She needs him. He can hear the strangled cries coming from upstairs, the noise carried right through the loft. Maybe he shouldn't go up there, let her cry herself out, pretend he can't hear her. She doesn't need him to swoop into her room, clutch her to his chest and reassure her that everything will be fine, that he is here to make it better. But what if she does need him to? What if he needs to swoop in? What if something is seriously wrong?

So he goes. He untangles his legs from the sheets, a sign he has been sleeping deeply, dreaming, and heads for her. He ignores the warning in his head to put on a shirt to protect him against the chill of the night, the damp air lingering even in his heated loft, who knows how long she might need him for. But she needs him, he doesn't have the time to stop to fuss. Who knows how long she has been crying, what on earth has affected her.

As he makes his way upstairs he silently hopes she hasn't woken Alexis, although the cries are muffled they are distinct as they carry through the house. When he reaches the door he hesitates, glad it is half open giving him a chance to peak inside while she remains unaware of his presence. He sees her back to him, the shudders wracking her body as she succumbs to them, her chest heaving as she draws in breath. What has her so upset?

"What's wrong?" he whispers as he enters the room. "It's okay, I'm here," he soothes moving straight to her side, but keeping his distance, careful not to startle her. If he startles her it will only make it worse. If he touches her too soon she will cry harder.

She turns suddenly at the sound of his voice. Her face whipping around to meet his gaze, her long body twisting around following suit, a completely involuntarily response with her rapid movement. She uncurls a clenched fist reaching out toward him. She is basically beckoning him over, a silent invitation with her eyes and her movements. Her eyes are drinking him in, but her body is still quivering with the sobs that escape from her mouth.

He is at her side in an instant, leaning over her, running his fingers over her arm, a lame attempt to soothe her as he utters words of reassurance that aren't even audible over her cries. It's a good thing, he isn't even sure they make sense.

Her cries don't subside at his gentle touch, she needs more from him. All she can do is stare at him, her mouth opening and closing, he doesn't know what she wants, what she is trying to say. Though it is blaringly obvious she needs him. As new tears form in her eyes, escaping down her cheeks along the worn tracks of others, he slides his arms around her, pushing a wrist beneath her shoulders and one under her thighs. He doesn't make a noise as he lifts her, drawing her up off the mattress too easily. He swears she should be heavier than this, that earlier when he lifted her off the couch she was heavier, but she's not fighting him now, she's letting him lift her. Maybe it is because he is so focused on her ragged breathing, her quiet whimpers.

He carries her to the chair in the corner, a space filler he is now infinitely thankful for, dropping heavily onto the soft cushion, bringing her down with him. She doesn't make a noise, the sudden movement silencing her for a moment before the sobs escape once again.

"It's okay, it'll be okay," he mutters the promise into her hair.

He pulls her tighter against his chest when she doesn't respond, pressing her face into his neck, hoping his steady pulse and the gentle rise and fall of his chest will soothe these too violent sobs wracking her body. When she pushes an arm behind his head, sliding her fingers along his skin until they tangle in his hair, he feels the tug as she grips, the sobs shaking her small frame.

"What's wrong?" he mutters, tilting his head back so he can press a kiss to her damp cheek. He can't tell just what has caused her to be this upset. There are no visible signs of what has roused her. It must have been a dream, nothing at all in the room is out of the ordinary. In the past when he has hugged her to his chest, her cries become silent gasps, content to be pressed against his body and soothed by his murmurings, letting the waves wash over her. But tonight she needs more than soft mutterings, a hand stroking her back. She needs to hold him, clutch onto him to ensure he never leaves her. He won't leave her, not like this, not until he finds out what's wrong or she resigns to the urge to sleep. Even then he isn't sure he wants to climb into his own bed, what if she needs him again?

Again, she offers no response to his question, so he pulls her back against his neck, content to hold her as long as she needs him to soothe her, remove whatever has upset her. He isn't sure she even went to sleep, but he hopes this is just the result of a bad dream. If he had been at fault she wouldn't be curling against him like she is. But he will wait until she's ready, for him to let her go, she'll tell him. Slide her hand off his neck, push back against his chest and fight against his grip for freedom of a different position, away from him.

He'll sit here as long as it takes, and he does. He had started counting the small squares on the sheet, then progressed to analysing the shapes, amazed at how when he lets his eyes relax, stop focusing, they become hexagons.

Then the cries taper off, her eyelids fluttering her eyelashes across his neck he notices her breathing change. She's fallen asleep pressed against him, again. This is becoming too common of an occurrence.

"Is everything okay?" Alexis' voice is a whisper, but it crackles like thunder through the silence of the room. He hadn't even known she was awake. But she seems to be aware of the sleeping form resting against his chest and has the presence of mind not to rouse her.

"It's fine. Go back to sleep, all taken care of," he says trying to keep his own voice from rumbling through his chest and rousing her. But she doesn't stir, doesn't even twitch, already asleep. When he looks back at Alexis she gives him half a smile and he can't help but beam back at her, she doesn't even seem surprised to have walked in on them in this position. He is so grateful to her. How he managed to raise the woman before him, shape her into the person she is, he will never quite know.

"Night dad," she mutters. "Make sure you don't just sit there and watch her all night," she teases. But she is serious. He knows she understands how he feels. He probably would watch her, but only due to the difficulty of the delicate extraction process which is inevitable. Trying to stand with her splayed across his chest, hold her in his arms, keep her content against him while he transfer her dead weight back to bed, then having to find the courage to let her go and leave the room. The movement would rouse her, waking her would be worse than letting her sleep. If his partner woke to find him in this position she would chastise him, swat his chest and withdraw her warmth from his chest, then urge him to let her sleep and return to bed.

