Rebirth

She sinks back, falling onto the tiled floor, her back hitting the bathtub and her head lolling against the edge. She splays her hand over her stomach, low on her abdomen, as the first tears fall.

No. No. No.

She wipes at her cheeks and flings the tears away. Her chest aches. Her throat burns. There's an incessant throbbing in her stomach. Her phone is ringing in the other room, probably with a new case, but she doesn't have the energy or the will to go get it.

This can't be happening.

She chokes on nothing, on air, and sputters into her palm. Her nails dig into her stomach, her eyes squeezed shut as she wills the throbbing to go away, hopes and prays that she won't have to lunge for the toilet again.

Why is this happening now?

Forcing her head off the edge of tub, she curls into a ball. Her vision is blurred with tears, her nose running. She wipes at her face messily, doesn't care about how it looks. Her knees press hard against the tiles, her palms joining together.

Too weak to do much else, she crawls into the bedroom.

Shaking, she reaches for her phone, almost dropping it with clumsy fingers. She sets it on her thighs and dials the number. It rings once, twice, before he answers, and she puts him on speakerphone.

"Beckett? We got a fresh one. I tried to call, but there was no answer."

She sinks back against the side of the bed, ignoring the pain where the frame digs into her spine. It's nothing compared to everything else right now.

"Espo." Her voice is weak, shaky. The word makes her chest hurt even more, has her sucking in a stuttering breath.

"Whoa, Beckett, you sound like shit. You okay?"

Tell me something I don't know.

"I will be," she mumbles. "But I'll be late getting in today."

"Yeah, okay. Take all the time you need," he says. "Hope you feel better."

Doubt it.

"Thanks."

She hangs up before she can hear his goodbye and drops the phone onto the floor. Rolling onto her side, she crosses her arms over her chest. She drags her knees up, wraps an arm around them.

Curled up in a ball on her hotel room floor. Five weeks ago, this was the last place she thought she would be.

Curled up in a ball on her hotel room floor…and probably pregnant.

Yeah, definitely the last place she saw herself.

A tear falls from her eye, lands on her arm. She wipes at her face again before any more can come. Before she shatters to pieces, sobbing and alone and pregnant.

Well, maybe not.

It's her last hope, the possibility that she's not pregnant. That all this is caused by stress, a new job, leaving Castle, investigating a very dangerous case.

Maybe.

She presses her hands hard against the floor, pushes herself onto her knees. A test. She needs to go get a pregnancy test. A stupid stick to pee on that'll tell her how her life is falling apart.

Her knees shake and threaten to give out when she stands, her palms pressed hard against the mattress. Her head spins, gravity betraying her, threatening to throw her back down.

No.

She's stronger than this. She survived a bullet to the chest. She can handle a little morni– nausea. She can handle a little nausea.

She stumbles to the door, wobbling, probably not in a straight line.

A pregnancy test. She needs a pregnancy test.

It feels wrong, walking back into the hotel room with the plastic bag in her hand.

Whenever she pictured this moment, she was at the loft, Castle waiting outside the bathroom door, his excitement driving her up the wall. Her own, in those moments when she was hopelessly hopeful, had her hands shaking, her lower lip bruised by her own teeth, her heart thundering against her ribs.

Well, her hands are shaking. And her teeth are digging into her lip. And her heart is pounding so hard it hurts.

But he's nowhere to be found. The hotel room isn't the loft.

This isn't what she imagined. What she wanted. Not at all..

She walks into the bathroom, stomach churning. It smells. She still hasn't brushed her teeth after…this morning. But she has the test and if she doesn't take it now, she won't.

Her hand is shaking when she reaches into the bag, grabs the single box of two tests. She runs her nail under the tab, cutting through the glue and dumps the box's contents onto the vanity. Both tests clatter into the sink.

The shaking is violent when she reaches for one, tries to pull open the plastic wrapper.

Just take the stupid test, Kate.

She tugs the plastic stick out of its wrapper, drops onto the toilet.

Just pee on the damn stick.

She does, and sets the stick down on the vanity before flushing and dropping onto the floor. Her back hits the wall in front of the sink, leaving her staring up at where the test is balanced on the edge.

This isn't how this was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be waiting while holding his hand, his anticipation mirroring hers. Or figuring out how she could surprise him with the big news.

This isn't right.

She's crying again, stupidly pitiful, curled up in a ball on the filthy bathroom floor. Probably pregnant. Without her husband.

