She had been texting him all day and he couldn't believe his luck. She liked him.

When she'd organized the study group, he assumed he'd been invited for his brains. Professor Wilkinson posted the first sophomore neuropsych exam grades publicly and he'd scored a 98. So yeah, maybe he didn't need help studying, but it couldn't hurt. And if he made a few friends in the process, all the better, right? Columbia was a long way from Duluth. It was time he made this place, this monstrosity of a city, a home away from home. He knew the girls would probably both have an eye on Matt, with his biceps and his dimples and his California attitude. He couldn't compete with that, with his thin frame and his plain brown eyes and his unruly hair. He didn't expect to.

But when he had shown up ten minutes late to the first session in the library that Saturday in October, he didn't miss the way her eyes lit up when he sat in the last empty seat across from her. And he couldn't help but notice that she kept looking at him. It wasn't just that she had been looking; it was the way she had been looking – with a spark in her eye and a quirk in her lips. It was the way she teased him. It was the way she laughed at his jokes. The way she asked his thoughts on that thesis about the impacts of familial environments on developmental pathways leading to aggression in children. The way she listened to him, really listened. Then it was the way she had torn his argument apart, piece-by-piece, her eyes glinting, appraising him as a worthy adversary.

So he hadn't been totally surprised when she kept up the banter by text long after the study group dispersed. But it still brought a smile to his face to wake up to: Good morning. :) Hope I didn't keep you up too late.

He thumbed a quick response while still under the hazy influence of sleep and before a shower drained his courage away: I'd stay up all night for you. ;)

When he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, he headed straight for his phone. She had responded. Prove it.

He laughed. This girl was going to be fun.

Whatchya doing? He was at some mandatory multi-author Black Pawn publicity event but his mind obviously wasn't.

She, on the other hand, was perfectly content, burrowed under a mountain of comforters, falling asleep with a book on her chest and the late afternoon sun receding from behind the bedroom blinds. She sent him a quick response before tossing her phone to the nightstand. Whatchya? Is not a word. And I'm napping.

Big mistake, that confession. It was a provocation, really. The next texts had come in quick succession, revealing his unquenchable inner pest.

I wish I was napping.

In bed.

With you.

Or maybe... not napping?

;)

Beckett?

Did you fall asleep?

Damn it, Beckett, this isn't fair.

I'm BORED!

Gina says Hi.

Just kidding.

Just testing, really.

To see if you're awake?

Siiiiigh.

Becketttttttttttttt.

She finally rolled over, grabbed her phone off the nightstand to stop its incessant chiming, and read his litany of messages with one eye open. She half-smiled at his whining. She wished he was in bed with her too.

You are ridiculous. And relentless. My phone is going on silent now. Love you. She pressed send before she flipped her notifications to silent and rolled back under the comforter.

He showed up at her apartment at 9 p.m. Sunday night and he was nervous as hell. They had been texting all day, all weekend really, and it had gotten more and more flirty, but he still didn't know what he was going to do when she opened the door. He didn't know what to say when he had to use his voice instead of hiding behind the amazing veil of valor his iPhone cloaked him with. Which is why he was more surprised than she was when she opened the door with a grin and those unforgettably bright eyes and only got out, "Adam, hi! Do you–" before he was on her, one sweaty hand cradling her hip, the other gripped in her hair, lips pressed hungrily to hers. He felt her smile beneath his lips and while it helped him trust that it was okay to suck in oxygen and keep existing, it did nothing to calm his racing heart. He pressed his forehead to hers as their lips parted, couldn't bear to look her in the eyes after the way he'd basically pounced on her. God, he was such an idiot. He didn't even say hi. Just threw himself at her, like a dumbass. But he was still luckier than he could believe because, then, she was softly pressing her lips back to his, gingerly giving him back his courage, kiss by kiss.

She woke to the sound of the front door closing. The bands of setting sun were long gone now but her body was curled toward where they had last been, seeking out in sleep the remnants of warmth. She feigned sleep and waited.

She heard him drop his phone on the desk in the office and kick off his shoes. She sensed his entrance into the bedroom, heard him shuck off his pants and unbutton his dress shirt. Soon he had slipped under the sheets, snaked an arm under her side and pulled her back against the warm white cotton that clothed his chest. "Beckett," he whispered into her wild mess of hair. He pressed a kiss just behind her ear and said a little louder, "Waaaake uuuuup, Beckett. Nap time's over and it's time to plaaaay." He pressed his hips against her lower back as he sing-songed play, and she couldn't hide her smirk. He peeked his head over her shoulder. "Aha! She lives." She rolled over to face him fully, tucked her cold hands under the cotton of his shirt to warm them on his stomach, and smiled up at him. "I missed you. Husband." She bit her lip, savored the possessive moniker. She was still getting used to it in all its two-month glory. Then she was the one pressing her hips forward, suddenly feeling much more awake and very eager to show him just how much she had missed him.

