A/N: This chapter in particular is for behindgreeneyess, who asked for a chapter like this about…over half a year ago… *blushes* Finally, I managed to find the time to type it up. I may not be one to work quickly, but I do get the job done in the end. Well…most of the time, that is. It turned up to be a little different from what I've originally planned in the end, but I still hope it will live up to the expectations of the prompt.

A huge thanks to Dmarx who did the beta even though being swamped with her own work. Thanks so much, hun!

Story: ABC

{ E }

(August 2014)

Surprisingly enough, it's her dad who ends up babysitting Sasha during the day while she's at work. Sometimes it's been Martha who's animated the lively toddler in the past couple of weeks, but mostly it's been Jim. He's developed a wonderful relationship with his grandson, but even Kate couldn't anticipate how well it would all work out in the end, her dad stepping out to stand in for Castle, her dad literally jumping at the opportunity when he heard about Rick's book tour.

Since they didn't want to hire a nanny or put the seven-month-old into daycare for such a short time, didn't want to confuse him by ripping him out of his natural environment, his daily routines he and Rick developed together, hers as well, it seemed like the best possible solution. She just got back to work a couple of months earlier and she's still kind of learning the ropes in terms of juggling her job, a family, and a baby, trying to put it all together somehow and still not feel like a neglectful detective, an even worse wife, and a terrible mother, at the end of each day.

She isn't. Far from it, in fact, Castle assures her on a nearly daily basis, and most of the time she lets herself be persuaded.

So when Kate gets home after a particularly long day and her father tells her that Sasha's been cranky the whole day, is probably running a fever and not in the mood to eat or play, she takes it in stride, tells her dad it's no big deal, that she can take care of him for the night, no problem.

Yet Sasha was never sick before and something uneasy settles in Kate's chest as she takes the sweaty toddler carefully from her dad and cradles him to herself, feeling even through her clothes the warmth radiating from his little body, his hair wet from perspiration, cute chubby cheeks stained crimson.

Most definitely fever.

Her dad fetches a thermometer and indeed, Sasha's temperature is 101.0 °F. Damn. Her father tentatively offers to stay the night, help her in case she needs it, yet Kate waves him away nonchalantly, sending him home with assurances that it's probably his teeth growing again and the fever will probably go away in a matter of hours, nothing serious, she can handle it.

She is lying, of course, lying through her teeth, because God only knows she's a coward when it comes to her child's health and she's always had Castle to consult with and lean on whenever there was anything wrong, even as minor as when he had his first rash. But she can hardly confess to her father that she's scared to take care of her own sick child alone for a single night, not when her father looks like he could fall asleep on his feet after a full day spent tending to a cranky baby. If she can chase after murderers in six inch heels, she sure as hell can take care of her sick seven-month-old. She might be new to this, but she knows what to do, right?

But the whole thing quickly escalates mere minutes after her father leaves, her little man's cranky demeanor turning into angry, discomforted cries that progressively grow louder. She rocks him, soothes him, tries to play and sing and dance, but nothing helps, his onesie growing more and more damp with perspiration as his fever spikes up with the passing time.

She tries the best natural way she knows of how to lower it, running a lukewarm bath for him that ends in a complete fiasco, since Sasha spends the whole time he's in the water – his usual favorite part of the day - shrieking and wailing for his mama, his little arms outstretched towards her, tears in his eyes as he cries, flinching from the water as if being hurt by it. She knows the poor soul must feel the water being far colder than usual if his fever is high, but there's nothing she can do because it needs to be done. By the end of the bath, they are both completely soaked and there are tears staining both of their faces.

But the bath seems to help a little and Sasha calms a bit, letting Kate rock him in his favorite blanket while pressing kisses against his soft, light hair.

And just as she is certain the worse has passed, just when she thinks they might be good again, as she silently congratulates herself with a pat on the shoulder for not being so bad at this parenting thing after all, all hell breaks loose.

