About a week or two ago, I saw a post floating around on tumblr, and I was inspired. And since, apparently, I can't have just one fic to work on at a time, I'm sharing the first part with you now.

Each chapter is a self-contained Caskett oneshot all centering around a line from that post. I'll mark each chapter with information about said chapter.

Maritari

Category: Chapter 1 - MeetingAU (For the sake of this, Castle and Beckett are closer in age and their circumstances are different.)

Rating: T

Summary: Two people working hard to survive together get good news.

Chapter 1 - Big Breaks

Marry me. Let's spend our nights eating cereal on the floor when there is a perfectly fine table behind us.

"What's all this, Kate?" he asks, stepping gingerly into the living room of their new home, taking in what she's done since she left work just an hour ago.

They still can't afford the place, but optimism had them taking out a loan and hoping they'll get lucky and be able to pay it back and make rent on their own soon. The loft is way, way bigger than their last apartment (not that there's much that isn't bigger than the shoebox they'd picked out together two hours after going down to the justice of the peace and becoming man and wife) and they're still working on furnishing it. They don't have much – their mattress is still on the floor in their bedroom – but they have a table now. A real one, a sturdy one, with a full set of matching chairs and everything, but there she is on the ratty blanket he's had since his boarding school days, beaming as he takes in the picnic she's prepared.

In front of her are two bowls of his favorite fruity cereal and a jug of milk waiting to be poured. Two glasses of champagne top off the tableau. He grins when his eyes return to her face.

"A picnic? What'd I do to earn this?"

"Take your shoes off and join me and I'll tell you what this is all about."

His shoes land against hers in a heap beside the door and he decides to make use of the slick hardwood floor by sliding over to her in his socks. His wife giggles in response, catching his hand as soon as he's within range and tugging him down to the floor pillows with her. He laughs, too, canting against her.

"Hi," she greets, leaning in to kiss him slowly. Her hand slides around his neck, scratching his hairline with her short nails. His eyes slip shut, the contact soothing away the frustrations he'd been dealing with since they parted ways that morning. "How was your day?"

"Terrible. Another three publishing houses wouldn't even talk to me. What about yours?" He keeps his answer short. He doesn't want to dwell on his miserable day; he can't, otherwise it'll bring everything down and he won't do that to her. Not when her eyes are so bright and happy. She has her share of bad days, too, even if today isn't one of them.

She squeezes his neck gently. "I'm sorry, babe. Mine was long. He dumped two more projects on me. Needs them finished before the end of the month. Along with the other ones."

She's so close to finishing her degree, but it's wearing on her, he knows. It'll be the right choice in the end, staying the course instead of dropping out and applying to the police academy, but he knows she's chafing to get started. To find whoever shoved a knife in her mother's back one night in an alley. The police have written it off as random violence, a gang initiation, but he knows Kate's not so sure, and she's letting that drive for answers steer her career path.

His mother-in-law survived the attack because of quick reflexes and a homeless man looking for a quiet place to sleep that January night, but the damage was already done; Johanna spent months in the hospital and in rehab facilities, fighting off complications and regaining her strength. She'll likely be wheelchair-bound for the rest of her life. Kate's father is still coping with the changes – some days better than others – although the last time they saw them, they at least appeared to be putting each other back together instead of pulling one another apart.

Johanna's even talking about going back to work soon, though that idea hasn't gone over well with either Kate or Jim. He understands his mother-in-law's reasons, though.

The Becketts are both lawyers, both successful, but hospital bills add up, insurance only covers so much, and he and Kate are in no position to help. If he could only get someone to take a chance on his novel, he'd be able to, he's sure of it. He needs to help his family.

"What're the projects this time?" he asks, slipping his hand under her oversized sweater and trailing up her side.

She shivers, scooting closer to him. "What aren't the projects this time? Papers, composition projects, analyses. One of them's a diorama, Rick. A diorama. Do you remember the last time you had to make one of those? If it was after the seventh grade, I'll give you a massage every day for a week."

Damn, she has him there. He considers lying; he does love her hands. She'd know, though. She always knows.

"Damn, it was sixth for me. But hey, it's an art project," he hums, kissing her neck lightly. "Want me to do that one for you?"

"No," she refuses, settling heavily against his side. "But I'll let you help me. I know how you like to get your hands messy." Her hand ghosts up his thigh.