He didn't pay one ounce of attention to the movie. He couldn't focus – could barely breathe – while he was laying on her bed, while she was tucked into his side, facing him, playing with the buttons on his shirt, one leg threaded between his, pressing, pressing.

He would have to come over another time to watch this movie, he thought. Because she had been really excited for him to see it. Something about brilliant writing and you wouldn't expect it from a horror film but it's really funny. And he wanted to hear her laugh. He did, wanted to share that with her. And he wanted her to watch him laugh, wanted her to take pride in introducing him to something she knew he would love.

But right then she was nearly naked and so was he and how was she so goddamn warm everywhere when she was also so very, very bare?

She pulled back to look in his eyes, "Do you have a...?"

"Yeah. Yeah, here –" He rolled away to pluck his wallet from the puddle of his jeans on the floor, blood pounding disbelief through the veins in his skull that this would finally come in handy. He slipped the condom on, rolled back to face her and stopped. "Are you sure? We can – we don't have to." He checked her eyes and found them clear. She ducked her head into his neck, kissed his jaw while she positioned him, whispered yes.

And then he was in.

He would go to meetings every Sunday if that would be the homecoming he would be rewarded with. Brief meetings. Meetings just long enough to make his wife want to do that. He didn't even think that was possible. In fact, he vaguely remembered discussing with the boys several years ago that that wasn't possible and he was suddenly so very, very grateful to be proved wrong. "Kate," he said with a gasp, a warning. She was going to kill him with the way she was twisting, and squeezing, and, and–

"Oh fuck, Kate."

"Alexis."

"What?"

"I'm so sorry." His hands shook as he held up the broken, empty piece of rubber between them.

"Oh, fuck."

He had been in a meeting all day again, orchestrating the final details for a New Year's fundraiser as a favor for a friend on the New York Public Library board of trustees. No time for barraging his wife with text messages, much to his chagrin. He smiled as he thought of her. It had been pouring all day, thundering and lightning striking relentlessly, too. Just the kind of day in which she might curl up with a book after work. Or take a hot bath. Or both. He can't wait to see her.

What he didn't expect was to find his wife pacing the length of the loft like a skittish mare, eyes wild.

"Kate?"

She stopped, absorbed the sight of him and seemed to calm. "Hi." The word sneaked out, low and quiet, as if against her will.

He knew at once. His wife had a secret.

He shrugged out of his raincoat, toed off his boots, aware that she was appraising him the whole time.

He crossed the room to her and pulled her into a hug. "Hey. You okay?"

She leaned back to look him in the eye and started, "Castle–"

He could see her steel herself for whatever was coming next and his mind started to spin. She wasn't happy here. She wanted to move. She'd been suspended again. Oh god, something happened to her dad. "Kate, please – just tell me."

A beat of silence stretched between them, two, three, four...

"Kate–"

She started pacing again and with the dam of her stillness broken, the words flooded out of her. "Okay, so, it's just that I know we talked about it before. Before before. But we haven't talked about it lately. And I didn't think we even wanted to–" She paused to catch his eyes with hers. "–yet. Not yet." She started pacing again. "This is just so soon. And I don't even know how because jeez, I DO know how, but however it happened, Castle, it's just that I think I'm– I guess we're–" She stopped again as her throat caught and the hot tears that filled her eyes fired off some obscenely slow neurons in his brain and his eyes widened.

"Pregnant?" he asked, a question. "We're pregnant?" And then his chest was too full for him to breathe, and he was grinning, and he grabbed her and lifted her off her feet, spun a little. "Kate! We're pregnant!"

He set her down again, suddenly feeling a little weak in the knees as his mind raced through the knowledge of new fatherhood, of a whole new life. But his exuberance was contagious and she was grinning then, despite her overflowing eyes, and when he looked at her, really looked, he saw she was glowing. And then he was the one choking up, staring at her in awe, speechless.

He was still pretty dazed when there was a knock at the door and he walked to answer it on autopilot. His head was in the clouds, still trying to catch up to the fact that they were going to be having a baby.

Apparently he had opened the door, because Alexis stood before him, dripping rainwater in the hallway. His heart filled more than he thought possible because his little girl was going to be a big sister and he felt so complete, felt so goddamn happy.

"Dad?"

Her wobbly voice snapped his attention to the tears marching relentlessly down her cheeks. Not – not stowaway raindrops as he had thought.

"I'm pregnant."

For the second time in his life, Richard Castle was truly at a loss for words.