It starts with the return of the fever, mere hours after she gets him from the bath and they finally settle down somewhat. They cuddle a little and for a while, her little man seems content. But his discomfort rises again not long after, its presence making itself known by a low whimper escaping his throat sometime after nine. Another soft cry escapes when she feels for his temperature, already fearing the worst. It continues with louder and more pitiful cries when she tries to nudge some baby Tylenol into him, ending with Sasha's spit and vomit all over her shirt, his lips tightly pressed together whenever she tries to bring the sticky substance to his lips. She tries to trick him, smuggling it into his favorite mashed vegetables, but his lips stay pressed shut, the accusing, pitiful look in his teary eyes making her head drop to the kitchen counter in defeat.

By ten, his onesie is drenched with sweat, her own shirt stained with perspiration as she cradles him, but no matter what she does, no position she tries and no toy she distracts him with help. It's nearing midnight and he still won't fall asleep, won't rest, won't take the Tylenol, drink or eat, still has a rising fever, and she's beginning to fall apart.

She runs him a second bath but doesn't succeed in putting him into the water, Sasha's little body surprisingly strong as he clutches her chest, hands and feet like little hooks around her torso, unwilling to let go. And his cries, his frightened sobs against her neck are so heartbreaking that they push fresh tears to her own eyes.

But it's still nothing compared to when the wailing starts. There's no other word to describe it, really.

She's seen him cry before, of course she has; seen him cry from frustration, fear, hunger, discomfort, surprise, and even pain, his teething taking a toll on them all a couple weeks back, but what appears tonight is the worst she's ever witnessed with him.

He doesn't merely cry, he wails from pain, pitiful sobs shrieking out of his tiny lungs as he gulps in air, hiccupping and choking on his own breaths. And even though she does everything in her power trying to calm him, helpless tears running down her cheeks, nothing helps, absolutely nothing makes the sobs and cries go away.

"God, if you could only tell me what's wrong, baby," Kate whispers against the side of his damp head. "Just tell mommy how she can make it go away," she begs, completely losing it because of course he can't, he can't, but she should know anyway, if only she were a better mother, she would know how to help him. A good mother would just know.

She feels her panic and despair grow with every passing minute and she wishes desperately that her husband was here, that he would simply work his magic and figure out how to help their little boy, would know exactly what do to, how to soothe the pitiful cries that tear at her heart.

It's nearly 2 am and Sasha's been feverishly crying for hours and she is completely at her wits end as to what to do, how to help, doesn't even care how incompetent of a mother she is, just please, somebody make the pain and crying stop.

The clock crawls to 3 am but Sasha, her poor little boy, hasn't calmed down and Beckett quickly starts to feel her own fatigue setting in, her frayed, exhausted nerves completely succumbing to panic because dammit, it might be nothing but it might be something truly wrong with her baby, the various scenarios running through her mind in loops scaring the shit out of her and God, what if he is seriously sick and she is just waiting here, waiting for it to go away on its own, doing absolutely nothing—

Oh God, she needs help. Needs help right now.

She cries along with her boy, rocking him back and forth, irrationally wishing her mom was alive, wishing she could just pick up the phone in the middle of the night and call her for advice. Her mom would know what to do, would tell her daughter how to take care of her baby, how to make it okay again. Yes, Johanna would surely teach her daughter how to be a proper mom because obviously she doesn't know. Just look at her poor baby now, how his little lungs expand in agony and God, she's such a failure she would cry if she wasn't already.

God, she just wants her mom. She wants her husband. She wants Rick.

But she's tried to call him, more than once, left him a couple of messages trying not to sound completely unhinged, yet she tries again, the phone pressed between her ear and shoulder as she cradles their sick baby and once again has to listen the sound of his voicemail and dammit, Castle, where are you when you are being needed here?

She's long ago given up her pride in order to ask him for help, but his phone is off, so deadly off, and it makes sense because he should be in the air by now, coming home, but it's no good because she needs help now, not tomorrow, not even in a couple of hours and if somebody won't help her now, she just might go crazy but she can't because God, she has a sick baby in her arms and she has to take care of him.

She doesn't know what to do but she knows for sure that she can't wait here and do nothing any longer while her baby is burning hot and choking on his own snot running down his mouth and chin, his onesie completely soaked with his own sweat and tears and that's it for Kate.