"Mrs. Rodgers," he gasps, feigning scandal. "From what I recall, you have no problem with how I use my hands." One of said hands slides over her ribcage, fingers curling under the elastic of her sports bra to brush the gentle curve of her breast. The bra's one of her worn, nearly stretched out lounging ones, he knows. Probably the purple one, since that's her favorite.

"Mmm, you have me there," she agrees, swatting at his hand and squirming away after a moment. The mysterious smile is back on her face. "You hungry?"

"Starving." He sits up, hand falling to rest on her hip. "I'll get some sandwich meat and bread after my shift tomorrow so we don't have to keep skipping lunch." At least he's on the early shift at the bookstore tomorrow. Next week he'll be working closing and he has a feeling they'll barely have the opportunity to see each other.

His wife shimmies into his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Hey," she murmurs, knocking her head against his. "Tomorrow'll be better. So we skip lunch every once in a while, who cares? We have enough when we need it."

"I care, Kate. I care that we're busting our asses to take care of each other, and your parents, and my mom, and we're barely surviving."

"But we're surviving. Isn't that what's important? That's what you told me that day in the library. The day we met." Her lips drift over his face, breath puffing over his eyelids when he can't help but let his eyes drift shut.

She's right. He had said that.

He'd been at the library doing research, trying to add authenticity to his novel before sending a new copy of the manuscript out in hopes of snagging a publisher. She'd been bent over a textbook, studying for a final she was sure she'd fail, given that she'd spent most of her semester at her mother's bedside instead of across the country at Stanford.

After watching her struggle out of the corner of his eye for over thirty minutes, he'd stood and stretched, asking the ether to watch his stuff while he took a break. When he returned, he had two cups of coffee in his hands, one for himself and one for her.

"You'll get through it," he'd told her quietly, placing the coffee in front of her, but out of the way of her near-frantic page turning.

She'd snapped at him at first, reminding him to mind his own business, but he'd just smiled and offered her optimism he didn't even feel for himself.

"Surviving is the most important part, even if it sucks along the way. You got this."

She'd told him he'd be terrible at writing greeting cards, but just seconds later followed it up with a quiet thanks as he made his way back to his seat.

Less than ten minutes later she'd joined him at his end of the table, cradling his coffee gift against her chest as she unburdened herself to him. She needed to pass to be able to transfer to NYU, and if she couldn't do that, she was pretty sure she'd have to drop out entirely to take care of her parents. Somehow he'd ended up quizzing her on her test material until the library closed and they'd been forced to part.

He'd found her number and a thank you message in his research notes when he settled in another coffee shop an hour later. Not being an idiot, he'd called and wished her good luck on her final and reminded her to have a safe flight.

Suffice to say she'd passed her final and she'd transferred back to the east coast for school. Then, after months of phone calls and checking in, she'd found him in the library and kissed him until his vision went a little hazy.

"Put your pen down and have dinner with me," she'd ordered, looking him in the eye and daring him to turn her down.

Not being an idiot, he hadn't.

Six months after their first kiss, they were married (a move that was met with incredulity from both of their families, though the astonished looks ceased after a few months). Now here they are over a year later. Surviving together.

"You're right," he relents, rubbing her back gently. "You're right. We are surviving together."

"Of course I'm right, husband. Of course I am. Now," she steals a kiss when he finally smiles. "I have prepared an excellent dinner for us. And I have a surprise or two for you for after we eat."

He releases her long enough for her to pour the milk into their cereal bowls and hand him one.

"Bon appétit," she grins, clinking her spoon against his.

"You're so sexy when you speak French to me."

Kate laughs, leaning her head on his shoulder as she slurps at her cereal. With each fruit flavored bite, he feels his tension fade away. It could be the sugar working on his mood, or it could be the general contentment that comes from being with her, from living this life with her at his side.

"You're sexy when you speak Latin to me," she hums, lifting her eyes to his.

He grins. "And boarding school is finally good for something. Wooing my woman."

His wife kisses his shoulder quickly. "Finish your dinner, Rick."

As soon as he slurps the last of the pastel-tinted, fruit flavored milk from his bowl, she whisks it out of his hand and deposits a champagne flute he recognizes from her parents' house between his fingers.

"So what is this?" He can't help but look confused again. It's not their wedding anniversary, it's not the anniversary of the day they met, or the day she kissed him for the first time, or the day he proposed. He knows those dates by heart. It's also not her birthday or his. He would remember if it were a celebration of a date. He's good at remembering those things.

"This… is good news."

She hands him two envelopes. One with his name on it, one with hers. Leaning in, she pecks his lips. "Open them, Rick."

