He walks off the elevator distracted by his phone. Alexis has been texting him these internet meme pictures she's found in her Research class. Clearly not doing research, unless you count goofing off on the internet. He checks her latest message - a photo of The Little Mermaid with black-frame hipster glasses that says Don't call me Ariel; My Name is Helvetica.

Castle laughs and glances up, realizes for one heart-stopping moment that he's walked into the bullpen without first checking to find Kate. For once, his attention wasn't completely on her.

Well, he needs to remedy that.

It takes only the movement of his head, the lifting of his eyes to find her, standing in front of the murder board in grey slacks and a fitted pink blouse. Her hands rest on her hips in fists; her hair is loose and in waves that appear golden in the morning light streaming through the windows.

She's gorgeous. Venus arising (she would roll her eyes at him about now). And even though last night Castle was at his loft, spending time with Alexis since she was visiting from college, he can still feel immediately the hard angles of her body against his in bed, he can bring to mind instantly the smile she gives him in the morning when she wakes him up. How she wakes him up.

Kate raises her arm to write information at the top of the white board - the long line of her legs in those grey pants, the skinny black belt, the pink blouse tucked into her trim waist, the rather full curve of her breasts and-

Wait.

What? Go back.

Her profile cuts a sharp figure against the light coming in the windows, making her almost a dark blur in his eyes. But that means he sees every hard angle, every jut of elbow and jaw and collarbone. And where he should see the arch of her hipbones, there is instead-

A curve.

A thickening that - that - but - no.

No.

Richard Castle knows every line and curve of her body (very little curve to it, just svelte, liquid line), and he knows that isn't right, knows with a clarity that is both startling and intimate that the thickening, the curve, the round nudge of her shirt as her arm lifts-

He counts back in his head and tries to think about it clearly, logically, not with his wildly, heart-thumping, crazy-excited side, and he can't come up with anything other than-

Pregnant.

And damn.

He forgot to get her coffee.

Talk about omens.

No good day begins without coffee.

Beckett rolls her eyes as she unlocks her apartment door, leaves it wide for Castle to follow along inside. She drops her stuff in the floor - totally not her style, but when he's here with her, she doesn't want to waste time. She heads to the kitchen; the bulletproof vest dug into her chest this afternoon and it still aches. Ug. Pitfalls of being a girl.

Castle vetoed Chinese and deli sandwiches both, some strange look in his eye that she can't yet figure out. But he agreed to pizza and even left early to pick it up, meeting her here. Her stomach growls at the smell of meat lovers, and she grins at him before pulling out plates.

"So what's up with you today?" she asks finally, opening the box and stepping out of her shoes as she does.

Castle leans over and scoops them up (she loves messing with him about it; he hates it when he trips over her shoes left lying around the apartment). She watches him move back to the entry and drop them on top of her coat and bag, grinning wider.

"Nothing's up with me. Did Ryan finish your paperwork?"

If that's not a massive subject change, then what is? But she only quirks her lips at him and digs into her pizza, groaning in relief.

He's immediately at her side, a hand at her back, his mouth against her ear. "Are you okay?"

Which is really not what she expected. Any time she even makes a hint of satisfied noise (okay, whenever she moans), he's usually ready to take her to bed. Are you okay? is not exactly what she thought would be coming out of his mouth.

Kate bumps him away from her. "Personal space, Castle. I'm starving is all. Get us something to drink?"

She takes both of their plates to the table and sits, more than surprised when he comes back with water.

All right. They don't have wine every night, and sure, it's only pizza but. . .

Whatever. She's not interested in peeling away the layers of his psyche right now. She wants to eat her pizza and then peel away his clothes. Forget slowly. Every time she tries to take her time, make it last, savor it, she ends up coming apart, losing control, long - long - before he does.

It's really not fair that *Castle* is the one with more control in bed.

Well. Sometimes it's more than fair.

Kate quirks her lips at him again and he stares back at her. "You keep looking at me like that and you won't get a chance to finish your pizza," he growls.

She drops her slice. "I'm game. Let's go-"

He laughs, but grabs her wrist as she moves to stand. His finger brushes along the inside of her wrist, too tender. "No, no. You need to eat. It can wait. Isn't that what you're always telling me? We have all the time in the world."

She sinks back down into her chair, uncertain by this change in pace. Castle never says no. And what the hell? Throwing her words back in her face. She tells him that every time he opens his mouth to spill some heart-deep secret, every time he tries to label them or profess his undying love.