She doesn't care how overprotective or crazy she might appear to all the doctors in New York; it might be nothing but it might be serious and she is not taking any chances, not with her son's life. She packs Sasha's bag, grabs her phone, wallet and keys, carefully wraps the still sobbing infant into a light blanket and shuts the door behind her with a distinctive thud.

As she waits for the elevator, she can't help but feel the rising panic again because she feels her own fatigue getting to her, an early morning and a full day at the precinct running leads only to come home to a sick child and damn, why didn't she allow her dad to spend the night? He offered, for Christ's sake, and she declined because she was too proud to admit to needing help.

She looks at her sick baby now, his chubby face, so much like his daddy's, one of his tiny hands sneaking up from under the blanket and grabbing for her, seeking the comfort of his mother, and she feels so terrified and lonely. God, she needs her husband. She can't fail him. He wouldn't fail her, but she can't do this alone, and she feels utterly desperate and lost.

In the end, just as the door of the elevator pings open, she makes up her mind and dials a number, despite the fact that it's nearly four in the morning. It takes only a couple of rings but then her mother-in-law picks up.

They wait in the hospital for the results, Sasha's body tightly cradled against Kate's chest, one chubby arm lazily thrown over her shoulder, tangled in her loose hair. It pulls, but she doesn't want to move him an inch, not now, after he finally fell asleep. Thank God. So she gladly lets him have the strand.

She's grateful beyond reason that he's calmed down enough to be able to fall into a comfortable slumber after the doctor gave him something for the fever and the pain. The poor little guy is completely spent. And Kate feels like crying, again, relief running through her in huge, powerful waves for the fact that he appears to be no more in pain, that he feels safe and well enough to sleep even in the hustle and bustle of the NY Presbyterian ER.

The doctor finished his examination half an hour ago, told them it's probably nothing too serious, a mild infection common for babies his age at this particular time of year. Still, just to be sure, the doctor orders a couple more tests. He gives Sasha something stronger than the Tylenol for the fever, explains to an anxious Beckett that the pain babies appear to feel is often caused by cramps due to the fever. He is kind and patient with her questions, takes the time to explain, and upon seeing her lingering doubt, orders some additional bloodwork "just to be sure," for which Beckett is entirely too grateful. However, they have to wait for the results, which might take a couple of hours, and really, don't they just want to go home and be called when anything spikes up?

But she can't go, not yet, not without those results, that evidence that her son is completely okay, that she didn't neglect anything. When Rick comes home after weeks of being apart and trusting her with their child, she needs to be able to look into his eyes and say, "Yes, I did everything in my power to take care of our child."

Martha is surprisingly quiet and serene at her side, merely sitting there, offering to take Sasha so Kate can drink from a bottle of water Martha bought from a nearby vending machine in a surprisingly intuitive and completely right gesture.

Apart from that, however, Martha also offers something less tangible yet even more essential than physical relief or water. She offers silent comfort and moral support that Kate didn't even know she needed. Only after a while does her mother-in-law break their silence, starting to talk in a quiet voice as if to not disturb Sasha, though the little guy wouldn't be able to wake anyway given the state of exhaustion he is currently in, sweaty and damp, his little mouth open against Kate's open collar, slightly drooling over her chest. And yet, she never thought she would see something as cute and wonderful in her life as her baby quietly asleep against her.

Small favors are sometimes the best things in life.

So when Martha begins to talk, so unusually quiet for the cheery actress, it takes Kate a moment to realize it's actually a story she's telling. It's not the start of a conversation, not something that requires Kate's rapt attention to engage in, thank God, because she has neither the energy nor frame of mind to do anything right now except to silently listen to her mother-in-law tell a story while cradling her sleeping boy, distracting her mind from all the horrible diagnoses she fears the doctor still could come back with.

So Martha talks – while gently, affectionately stroking one of Sasha's legs that sticks out from under the blanket – about how one time Rick was so sick as a baby she had to go to the ER too, shocked and mortified to discover he had diphtheria, a disease that used to kill children by the thousands before they started vaccinating for it in the early twenties.

