A/N: Merry Birthday, Laura. I'm so grateful for you.

Disclaimer: Castle belongs to ABC. I'm only doing this for fun.

I think that you came too soon
You're the honey and the moon
That lights
Up my night

Joseph Arthur - "Honey And The Moon"

Kate is asleep in her hospital bed.

The sharp line of her lashes contrasts darkly to her pale skin; she looks almost fragile in the hesitant morning light. The thick, white dressing around her left shoulder makes her arm and neck seem even more slender than usual, porcelain-thin.

So easily broken.

But her chest rises and falls, the miracle of her breathing happening over and over, and Castle relaxes slowly into his chair, eyes drifting shut.

He's wandering along the edge of sleep when a faint sucking sound brings him back, commands his scattered attention. But the baby sprawled over his chest doesn't move, only parts her little mouth at his pec. Her face is nestled so closely against him that all he sees the round curve of a cheek, the downy tuft of dark brown hair.

Kate's hair.

Alexis was a bald baby - although her big blue eyes charmed every audience into forgetting it - but Jim's shown Castle pictures of baby Kate, and she looked exactly like this.

Or rather, their newborn daughter looks exactly like her mother.

Their daughter.

It's so surreal. He's got that disbelieving taste in his mouth, too good to be true, and it doesn't help that Kate isn't awake to share this moment with him. He needs her badly, can feel it pound in his bones even as their daughter sleeps, her little body snug and warm against his.

She's so tiny. Hands and feet and nose: all of them are miniature but flawless, an exquisitely delicate work of art. He doesn't remember Alexis being so tiny, not ever, but the doctor said the baby was fine, perfectly healthy.

Three weeks premature, and already perfect. Kate's genes, no doubt.

The obstetrician wanted to put her in an incubator for the night, for warmth he said, but there was no way Castle would let him take away his daughter. That's the reason he's now sitting half-naked in Kate's room, the little girl cradled close, sharing his body heat.

Kangaroo Mother Care, they call it. Could be koala or elephant, he still wouldn't care. As long as he gets to have both Kate and their baby with him.

He runs his thumb across the girl's spine, that so-soft skin, lets his fingers curl around the minuscule calf as he brushes a kiss to her hair.

He thought he knew what he was getting into. That day Kate told him she was pregnant, her lip caught between her teeth, that tentative joy at the back of her eyes despite her hesitation, he thought, We can do this.

A child of their own. A Beckett baby. He wasn't about to say no to that, even if he was older now than when he'd had Alexis, his body less equipped to deal with sleepless nights. Kate would make the difference; he wouldn't be doing it alone this time, wouldn't never have to be both mom and dad.

But now that their daughter is here and he's been dazzled all over again, chains twining around his heart the moment he got to hold her in his arms, he realizes that once again-

Kate was right. He had no idea.

Castle leans back into the chair with a sigh, feels his daughter's weight settle into him, so very light. Her tiny fingers fist on his chest, like she's already got a mind of her own, and shit.

He closes his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed, emotion strangling his throat. It's too much - it's just - he can't-

"Castle?"

Oh, god. Oh god, thank you.

Kate's voice, rough and faint as it is, accomplishes what it always does - anchor him, walk him back from the edge. He gathers himself and then opens his eyes, afraid that he's dreaming.

But he's not. She's staring back at him, her cheek against the pillow, eyes dark with exhaustion. He smiles at her because he can't not, because the gratitude in his heart needs an out, and her mouth curls up slowly in response.

"Hey," she says, and that dry little syllable pushes him upright, looking for the glass of water that he knows to be on her bedside table.

But the sleepless night catches up with him and he sways on his feet, black swimming into his vision, has to hold onto one of the machines so he won't collapse. His daughter - who's clearly a superior sort of human being - doesn't rouse, but Castle's mouth goes dry, heart hammering against his ribs as he gets his balance back.

Maybe Kangaroo Mother Care has reached its limits.

Very gently, he deposits the sleeping baby into the bassinet that's been placed in Kate's room, watches her for a moment, just to be sure, while he catches his breath.

