A/N: This is the final part of the pregnancy storyline I seem to have stumbled onto when I wrote 'You're The Cream in My Coffee', followed by 'Thin Blue Line', 'Midnight Blue Yearning' and 'Brighter Than Anything' if you haven't read them already. This final storyline was requested by BlueOrchid96 and it'll probably take two or three chapters to complete. Oh, and it's fluff, in case you hadn't guessed from the title. Hope you enjoy...

"Touch my skin, and tell me what you're thinking
Take my hand and show me where we're going
Lie down next to me, look into my eyes and tell me, oh tell me what you're seeing"

"So sit on top of the world and tell me how you're feeling
what you feel now is what I feel for you"

-Dido, 'Take My Hand'

Chapter 1: Everything Has Changed

She stands in the bathroom for ten minutes every morning after her shower and then again every night before they go to bed, massaging the special oil she ordered online into her scars. He's pretty sure she thinks he doesn't notice – the lotion thing that is – since she's the detective in the family and stealth is somehow her gift. And, yes, he'll freely admit that it's clearly never been his. But he does - he notices. Because the scars upset her and she feels self-conscious enough to try to hide them from him and because when it comes to Katherine Beckett-Castle he notices pretty much everything, just as he always has, only now there is so much more for him to see.

Now, instead of just the steely, feisty, super-smart, independent detective he met all those years ago, he sees his wife and the mother of his son, Jackson, step-mom to his grown-up daughter, Alexis, the perfect daughter-in-law to his eccentric but loveable mother, Martha, and a loving, loyal daughter in her own right to her dad, his father-in-law, Jim. They are a family now. And just as much a part of that family are their friends: Lanie, Javi, Kevin, Jenny, baby Niamh, even Captain Gates.

Clicking off the light switch, she drifts through the bathroom door in her night attire – a blush pink, washed out Henley she's taken to wearing lately, since it's easy to feed Jack during the night, and a soft pair of cotton boy shorts that show off her amazingly long, toned, tan legs.

She's rubbing vanilla-scented lotion into her hands and arms as she approaches and Castle lifts his head from the book he's been reading when he catches a waft of the delicious candy apple scent, trailing her with his eyes as she walks around the foot of the bed to her own side to climb in.

"Little guy go down okay?" he asks, setting his open book flat on the comforter to watch her set the alarm on her phone and then flip the covers back, her ponytail bouncing like a cheerleader's, her face relaxed and peaceful as it seems to be at the end of every day since she brought their son home safely from the hospital.

"Out like a light. Definitely takes after his daddy where sleep's concerned," she tells him, wriggling on the mattress to get comfortable, and then leaning over to kiss his puckered chin when he pouts.

"Being a good sleeper is not something to be mocked, Beckett, let me tell you," he argues back. "Alexis took after her mother – loud, flighty. She barely flirted with sleep for the first few months let alone made friends. We should be grateful Jack takes after me."

"Uh-huh," grins Kate, patting the covers smooth over her lap. "Never stops eating either," she mutters, giving him a playful nudge.

"Skinny, fussy babies are a overrated. Good appetite in a man is a sign of fortitude," he tells her, punctuating his remark with a close-fisted punch in midair.

"Castle, he's eight weeks old," laughs Kate. "Fortitude? He barely knows he has toes."

"Are you mocking me? And are you trying to tell me you're not delighted to have a baby who eats and sleeps well? Because those sleep-deprived mothers down at the park will maul you if you boast about that. Believe me."

"No, babe, I am," Kate replies, stroking his cheek with her thumb, looking into his eyes with that happy, adorable smile on her face, her focus fuzzing out for a second she's so close to him.

He holds her gaze, and God save him from how much he loves her – every complicated, difficult, uncomfortable second it took to be with her now forgotten; like birth pains, he imagines, if men ever gave birth.

She takes his breath away.

Kate drops her hand from his cheek the moment they lock eyes for just a fraction of a second too long, and he feels it – this slight hesitancy, the micro layer of awkwardness between the pair of them. It's nothing major, but it's definitely there, and he wonders for the umpteenth time in days what it's all about.

He clears his throat when Kate turns away to reach for her own book.

"Speaking of sleeping well," he begins, touching her knee where her leg is now bent into a sharp peak beneath the covers. "You know, we should really make use of Jack's big sister while she's home from college and he's so settled. Plan a night out. Just the two of us," he suggests. "Romantic dinner, we can get dressed up, really push the boat out. What do you say?"