"You see, Richard hasn't been vaccinated for it, because it cost money that I couldn't afford to spend at that time," Martha begins to explain. "I was a single mother living in a tiny rented apartment with a fatherless child and no steady income, and I was scared how we would get by, so I thought that there would always be a time for letting him get it later, when our situation improved, stupid and reckless a woman as I was back then. They got him the help he needed in time, thank God, administered the right medicine on time, but I've been never more ashamed in my life." She gives Kate a small, sad smile. "I didn't protect my child enough and to this day, I can remember as clearly as if it were today all those judgmental looks on the faces of nearly every medical staff member I encountered that day." She stops Kate with a hand when she sees she's already opening her mouth, about to intervene and say something in Martha's defense, because surely, this is not Martha's fault. She didn't have the support, didn't have the means, did as best as she could with what little she had, but before Kate can speak, Martha is continuing her tale. "And they were right, Katherine. So very right. It served me right how very scared and wrecked with worry and shame and guilt I was that night, waiting in the hall, scared that I might lose my son as a result of my own shortsightedness. My only living family."

Kate listens with equal measure of horror and intrigue, instinctively cradling Sasha even tighter to her body, shielding him, knowing already that her little guy is nowhere near that serious of a state, but it still makes her sick to the stomach to even think about it, of how it must have been for them, her husband with her mother-in-law, two against the world. She never…he never…Castle always painted his childhood as so picturesque, an eccentric mother and never a real stable home, but love, lots of it. She knew there were some hard times for them, times where money was tight. Castle has hinted as much, but she never knew of this, wondered whether Rick even knew. She'd never heard Martha tell a story like this before. The version of the woman sitting next to her right now is a mystery on her own, with as many secrets and hidden sides to her as any other woman but never giving any away, hiding behind a mask of careless frivolousness.

Much like her son, in many aspects.

Yet now she tells her this, opens up to Kate, who listens with fascination about a baby Castle, an innocent, sweet little boy whose mother had to fight to get them above water, to get him the help he needed over a decision she made that might have cost her the most important thing in her life.

"I've made a lot of mistakes in my life," Martha tells her quietly, still affectionately caressing Sasha's back, "Even with my son. But the man in question was never a mistake I regretted." She looks at Kate then, eyes shiny and mouth pulled in a tight-lipped smile and for the first time ever, Beckett sees something akin to shame and regret mirrored in the woman's face.

Oh God. She wishes…she wishes she could tell Martha all the things she knows by heart, things that Castle told her, She wishes there was a way to convey to Martha that no matter how strange growing up with only his mother may have been, how unorthodox and sometimes utterly strange it may have appeared to an outsider, that Castle always felt his mother's love and support through it all. She wants to tell her mother-in-law how, despite having so little money, Castle always felt the magic of the season during Christmas. How, through his infamous adolescent years, where he wouldn't be able to spent a single year in a school without making some kind of noise, ultimately getting himself kicked out, he always felt supported by her. How, when his first rejection arrived or when his ego started to inflate, she was there to keep him grounded. How she provided a second parenting figure for his daughter, a female friend she could turn to with problems she didn't feel comfortable asking her dad about. How she told her son to keep fighting even as he was starting to give up with Beckett. Yes, Kate knows that too, she's married to the man after all. She knows all of this and far more and yet she is struck speechless by the look in Martha's eyes.

And with a blow, another thought comes into Kate's mind – the reason Martha told her this particular story. Of all the stories she could have picked, she tells the one that doesn't depict her as the perfect, manicured woman she likes to present herself as nowadays, but tells the one of which she is most ashamed as a mother.

Her intent was more than to merely distract, but to show her appreciation for the mother that Kate is today, in comparison to the mother Martha used to be. And although Kate doesn't judge her - didn't judge her there for a second, because how could she, look at how wonderful her son turned out to be? - it's clear that Martha does that pretty well on her own.

It's only now that Martha's finished her story that Kate realizes how cradling her sleeping son and paying attention to the tale has actually calmed her frayed nerves, how her hands have grown steady despite the stretching time over which she's had to hold Sasha's significant weight in her arms. She finds herself more in control, more at ease and assured through Martha's words about her decisions tonight, about taking her son to the hospital as well as calling someone to offer their support.

What she regarded as weakness Martha presents as strength. Wow. Tonight, Martha has proven to be more than Sasha's grandmother and Rick's mother. She's been a source of support and wisdom and companionship to Kate, admitting to mistakes in order to alleviate some of Kate's own misgivings about the kind of mother she is, and that's something Kate believes her own mother would do on a day like this.