Then he turns to Beckett, skirts the machines to stand at her side. Her eyes are closed again, her breathing deep and even, and he wonders if she's seen any of that.

"Kate?" he asks softly, reaching for the water.

Her lashes flutter, her lips parting on a hum, and he slants a finger over her cheekbone, encouraging her into awareness. It's probably selfish, but he doesn't care.

He needs her.

"Kate, there's water if you want it."

She makes a small sound that he takes as agreement, and turns her face to him, eyes slowly opening; he slides a hand under her neck, help her raise her head enough that she can drink.

He holds the plastic cup to her lips, carefully watching her sip, thumb stroking her neck. She sinks back into the pillow with a relieved sigh when she's done, but her eyes focus on him this time. They must have given her some good drugs, because she looks relaxed, if a little out of it.

"Hey," he murmurs, fingertips grazing her temple. He has to touch her - he needs some proof that she's here with him, alive, that everything will be fine.

He can't - he can't do this without her.

Kate presses her mouth together, lifts an eyebrow at him, her eyes doing that little flick down to his chest before they come back to his face.

"Mmm, naked Castle," she rasps, skirting his bare side with her right hand. "Is it my birthday or something?"

And despite the hospital room, despite the dark circles around her eyes and the baby that sleeps only feet away, he shivers at her touch.

"Kate," he says softly, curling his own fingers around hers.

She smiles, that mischievous, challenging grin that he's seen more than a few times in their bed, and tugs on his hand.

"You're not kissing me," she states, like this is a mistake he'd better fix.

He hesitates for maybe a second before he bends over her, careful to keep his weight on his forearms, and brushes his mouth over hers. Intently.

She moans into his lips, an imperceptible sound that is meant only for him, and shit, she can't do that right now. She can't-

Her tongue strokes at his bottom lip, heavy and rich, and his brain just surrenders. He parts his mouth for her, lets her investigate, exact and thorough like the good detective she is, occasionally contributing with a touch of his tongue - until suddenly she gasps under him.

And not in the good way.

He immediately pushes himself up, surveying her face in concern: he must have pressed on her shoulder without meaning to. Idiot.

"Kate?"

Her eyes are tightly shut, her parted lips sucking in slow breaths, and he seriously wants to smack himself.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, but she shakes her head, fingers squeezing a warning. Doesn't want his apology, does she?

When she looks at him again, her eyes are clearer, more aware; the pain's probably cut through the blissful haze of the drugs. Her eyebrows knit as she takes in her surroundings, and then her gaze comes to rest on him.

"What am I doing in the hospital?"

And here comes the not-so-fun part. He briefly wishes they could go back to kissing.

"You were shot," he says, swallowing past the hard edge of the words. "You don't remember?"

She shakes her head slowly, that little wrinkle of concentration on her forehead that he finds so adorable, and he forces himself to go on.

"You - you were at the precinct. You weren't meant to, but apparently you just...stopped by to say hi to Ryan and Esposito, and ask Gates something about your maternity leave-"

He stops himself, too late, watches her eyes go wide with realization. She tries to sit up, lips parting in panic, and he can't freaking reassure her because he's got to keep her from moving-

"Kate..."

"Castle, the baby-"

"Stop," he pleads, his hand at her right shoulder, the other one finding her wrist, holding her down as he leans in. "Please, Kate - you just had surgery-"

"Just tell me-" Her voice is coarse, breaking.

"She's fine," he cuts softly, pressing a long kiss to her lips, stroking his thumb along her wrist. "She's fine. I promise, Kate. All good. Our baby's fine."

She sighs a little sob, a sound that travels through him and knots his insides; the taste of her tears is on his tongue.

"She?" Kate breathes out, nudging him with her nose.

Oh. Yeah. They kept it a surprise.

"Yeah," he grunts, painting her cheek with his lips. "They, um. While they were operating on your shoulder, your body was under so much stress that you started having contractions. Because you were so far along already, the surgeon decided it was safest for you both to deliver the baby."

The man came to Castle with an argument so rational, so well put together, but the thing that swayed Rick was really that word - safety.

"Deliver the baby," Kate echoes, and he hears in her stunned voice the effort she's making to keep it together.