"For now we'll stay right here," he whispers softly so only she can hear (not that she does, she is deeply asleep), his tone conspiring as he presses a kiss against her hair again. He will eventually put her back to the bed, let her sleep properly. She won't stay comfortable curled against his chest so tightly for much longer. But for now he lets himself relax then, close his eyes and still his chest, feeling her chest rise and fall gently against his own, completely in sync with where his breathing should be. When he breaths again, exhaling deeply then inhaling as gently as possible, he feels her twitch, a hand touching his chest, her soft skin meeting his, grazing along it as she seeks out something to hold onto.

A noise catches in her throat, somewhere between a sigh, a cough and a tickle she's trying to clear when she catches his hair again. He doesn't open his eyes to look down at her, check she's still breathing, hoping she hasn't woken. If he stays perfectly still she will settle against him again.

He is right, her breathing evens out again, suggesting she is calm. But he's wrong, snapping his eyes open when he hears a voice.

"What're you doing Castle?" His partner's voice echoes through the quiet room, there is no movement on his chest though. She may be unhappy, but she hasn't disturbed their position. He breathes a sigh of relief. He blinks at her, the crossed arms and stern gaze render his defences useless. He doesn't really having the words to explain himself.

"If you kept nursing her she'll never sleep through the night by herself," she chastises. They've already discussed this. It was him who suggested the specific plan of attack. But it is so hard to let her cry herself out, exhaust herself and then soothe herself to sleep.

"But…" he protests, sitting up straighter but finding no argument. He lets her slide her arms beneath their daughter, tugging her from him, soothing her as she rouses slightly. Always attentive and patient with her, she presses her daughter's face to her cheek nuzzling her neck with her nose, assuring her it's just mummy. The word falling from her mouth never ceases to close his throat, stopping his breathing. He really should move past that, soon enough his daughter will be dropping the word herself. He isn't sure what that will do to him either.

"You've got Daddy wrapped around your little finger," she mutters to the girl, meeting his gaze over their daughter's head, smiling at him as he stands, moving toward them both.

"Mummy too," he whispers, touching her back then sliding his hand over her arm, letting her squeeze his finger into her tiny hand. Her eyes don't open. He watches as his partner cradles her back, bringing the baby away from her chest, preparing her for the transition to her own bed. He watches the tiny legs kick, feels her grip his finger, clinging to the contact so he doesn't force her to let him go just yet, unable to bear it himself. He allows his partner to place her gently on the mattress, settling her down, placing the small toys beside her head so if she wakes again she will be distracted by the colours, then slide her hand over her daughter's cheek then down her torso and down her leg, lingering on the girl's foot before pulling away.

He wraps his free arm around her, drawing her against his side. "You're stronger than I am, I can't resist her." He presses a kiss against her temple as she sinks into his hold, eyes fixed on the baby in front of them, completely missing the opportunity to taunt him for his inability to stay away from either of them. Their daughter is so much like her it still catches him offguard, a quiet and content baby, even by Alexis' standards. She has her mother's determination already, and her fierce independence, even at only a few months old.

"She's amazing," she says. The wonder and awe in her voice doesn't shock him, he has found her watching their daughter too many times to count with the same look in her eye, the same tone when she comment after remembering his presence. It took them a long time to get here, but they had persevered with each other, found their rhythm, made their life together, step by agonising step. For so long he had been attentive and caring, from such a distance it had tormented them both, but when he'd explained why she had thanked him for it. He had confessed he didn't want them to screw it up, that he wanted to make sure everything was on the table before they progressed. He had, she hadn't realised until he'd pointed it out. But she noticed as soon as he pointed it out, right there blaringly obvious and she missed it. She had been so grateful that his efforts had been useless, the pace had been something of her own fault. But then once both aware of the things they needed to consider before stepping off the deep end, they had worked together. They had after all basically been in a relationship for years before admitting it to themselves let alone one another. But for months he did nothing more than kiss her goodnight, clutch her against his body then say goodbye, just like that first night. Then the anticipation had become too much and their pace drastically increased.

She drops his finger, twisting her body in her sleep, getting comfortable against the warmth of her bed. His partner tugs his hand back to her, knowing if she doesn't pull him away he will disturb the baby again.

"She's fine, let's go back to bed," she says softly, kissing the underside of his jaw then extracting herself from his grasp. She watches as his eyes slide from the baby to her then back again, double checking before he steps away. She waits for him in the hall, but is still surprised when he slides a hand under her baggy sleepshirt, grazing his fingers across her stomach, peppering her neck with kisses.

"Mummy can't resist her either," he says against her skin, knowing the exact spot that causes her to shudder when he breathes against it, when her skin is wet, his breath warm.

"Mummy is better than Daddy," she mocks, arching her neck, granting him access.

He doesn't continue his assault, much to her disappointment so she spins in his arms, kissing his jaw again. He tightens his grip on her, back manages to pull his jaw away, replace it with his lips. "That you are," he kisses her softly. "I've got quite the soft spot for my girls," he hums against her mouth. "All three of you," he hums again, kissing her slowly, lingering. The day you all team up against me, will be the death of me," he jokes and this time she kisses him.

"Just you wait," she threatens, chuckling against him, making him hold her closer.

"The anticipation will be horrific." He feigns disgust, kissing her again before urging her to walk backwards down the stairs, back to their bed.

She does, trusting him, knowing that even if she trips he will pull her back against his chest, stopping her fall. He has never let her fall. She doubts he ever will, even if it would be for her own good. She is so grateful for him, so indebted to him for everything he has ever done for her that she doubts she will ever find a way to tell him, show him just how grateful she is for his understanding, for his kindness, for his patience. But it doesn't mean she won't try.

fin.

A/N: I know I'm horrible. But thank you all for reading, reviewing , alerting and favouriting (now I'm making up words). But seriously, I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Until tomorrow, folks.