomplished. And hopefully make his excuses. He's suddenly so grateful for a flooded ant farm massacre. He needs a break. He needs his family.

"Dash?"

"Dad. I'm watching them drown. They're dying right in front of my eyes."

"Oh, man. Dash. Don't do that. Don't watch it happen."

"It's so bad. I - I just thought it would be better for them building."

"Dashiell, don't watch it."

"I thought like when we build on the beach - you always get a big bucket of water and dump it on our foundation cause it's stronger and the sand doesn't fall apart."

"Yeah," Castle sighs. "Yeah, we do that with sand castles and pitfalls, don't we? Did you - uh - did you dump water into the ant farm like that?"

"Why didn't it work? Dad, they're not floating. I thought ants could swim. Should I try to fish 'em out?"

"Dashiell, buddy, I think you gotta just walk away. You can't save them all." He can see all-too-clearly just how this is going to traumatize the kid, and he feels a little responsible for it. Not the ant farm - nope, that was Kate's call; he said no. But being gone for so long on top of adjusting to a new baby.

Well, Allie's baby. But Sophie is always with them - with him; Castle is acting as Daddy daycare two days a week so far, and it might as well be Dash and Ella with a new sister. They're so close in age, and he - yes, he admits it - he dotes on Sophie because it's his daughter's little girl.

Something special about that, something so incredible. And he really misses his kids right now.

"Dash?"

"Dad, I think I hear them."

"No, my man," Castle sighs. "You don't hear them."

"Ant language. Help, help-"

"No. Ants don't have words."

"I can hear-"

Castle quickly pulls down his phone, puts Dash on speaker.

"-them in there. They're so scared, clinging to each other, save me."

He opens the internet, types how do ants communicate. It takes roughly ten seconds for him to speed read the top few search results, and most of the rest comes back to him.

"It's the whole family - the mommy and daddy and all their babies, screaming-"

"Dash?" he interrupts, reading the wikipedia page entry at the side. He makes a mental note to donate again to that life-saving institution.

"Dad?"

"Dash, ants don't scream. They use pheromones." It says they use sounds too, but he's gonna skip that. "Remember when we talked about smelling good?"

"Use deodorant," Dash says listlessly.

Castle chuckles, but he tries to keep it subdued. "Yeah, kiddo. But these ants put down different smells so that other ants will know what's going on. No words. Smells."

There's a moment of silence, and then Dashiell's voice comes over the line with a spark of life. "Like what?"

"Like when they build their tunnels," he continues. "They have a smell for - hey, guys, this way to the bathroom! And all the ants know, oh, hey, this trail leads to a bathroom - it's the bathroom smell."

"Bathroom smell. Gross."

"And when they find food, they leave a trail showing all the other ants how to get there."

"Like a food smell?"

"Exactly," Castle says, leaning back against the university's theatre. "It says, Donuts around the corner."

"I could be an ant. I love donuts."

"You could. You have a good nose," he smiles, taking a deep breath. The sky is beginning to go pink with sunset. "You could follow my trail all the way out here. Miss you, Dash."

"All my ants are dead," Dash says. But the mourning has gone from his voice; there's only a little hint of melodrama remaining. That's probably for Castle's benefit, and to keep from getting in trouble about using the phone.

"Yeah, my man. It's the circle of life. At least you had fun while you had them. You should think about the good times."

"I gotta throw this out. It's disgusting."

Castle straightens up. "Hey, uh, let Mom help you, okay?" Just what Kate needs, a few not-drowned ants crawling around in the kid's garbage can.

"Okay," Dash sighs. And then a sound comes across the line and Dash takes a fast breath. "Oh, it's just Ella. Here."

"Whoa, wait, Dash. I need to go-"

But the phone is being passed and Castle can hear Dash saying something about his dead ants, and then there's a long silence. Castle glances down at his watch. The car should be right out front and while it was a good excuse to get him out of here, let his voice rest after a non-stop three weeks on tour, he really needs to make his apologies and reschedule.

His head is pounding. Ella won't talk on the phone anyway; she never does. She's under some kind of vow of silence intended to hurt his feelings-

"Daddy?"

"Ellery?" he croaks. "Oh, hey, baby girl. I can hear you."

"Daddy, where are you?"

"I'm in Amsterdam, sweetheart."

There's a moment of breathing quiet, and then her small voice. "Mommy showed it to me on the map."

"She did? Good, good. I miss you, Ella."

"Daddy, you come back?"

"Well, first, you and Dash and Mommy are going to come visit me here."

"Where?"

"We're going to be in Paris. Won't that be fun?"

"No Sophie?"

Castle winces.

There's a soft little sigh. "Daddy, I think Sophie misses you."

"Oh?" he chokes out. "She does?"

"Gram comes and stays here with all of us, but I think Sophie likes you best."

"What about you, Ellery?"

"I like when Mommy plays with me."

Castle grunts, but even the way she says it sounds like Kate teasing him. "Oh, you do, huh?"

And then Ellery takes a breath and rushes on, "And I like when you read me stories. Daddy, even when you tell Sophie stories, you tell me stories too?"

"Of course, I will. Of course, sweet girl." The fact that it's a question at all makes him wish he could wrap her up in a hug. "Hey, you know that no one can ever be my Ella - just you."

"Dashy's ants did all drown so dead. Like a mudslide."

Castle barks a laugh that echoes against the brick. "Yeah, yeah, I heard that. You're just like your mother, Ellery. Did you know that? Mommy does the same thing to me."

"Mommy does what?"

Hates to be confronted with praise. Castle shakes his head and straightens up from the side of the building, starts making his way to the front, and the waiting car. "Nothing, baby. Since we're here, why don't I tell you a story now?"

"I don't want to take a nap," Ella says, a scowly voice on the phone.

"No, baby girl. Not a nap. Just a story."

"Oh. Just for - middle of the day?"

"Just because I love you," he tells her softly.

"I love you too, Daddy."

Castle nearly runs into the assistant coming back around to get him, and she takes him by the sleeve, tugging him towards the front entrance. Castle switches hands with the phone, puts it against his ear, settles in to make his daughter happy.

Maybe Dash was more accurate than he realized - maybe it was a kind of emergency. A family emergency.

One more week before they're all together again.

A/N: The plan is to start a Dash story this summer of their time in Paris. I hope to see you there! Until then, I hope you enjoy this season.

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