"I - I gave them my agreement, and they did a C-section. It seemed like the best thing to do." And he would do it again, without a second's hesitation, but he's craving her approval now, depends on it, and he knows she can probably hear that. "Kate?"

She keeps silent for a moment, taking it all in, and then he feels her hand move against him - her fingers uncurling, traveling down. To the bump that is no longer there.

"Oh," she says simply, and for the life of him he cannot decipher that strange quality to her voice - is it surprise or disappointment or-

Her lips brush over his, startling him, and there's a tiny shadow of a smile at her mouth.

"Stop thinking so hard," she orders quietly. "You did good, Castle. Made a tough decision on your feet. I'm proud of you."

His eyes close in relief - because god, it might have been the worst moment of his life, having to make that choice when both hers and their baby's life were on the table - and he kisses her again, a strong press of his mouth. Her fingers tangle in his hair, dancing at his nape, and when he breaks apart she exhales slowly, her eyes dark and certain.

"I'm sorry I scared you," she whispers, and he shakes his head, can't even speak.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters. She's here, alive, and so is-

Their baby.

Kate's eyes find his hungrily, as if she can read his thoughts, and she gives a sharp little squeeze around his neck.

"What're you waiting for? Give me my daughter, Castle," she says, and it might be the sexiest thing he's ever heard her say.

He lifts the baby and holds her to his chest, every move calculated and so very gentle; Kate's breath catches, her heart lifting in anticipation as he comes closer.

Three weeks. She was supposed to have three more weeks before the baby came, three more weeks of feeling those kicks against her skin, her child shifting inside her.

And now-

Her thoughts scatter at the sight of the small round head, the tuft of dark hair, the baby fitting into the length of Castle's forearm. Kate wants, so badly, to open her arms - but her left elbow is bent at her chest, trapped by the tight gauze, and the best she can do is move her right arm out of the way, hold still while Rick arranges her daughter into what little space is left.

The girl fits - how can she be so tiny? - and doesn't seem to mind: she makes cute sucking sounds, mouth opening and closing, but she sleeps right through it. Kate rests a tentative hand against the little body, that warm skin that she can feel radiating even through the sheets, and takes a long breath of it. Her.

Her daughter.

Oh.

Oh.

Is that what it felt like for her own mom?

She can't look away from the miniature profile, the slope of the nose, the open bud of the mouth; the baby breathes and Kate breathes alongside her, feels that communion deep into her bones.

The sense of responsibility is balanced out by the brutal surge of love, bright and uncompromising, and she's cracked open, can only lay there, vulnerable and naked and remade anew by the tiny human being resting on her chest.

It's - it doesn't make sense.

She can't make sense of it.

"I know," Castle murmurs at her side, his voice warm and so rich that she has to tear her eyes away from the baby, look up at his face.

He's watching them both with a fierce, vibrant love, his eyes crinkled in joy but his mouth set, his jaw sharp with protectiveness. His body's still tense, bears the marks of that phone call that Ryan or Esposito must have made, of the long wait cramped in a hospital seat, and suddenly she can't bear for him to be standing at her bedside, entirely too far.

"Castle."

She scoots as best as she can, keeps a firm hand on her daughter as she wriggles her hips, her left arm useless in the sling. Then she cuts her eyes back to him in silent invitation.

He hesitates, a hand on the railing, and Kate squirms again to give him as much room as she can, cursing hospital beds for being so narrow. Pain flares in her shoulder and she grits her teeth, refuses to let the moment be ruined.

"Come on," she says, and he finally relents, gliding the railing down and edging half his ass onto the mattress.

She doesn't care that it hurts, that her body tingles with an awareness that's edging onto pain; he feels warm and solid as he leans back onto his elbow, shifts so he's facing her.

"Kate," he murmurs, his fingers coming up to her face, caressing her temple and the line of her jaw. Her eyes flutter shut, her heart full, and yes, yes - this is exactly what she wants.

This man, the way he looks at her, loves her, imperious and unending and so very beautiful.

And their daughter's heart beating in time with hers.

It's everything she needs.