With a tight lump in her throat, she juggles Sasha's limp, sweaty form, rearranges him over her chest so she can pull a couple fingers free and take Martha's hand.

"I think you did the best possible job at raising your son."

Martha gives her a full smile, despite the hint of nostalgia swimming in the blue of her eyes that's so much like her son's, before giving Kate's hand an appreciative little squeeze. "Thank you dear. You're doing quite a marvelous job yourself," she compliments back, nodding in Sasha's direction, the little guy snuggling into his mother's chest completely at ease, his cheeks a healthier shade of rosy pink than they were just an hour before. Good.

It's at that time that the doctor comes, gives them the all clear. Nothing showed up on the tests, he tells them, and Martha releases a huge breath and then a shaky, unsteady laugh, only now truly letting on how very concerned she was for her grandson.

Kate stands, thanks the doctor and shakes his hand. Sasha's still sleeping peacefully in her arms, sweaty and kind of gross, but Kate's in no hurry to peel his sticky body from herself tonight. Instead, she takes Martha's hand, squeezing it and uttering a single, completely inadequate "Thank you."

It's nearly seven in the morning when they come home. Martha offers to accompany her to the loft, but she long doesn't live with them anymore and she must be exhausted, so Kate sends her home, but not before pulling her into a tight hug and thanking her once again for being there for them tonight.

Sasha's still asleep when she pushes the door to the loft open, didn't even stir when she put him in and out of his car seat. The poor little guy is completely done, and so is Kate. Morning sunlight is streaming through the windows of the loft and Kate makes the call to Gates to inform her she's taking the day off in order to care for her sick child, take some rest and - who is she kidding - wait up for her husband too.

Sasha is all set, due for his medicine in a couple of hours. He is still running a slight fever and is hot and sweaty, but she doesn't have the heart nor energy to run him a third bath. Instead, she uses some wet sanitary baby napkins to wipe him down. He doesn't even stir, her brave baby boy, only smacks his lips contentedly in his sleep and Kate just smiles, ignoring the single, solitary tear that runs down her cheek.

She brings Sasha to his room, lowers him into his crib, pressing one more kiss to his forehead, and takes the monitor. But she leaves her heart behind, can barely bring herself to walk away after tonight. She hesitates at the door, but she doesn't think he will wake up anytime soon and she needs some rest too, so she makes her way downstairs with a heavy heart.

Kate stands in the middle of the living room, not knowing what to do with herself. She originally wanted to take a glass of water, but she's a complete mess, standing uselessly in front of the couch, wondering what to do next. She tries Castle's phone again and it's back on, but he doesn't pick up. She leaves him a message, short and assuring, letting him know what happened so he won't freak out after the couple of frantic messages and missed phone calls she left him during the night. She then calls her dad, lets him know too, assures him he doesn't need to come over. She will take care of Sasha alone, and Rick is supposed to come home any minute now, so they'll be okay.

It's not a lie this time. She knows now that she can.

She stands there blankly, wondering what to do now that the drama has died down and her son is sleeping soundly. She is in desperate need of a shower, covered with grime from the ER and the other events of this terrible night. Hell, there are probably still traces of Sasha's spit and drool somewhere on her shirt. But she's hungry too – when's the last time she's eaten, she wonders? – and she definitely needs a change of clothes, something more comfortable than yesterday's clothes. And sleep, yes. She could definitely use some sleep. Mmm, maybe Rick can join her in bed later.

Yet in the end, she takes a glass of water and her feet carry her of their own volition back to the nursery, leading her to the edge of Sasha's crib, where she can watch him sleep. He's due for his meds in a couple of hours and she hopes he will sleep until then; she can feed him then as well, no need to fuss over him now, his little body needing all the rest it can get.

She can't make herself leave his room, however, can't make her feet move so she can get a couple of hours sleep herself. Even though her eyes feel like sandpaper every time she blinks, she stays there, sitting at the edge of the rocking chair, her hands through the cribs stakes, stroking her son's face, his belly, each foot and then his face again, watching over him as he sleeps, her ears still ringing with his pitiful, painful wails.