"Kay, okay, hold this." He passes the glass to her, watching her face for hints. She's lowered her chin to keep him from seeing too much, lip pulled between her teeth. "Which one first?"

"Either. I know what both say."

His fingers delve under the fold of the envelope addressed to him. Kate's knee bounces against his thigh, a sure sign that the news he's about to read is actually good. She wouldn't be this eager for him to read bad news.

"Dear Mr. Rodgers," he reads aloud absently, his thumb making circles on her knee. "Thank you for contacting us at Black Pawn Publishing. We have reviewed your manuscript and – " he stops, eyes darting to hers. Kate grins, indicating with her head to continue, "And we would like to formally accept your project for publishing early next year!"

The letter ends up crushed between them as he drags his wife closer, mouth covering hers gleefully.

"Holy shi- Kate, Kate, they said yes. They said…" He reads the letter again, eyes scanning every word twice just to be sure. "They want to meet with me next week to finalize details and talk edits, and they're interested in any other manuscripts I've written, too."

Kate cups his cheeks, swiping at his suspiciously damp eyes. She's been beside him through so many rejections, each one weighing him down more than the last; this acceptance letter feels like a life preserver. "What'd I tell you? I told you it'd work out. How could it not?"

"They want to publish my book, Kate."

Her fingers slide through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. "I'm proud of you. So proud of you, babe."

He sniffs, pressing his face into her shoulder for just a moment. Two deep breaths later, he's sitting up again, reaching for the crumpled envelope that's addressed to her.

Kate's chin lands on his shoulder. His lips seek hers again, giddiness making the kiss sloppy.

She grins, tugging lightly on his lip before releasing his mouth. "Go on. Read this one now."

Adrenaline makes his hands shake as he opens the next envelope. He has no idea what she could be showing him. Did she decide to apply for the academy anyway? Did she make Dean's list again?

NYU letterhead catches his attention first, followed closely by the words "Health Services." Kate hides her face when he tries to catch her eye, but he knows she's smiling, even if he can't see her lips. He won't ask what he's looking at, he'll just read on.

Wait, what? His head shoots up.

"You had bloodwork done? Why? Are you okay?"

Kate exhales, nodding. "I'm okay, babe. I went in to get my birth control prescription renewed and maybe see about getting on one that doesn't upset my stomach so much, and they started asking questions. So, to be sure, we ran some bloodwork."

"And?"

"And you should read on, Mr. Rodgers, instead of wanting spoilers for the ending," she teases softly, kissing his jaw. Her hand slides under his shirt, pressing against his lower back.

He does, covering his mouth to hide the decidedly unmanly squeak that comes out of his mouth when he gets to the punchline. For the second time in just a few minutes, giddy tears prick his eyes.

"They're sure?"

Kate presses her lips to his shoulder. "I called to ask them the same question. I asked a few different ways, no less. They're sure. She referred me to another doctor, but I wanted to tell you before I made an appointment."

"Kate," he chokes out, wrapping her up, cupping the back of her head gently. "Kate, Kate, Kate."

She straddles him, pressing her face into his neck.

"I know it's unexpected, but it's good news. I think it's good news, I mean. And we can figure things out; we can make it work with money and with our plans." He feels her grip his shirt. "Do… do you think so?"

"God, Kate," he breathes, kissing her hair, her ear, even the curve of her jaw. Speechless doesn't even begin to cover it; this has completely stolen his words. "This is… wow. God, wow."

She laughs, swiping her eyes quickly. "Good wow or bad wow?"

"Good wow, Kate. So good. A great wow."

Her head lifts, forehead sliding against his. Catching her neck, his mouth covers hers. His wife rocks into him, her lips parting in surprise. Shit, he should've kissed her first. He should've come up with something more to say, something profound and reassuring, something befitting his position as an aspiring writer. Something that tells her how badly he's wanted this with her even if it is unexpected and the timing isn't even close to being great.

Instead, he pours it all into a kiss. Every neural impulse that might've formed a word becomes a gentle swipe of his tongue over her lip, across her teeth, along the roof of her mouth. Kate presses into him, holding his face between her hands.

She gasps his name. "Does this mean you're happy?"

If he were any happier, his heart might leave his chest and go skidding down the street to do cartwheels. "Happy's an understatement, sweetheart." His mouth smears over her cheek as his hand moves down to caress her belly. "We're having a baby."

maritari [Verb] - Sicilian

- to marry