Her eyes burn as she wipes at them again so she can click her phone on to check the time.

Two minutes. It's only been two minutes. The test needs three.

The back of her head hits the wall with a thud, the ache lingering only for a second. The burn in her stomach is worse now, throbbing even more, churning. Her eyes slit open, land on the toilet. She can't bring herself to crawl over to it, so she presses her hand against her stomach and wills it to calm.

She swallows back the bile threatening to rise in her throat.

Her fingers curl around her phone and lift it off the floor. She turns it on again.

Three minutes. It's been three minutes. The test is done.

She's not sure she wants to know what it says.

And yet she presses her hand against the floor, slowly pushes herself up along the wall. Her knees quake, her heart thuds against her ribs.

She pinches the test between her thumb and forefinger, bringing it just close enough to see the result.

It falls to the floor a second later as she lunges for the toilet.

"Katherine Beckett?" calls a nurse.

She tugs her sweater lower and crosses her arms over her stomach as she stands. A shiver wells at the base of her spine. She fights to stay still.

You are not wearing a damn sign.

But it feels like she is, like everyone else in the waiting room with rounded bellies and husbands by their side can tell that she's pregnant, too. That her husband isn't here.

And who's fault is that?

"Excuse me, Miss, could you please step on the scale?" asks the nurse.

She does, ignoring the numbers that tell her the obvious. She's lost weight without family meals and smorelettes for dinner, with all the time she's spent in the precinct gym, trying to work out her rage. Her efforts are always in vain.

"Looks good." The nurse taps her pen against her clipboard, leads her to a room. "Dr. Fields should be here in a moment. Change into the robe while you wait."

She tugs off her shirt and pants, pulls the pink fabric over her body. It's like another sign, so insanely obvious that she's thankful the exam room has no windows. Glad that nobody but her doctor will see her so…vulnerable.

She sighs, climbs onto the exam table, and waits.

Dr. Fields comes in with a friendly smile on her face. It reminds her of Castle.

"So, a positive home test, I hear?"

She nods, swallows back whatever is rising in her throat now. "This morning. Uh, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

The OB waves her off. "No worries, Kate. I had an opening." She drops into her chair, holding the clipboard the nurse left on the door. "I take it this wasn't planned?"

"Uh, no. Not now, anyway." Because they hadn't been not trying. But they hadn't planned this…situation. At all. "And I just… I'm freaking out and I need to know for sure."

Dr. Fields nods. "Understandable. Well, we have two options. I can run a blood test, but the results will take a few days. Or I can do a sonogram, but I have to warn you now that I don't know how far along you are, so your baby might not have a visible heartbeat."

No visible heartbeat. It doesn't mean no heartbeat. "Uh, do the sonogram. I have to be… Rick and I, we haven't been together in like five weeks, anyway."

The words hurt, the admission that she left him for over a month, that she…

"Oh? Do you want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head. "Please, can we just…" She motions to her stomach, splaying her fingers across it.

"Of course. I just need you to lie down while I prepare the machine," says Dr. Fields.

She does, hands still on her stomach.

It's going to be okay.

The monitor is turned away from her when Dr. Fields begins the ultrasound, brows furrowed at the screen. And then her face breaks into a smile, and she turns the monitor around, points to a grainy, gray spot.

"You see that?" asks the OB. "That's your baby."

The tears that well in her eyes this time don't burn as much, and she doesn't feel weak when she doesn't wipe them away immediately.

Her baby. Their baby.

"I would estimate that you're about eight weeks along, which means," she shifts something, changes the view slightly, "you see that tiny, lighter spot that flutters a bit?"

"Yeah." It's a breath, so awe-filled it's foreign to her own ears.

Dr. Fields smiles at her. "That's your baby's heartbeat. You can listen to it."

The air leaves her as the steady whooshing sound fills the room, but it doesn't hurt this time. The pain is gone.

Her baby has a heartbeat.

"Do you want a print of it?"

She nods, too eagerly, eyes still locked on the screen, on her baby. "Two, actually. I need to, uh, give one to my husband."

The door opens, and closes, the room falling dark. She reaches out for the paused image on the screen, brushes her fingers over the light spot in the middle of the image.

Her baby. Their baby.

It's going to be okay.

Special thanks to Lindsey (ipreferwestside) for all the help.

Please keep your reviews focused on the story and not the show.