She must doze off at some point, because the next time she wakes, Castle is there, his huge frame standing over the side of the crib as he peers inside, stroking his son affectionately. When he sees her waking up, he turns towards her instead, gives her a gentle, slightly painful smile.

"Hey," he whispers, raising his hands to caress her cheeks. "How are you two doing?"

She gives him a short account before standing, suddenly aware of her crumpled clothes and disheveled look, puffy-eyed and definitely smelly. God, why didn't she shower? This is not a way to greet your husband after nearly six weeks apart.

"You hungry?" She asks and it's so awkward because all she wants is only hug him, but at the same time she also wants to get away from the piercing, scrutinizing look he's giving her, and God, he already knows. Knows too much.

He silently shakes his head, takes Kate's hand instead, pulling her closer until she comes into his arms willingly, heavily sinking into the solid plane of his chest, her arms fisting in his jacket, nose buried in his neck. God, he smells incredible, and so fresh and delicious and she really doesn't want to think about the other way around. Whether aware or not, he simply presses a kiss the shell of her ear, cradling her even tighter against him. "Missed you," he murmurs on an exhale, sounding so happy, so content.

It cracks her open then. A sob wracks her body, then another, and before she knows it, she is crying in his shoulder, telling him how scared she was, how utterly terrified.

"I am so, so sorry I wasn't here, Kate. So sorry you had to do it alone." He tells her, misery wrecking his voice, but she waves him away.

"I wasn't alone," she whispers, her eyes sparking with light, "I had your mom with me."

She sees the moment it hits him that she truly means it, that his mother was part of it, helped in his stead when he couldn't be there. And the pride, oh the pride and the moved look on his face, it nearly breaks her heart. Because it shouldn't be like this, it shouldn't make Castle feel overwhelmed when his mother helps out like this; because Martha does, Kate realizes, she does help out, all the time and in so many ways which they might not even fully appreciate.

They need to talk about this, about these strange family dynamics. She needs to tell him a story about a little sick boy and a mother burdened with grief. But not right now. Later, after she's had a couple of hours of sleep, when her emotions aren't running quite so close to the surface, she'll tell him.

She lets him pull her into another hug, this time simply enjoying his closeness, letting his serenity and strength wash over her, calming her down, anchoring her.

"You did well, Kate," he smiles.

She feels him shift, turn his head, and she follows his line of vision towards the crib, towards their soundly-sleeping boy.

There is a loud sound in the room and she's mortified when she realizes it's her own stomach, quivering with hunger. Castle lets out a low, cheery chuckle and she punches his bicep, even if it's only half-hearted.

"How about I feed you, Kate?" he offers, that sweet, caring twinkle appearing in the corner of his eyes that always lures a nod from her. "How about pancakes? You up for pancakes?" She gives him a brilliant smile because yes, she could definitely go for pancakes. Her stomach grumbles again and damn, she realizes she's so hungry she could probably eat a horse.

She lets him take her hand and lead her out of Sasha's room, taking the monitor with him. But he must feel her hesitate at the threshold because he too stops moving. Kate tries to play it down, shoots him a smile and tries to push him out when he tilts his head, studying her, but then he only smiles and pushes past her, back into the room, bending over the crib and gently taking Sasha out.

She holds her breath, but the boy doesn't wake, merely snuggles deeper into his father's arms, smacking his lips, and Castle gives a victorious little chuckle, cuddling the boy close for the shortest of moments, pressing a kiss to his forehead before looking back at his wife, something sheepish and apologetic and precious in his eyes.

She must still look a bit confused, because he shrugs his shoulders at her, walks back to press a kiss to her forehead. "Do you mind if we take him down with us? I know he would get more rest here, but I really missed you two and want to keep you close."

She narrows her eyes at him, wonders whether he truly means it or does it for her sake, having noticed her hesitation earlier. But his look is genuine enough, eyes clear, and in the end it doesn't matter for whose sake he does it, as long as they're all together.

She gives him a tremulous smile and a nod before taking his outstretched hand. And together they make it down the stairs, the promise of pancakes too alluring to resist.

A/N: I am still enjoying this universe very much, I hope you guys are too. :)