No need for that right now. It's not like they're getting married.

"Plenty of time, Kate. Besides, what I've got planned, you're going to need your strength."

She flashes her eyes back to his, heat already climbing up her body.

That's more like it.

Castle wakes to find her already up, messing around in the bathroom before she showers. He grabs his phone to check the time, then sees his daughter texted him an all-clear. Meaning, if he does his walk of shame back to the loft, she's already out the door, headed back to campus, and won't see it.

Little imp.

He rolls onto his other side so he can watch Kate through the bathroom door. She's got not a stitch of clothing on; gloriously naked and amazing, she leans in against the counter and rubs sleep out of her eye. He watches her brush her teeth, her hair scraped back off her face, and then fill up a glass of water and down nearly the whole thing in one swallow.

Like it's vodka.

Did she notice that he avoided wine all evening? Probably not. And oh, damn, look at that. How can she not notice it? Now that he sees it, he really sees it, and his heart pounds so hard that he thinks he's making the mattress vibrate. She could be three months pregnant already; she *looks* three months pregnant. Not that she looks bad. No-

It's like she's not holding in her abs; it's like she's thickened just a little bit. And it's the sexiest, scariest thing he's ever seen.

How's he supposed to-

He just won't tell her. He could be wrong. He's probably wrong. There's no way he's going to tell *any* woman that she looks thicker around the middle. Suicide mission. Not that Kate has ever really cared - she's too self-assured for that, or too confident of her ability to take off whatever she might gain. One of those.

Still. He's not bringing it up.

Kate refills her water and opens the medicine cabinet, pulls down a clam shell looking thing, pops it open.

His heart stops.

Castle jumps out of bed, knocking his knee against the dresser, causing her to startle and look over at him, her actions arrested.

When she sees it's just him, Kate pops out a pill and goes to throw it back.

"No! Wait. Don't."

Castle stops in front of her, tears the birth control pill out of her hand and drops it in the toilet.

"Castle!"

"You can't-"

"What the hell!" She's staring at him in stunned horror. And then immediately that fierce and blazing anger sweeps over her whole body. She shoves on him. "What the hell? This is *not* how you have a conversation about whether or not you want kids, Castle. And that's a no, by the way. Hell no."

"Too late," he mutters, running his hand through his hair. He doesn't know for sure that birth control pills will harm the - the - oh shit, if *he* can't even think it, how in the world will Kate react?

"Damn straight it's too late. You threw it in the toilet!" She's vibrating with fury; her eyes that dark and deadly glint.

But she's already popping out another pill and his chest squeezes, his hands move of their own volition, and he's ripped the little case away from her before she can take one.

Her fury is instantly replaced with a cold and terrible stillness. Kate steps back from him, walks away.

He watches her pull on a tshirt, shorts, and then keep walking. Out of her bedroom.

Castle looks at her birth control, but he can't risk-

What if she doesn't want it? What if it doesn't matter anyway? All this. . .protecting and it might not even matter. If she refuses.

His mouth fills with bile; he has to lean against the shower door to keep from falling over.

If she refuses.

No. No, he won't let her. He will convince her it's okay. He'll. . .he'll do anything. Even, even, even give her up. If that's what it takes. She can carry the baby to term, and he'll take it; she won't have to do anything; he'll walk away from her.

He closes his eyes and sinks to the floor, sick at the thought, waves of terrible grief rolling over him.

Damn, he's melodramatic. Man up, Richard. This won't happen. He won't let it happen. They didn't go through absolute hell only to have it end because she's not ready to talk about the future.

He opens his eyes, starts to get to his feet, but he notices that Kate has come back, quietly, and she's leaning against the doorway, staring at him. The anger is still there, the coldness, not a whole lot of hope written in her face, but just that she came to find him. . .

"You want to tell me what's up with you, Castle? Or you want me to kick you out?"

"I don't think this is working," he says, and in the instant before he can hold up her birth control, he sees the shock and sick sorrow spread through her eyes.

And then she *does* see the birth control, but it's too late. He's already seen what it does to her, thinking that he's giving up on them.

And *that* - that gives him hope. Because he is *not* and will not be giving up on them.

"What are you saying?" she growls out.

"Look at yourself, Kate. Just. Really look. And tell me I'm wrong."

She glares at him for a long time, flames of anger still flickering in her eyes. And then she points her finger at him. "You stay there."