To say that Kate looks reluctant is the understatement of the year. She looks something verging on terrified.

"Hey, what's up? Is it Alexis? Because she is totally responsible. And Jack loves her. I saw the two of them sitting in the rocker this morning. She was singing to him, Kate. It was the most adorable—"

Kate lays a hand on Castle's arm, pats it once and then squeezes lightly.

"Hey, I know. She's the best big sister he could have," she says quietly, gently.

"Then what's wrong? Are you worried about leaving him? Is that it? Because we don't have to go far. We could stay in Soho. Walk a couple of blocks to get dinner and then we'd be able to come home immediately if Jack needed us. How about that?" he suggests, tentatively.

Kate can't tell him that date night, in her mind at least, would mean dressing up and then, later, undressing in front of him. That in her mind there is an implied expectation of how the evening will end. They haven't had sex since Jack was born. Her body feels different since the stabbing and she can't tell if it's just a natural reaction to giving birth, the emergency C-section, the other scars she fears mar her body now as a result of the attack or purely the adjustment she has had to make to becoming a mother, to being tired a lot of the time, hormones, breast feeding…

The changes are all so overwhelming and her own mom isn't around to ask, that's for sure.

She watches Castle sometimes, standing in the shower stall, his large, muscular frame blurred a little by steam and condensation through the glass but still defined by his abundant masculinity all the same, and she covets him, can't believe that he is hers – her husband. And then she feels guilty that her own hang-ups are keeping her from being with him, from pleasuring them both. There are nights she aches with need but can't quite bring herself to reach for him in case she disappoints him or has to stop part way through; trusting herself and her new body the main barrier to intimacy. A body she was so used to relying on in any circumstance. A body she was proud to display. A body she must grow to love once more.

Castle is infinitely patient, hasn't raised so much as an eyebrow in her direction, save to let her know that he loves her, loves everything she has given him, admires her immensely for all that she's been through to give him a son. He boosts her confidence as a new mother, defers to her growing skill, even hiding his own proficiency with diapers and feeding and understanding the complex signals from their newborn in those early days, all to support her. And this is such un-Castle like behavior - hiding his own prowess at anything - but it's generous and selfless nonetheless.

And he manages to make her feel like a woman still, even if she hides herself away from him these days; not yet confident enough to parade her postpartum body in front of him. But she hates feeling like this, knows she has to get over it. She sees how much he still desires her – his looks and gentle touches abundantly clear – and the way he holds her as she sleeps: such tender care and safe hands that say 'I will be with you forever. You are mine now and I am yours'.

"How's Thursday?" she asks, with more confidence than she feels, turning to glance at him when his head shoots up from his book. "I…I mean if Alexis is free. Obviously we need to check, but—"

He smiles so widely at her that Kate's heart aches in her chest. How pleased and excited he seems at being granted an evening alone with his wife.

"Be right back," he declares, vaulting out of bed and skidding across the wooden floor.

"Rick…" she laughs, shaking her head at his crazy antics.

Five minutes pass, then ten, and Kate feels her head nod forwards, jerking the back of her neck when she temporarily drifts off, the book dropping out of her hands.

Castle creeps back into the bedroom, dims the lights and then crawls in beside her, careful to keep his cold toes to himself.

"We're on for Thursday. Won't even let me pay her," says Castle, plumping up his pillows.

"He's her brother," laughs Kate. "But you're sure she doesn't mind?"

"Nope. Actually suggested I take you away for the night. But don't worry, I told her I couldn't prize you away from Jack for a whole night. At least not yet. We'll start with a couple of hours and work up from there."

Again Kate feels a shiver of fear pass through her. But it's coupled with something that feels suspiciously like delicious anticipation this time.

So she makes a plan – visit the beauty salon for a wax, full mani-pedi, maybe even some new lingerie from that boutique over on Grand.

Yep, it's time to get back in the saddle, Mrs. Castle, she tells herself, as she reaches over to kiss her husband goodnight before turning out the light. And don't spare the horses.

Candy, noun: Candy is a pink color variant. Pink is any of the colors between blueish red (purple) and red. Commonly used for Valentine's Day and Easter, pink is sometimes referred to as "the color of love." The use of the word for the color "pink" was first recorded in the late 17th century. Candy is the North American word for 'sweets' (sugar candy) as used in such terms as Candy Cane, Candy Bar and Cotton Candy.

A/N: Love to hear your thoughts if you have time. Liv