He's startled when she shuts the bathroom door on him, leaving him inside with her out there. Castle gets to his feet and moves to the door, close enough to strain for any kind of sound.

She must be looking at herself in the mirror. He wants, so very badly, to see her face when she does. When she accepts it as the truth. Because there's no doubt in his mind.

Castle leans his forehead against the door, breathing slowly. He's afraid to leave the bathroom, but he wants to know. Needs to know. Needs to look in her eyes when she figures it out, because that will be her heart's reaction, not her head's. If he can see that, then he'll know. He'll know if it's going to be okay.

He puts his hand on the knob, swallows down the knot of panic, and slowly twists open the door.

She's pulled everything off and all the lights are on, as well as all the shutters open. She's looking at herself in the floor-length mirror next to her dresser, her fingers skimming over her belly button.

He catches his breath at the sight, a dark and terribly beautiful need clawing at his throat. Castle shifts slowly to one side so that he can see her face but she can't see him.

Her breasts are heavy, now that he's looking. Her thumb presses into her hipbones and then slides inward; her breath hitches.

He watches her face, staring at her; he needs to see-

And there it is. The reflection of his own dark and beautiful need now in her eyes.

And then gone.

"Kate."

She doesn't turn, doesn't flinch, only drops her head in her hands, hiding herself away from him, from the truth. His heart twists, but he moves up behind her, turns her around, wraps his arms around her shoulders even as she shudders.

"This can work, Kate. We can make this work."

She's stiff in his arms, not yielding to his touch, her head turned away from him, her hands at his chest to keep him away.

"Please try," his voice cracks. "Please. Please don't. . .please, Kate."

"I can't do this-"

The tears burn in his throat, but he presses his lips to her temple, her cheekbone, her mouth, trying to silence her instinctive need for distance and space and denial.

"You don't have to. I'll do it. I'll do anything."

Her shoulders hunch. "I can't talk about this right now. Castle. Leave me-"

"I won't. Not on my life. I am *not* leaving you alone."

"Castle." He can tell that she's trying to put some command in her voice, but she's still too stunned, too shaken, too unnerved.

"I've got your back, Kate."

"This isn't-"

"You told me to let it be. You said take it one day at a time. I've done that for you. Now do that for me."

"I need to get dressed," she says, pushing on him.

"Kate."

Castle captures her face in his palms, keeps his eyes on hers. He *knows* he saw it, just a fraction of a second's worth of that bloom of love. He knows he did. He will fight for that.

"This is my whole life here. Right here. Don't take it away from me. I need you."

He slides his thumb across her cheek to erase the evidence of her solitary tear. She closes her eyes but doesn't jerk away from him.

"Give me time, Castle."

Yes. Yes, he can do that. "So long as you're not asking for space, we can give it all the time in the world. It's just the beginning, Kate."

They aren't even living together.

When she drifts back to consciousness, this is the only thing she can think. Well, that and how heavy her body is, how curiously paper thin but still so very weighed down.

She's fine. She'll be fine. Because she may have been moved into his loft against her will, but she's headed straight back to her apartment the second she gets out of here.

With her son.

Her heart flutters and she opens her eyes, searching for him.

Instead, there's Castle.

And he looks scared.

Kate realizes suddenly that she doesn't know what happened to her. There was. . .the baby was here, he was holding the baby, and then. . .everything felt so far away. Her body was listless and heavy; she felt sick. She remembers trying to get his attention, the wave of exhaustion rolling down over her, flattening her out, and then she was losing it, losing herself, and darkness, and the sound of his voice, hoarse, pleading-

Something happened.

Castle has the baby against his chest, his wide palm splayed over the boy's back, his cheek nestled against the pale skin, the fingers of his right hand curling around the baby's tiny skull. He's holding her son as if he's afraid he'll never see him again, like someone might take him as well.

And then Kate lifts her eyes to his face. He looks hollowed out.

"Ca - Castle," she rasps, wanting to hold him. She's not sure which one.

He lifts his eyes to see her, relief and grief and joy in a blue swirl. "Oh God, Kate."

He stands and comes closer, but he doesn't give her the baby, just keeps his arms tight around the little thing, so very small.

"Happened?" she chokes out, trying to clear her throat. She realizes that even if he did hand him to her, she might not be able to hold him. Her whole body feels stretched too far.

"You were bleeding. You almost died."

She blinks. "Everything was fine."

"They didn't deliver all of the placenta. And you just bled and bled. Kate. God, I was standing in your blood-"

Castle shuts his eyes, his arms strong bands around the baby.

Her heart drops. She can't - can't do it.

Castle leans over and presses his mouth to hers, heavy and afraid, like a choked-off sob, and his forehead rests against hers; the baby is right there at his chest, so close she can lift her hand and brush her fingers over the fuzz of dark hair.

Seeing the wretched grief on Castle's face, she can't do it. She can't take her son back to her apartment, just the two of them, and leave Castle alone with this. She had a plan; she knew she could handle it (and she's not sure she can handle Castle); they never have to actually make any real plans, even now; nothing has to be permanent.

But she can't take her son with her across town to live in her apartment, the two of them alone, when Rick Castle wants him - both of them - so badly.

So badly. Every line of his body, every expression on his face.

She has a lot to make up to him.

"Sit with me," she whispers into his cheek, her eyes on her baby son.

"What?" Castle whispers.

Kate does her best to slide over, but her strength is gone. "Move me over. Sit with me, Castle. I need my son."

"Oh. Um." He stands up, but he looks like he doesn't want to put the baby down either. She grunts and does the best she can to move.

"Now squeeze in," she demands, laying her head back and gulping down air, her heart racing.

Must've been bad. She must have lost a lot of blood, for it to feel like this. She opens her eyes when she feels his hip against hers, his body in the bed.

She remembers a pretty nasty argument about three months ago when she found a list of baby names up on his fridge. She told him that this was her kid and there was no way in hell she was letting him name her baby Thor Castle. That's when it came out - the idea he had that the baby would have his last name at all.

Also not in her plan.

No, this kid would be a Beckett.

But now.

She swallows hard and rolls her head to see him, them, Castle too of course. She curls against Castle's shoulder to get as close to the sleeping baby as she can. Kate can't keep her arm from shaking as she brushes her fingers over the downy hair. Like a little dark rabbit.

Castle lifts his hand from the baby's head and traps her fingers, guides her palm down until she can curl around the little skull, the heel of her hand against his soft, tiny ear.

"Thank you," she whispers, pressing her lips to Castle's shoulder.

"Oh, God, Kate. Thank *you.*" He gives a shaky, soft laugh and turns his head to her, placing his mouth at her lashes as she closes her eyes. Soft.

"I know his name," she says suddenly, lifting her head a little to look at him right.

"Yeah?"

She nods. For him. It's for him, and she picked it long ago because she wanted to be sure that he knew that - no matter her crap attitude or their living arrangement - that this baby was because of him.

"What's his name?" Castle says softly.

"Dashiell Alexander."

The startled breath next to her; the nearly-imperceptible tightening of his hand over hers on top of the baby's head - she smiles at him, still exhausted and wrung out from blood loss, but the answering joy on his face gives her an exhilarated strength that spreads like warmth through her whole being.

"Yeah?" he breathes.

She nods. Dashiell Alexander. He will be extremely important to you. Alexander would save her life, right? Maybe it *is* fate. Or maybe she just made the words come true.

Castle's mouth meets hers, warm and excited and trying to be tender but failing miserably, failing, and she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip, leaning against him.

When he breaks away, she finds herself chasing after his mouth, curls her lips in a smile for him.

He palms her cheek, brushes just under her eye with an answering smile. Then Castle raises his knees and gently pries their son from his chest, lays him back against his thighs. The baby squirms, eyes still tightly closed, little mouth opening, a wrapped fist moving.

Castle clears his throat and strokes a long finger down the side of the baby's face.

"We know your name now," he whispers.

Kate leans against Castle's shoulder, lifts her hand to his thigh to steady herself, brushes her thumb over the baby's warm cheek, the impression left from Castle's tshirt.

The little eyes don't open, but that fist is moving, the long, little body squirms. Kate chews on her lip and then eases forward to kiss the baby's forehead, lips barely brushing his skin.

She trembles, but Castle catches her with an arm around her chest, pulls her back against his side. Kate lifts her hand to cover his over her heart, brings his palm up to kiss it.

Castle kisses her back, his mouth at her neck, a sigh in his throat, relief and happiness. Kate wants to see her baby look at them, wants Castle to know, to be sure, about her.

About all of it.

"Dash," she whispers. "Dashiell Alexander Castle. Open your eyes for mommy and daddy."

And then he does. Little squints of newborn-blue, staring right at her.

"Castle?" Dash's father whispers.

"Castle."

Castle.