So my plan was to poke my head into the Castle fandom long enough to write a post-ep fic for 47 Seconds, but that turned out to be too depressing, so I write this little piece of fluff instead. It takes place in a world where Beckett and Castle are married and starting a family. I don't really know where it came from, but it was probably inspired by Firstadream's fic "Let Me In". I read the whole thing in one go last night and I definitely recommend it.

—

Beckett sat on the edge of the exam table, swinging her legs in the air, unconsciously fiddling with the hem of her hospital gown. She was nervous and jumpy and so hopeful it started to worry her. She didn't know if she could take another disappointment. She didn't know if Castle could take another disappointment.

The last time she handed him the pregnancy test, an unmistakable negative sign filling the little window, the look on his face had made her throat ache. And when he wrapped her in his arms, and whispered, "I'm sorry," in her ear, she'd let the tears come, let herself admit how crushed she was, how badly she wanted to be a mother.

When the door opened, Beckett stood from the table, then immediately sat back down, trying to school the raw, desperate hope from her face. But when she really looked at her doctor's face, saw the hint of a smile around the edges of her mouth, she stood again.

"Is it…Am I…"

She couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't find the words. She was forgetting how to breathe. God, how she wanted this.

The doctor smiled and it was full and earnest. "Congratulations, Kate."

Congratulations. It was true, then. For real this time.

Beckett lifted her hands to her face, feeling something come undone inside her. She wished that Castle was here, but he was in London on a book tour and she suddenly felt the ocean between them in a way she hadn't before. He wouldn't be back until tomorrow. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to cry and laugh and fly to London, but mostly she wanted to hear his voice.

She pulled out her cell phone.

—

It took him until the third ring to pick up. She looked at her watch and did the math—it was the middle of the night where he was. She felt a momentary burst of guilt, but then his voice, gruff and laced with sleep, was there, in her ear, asking if she was okay.

"I'm fine," she said, silently cursing herself for the way her voice wobbled, the way her breath hitched.

"Kate, babe…are you crying?"

"No. Yes. I was, but now…" She trailed off and took a deep breath. "I have to tell you something."

"Okay," he said. He was worried and she knew his writer's mind was probably supplying all manner of worst-case scenarios. She cut to the chase.

"I'm…I'm pregnant," she gasped out, feeling her breath catch around the words. She gave one short laugh—the sound of relief and disbelief and joy—but it trailed off into something that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

He was quiet for a very long time. When he spoke his voice sounded rough and full and a little watery. "You are?" he breathed.

"Yeah," she said, wiping at the tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. "Yeah, I am. I just found out. I'm at the doctor's…"

"Oh, Kate," he murmured and her name was filled with longing. "I wish I was there. I wish I'd been with you."

"You'll be here tomorrow," she said.

He let out a long breath. "I miss you."

She smiled and pressed the phone a little closer to her ear. She could hear him breathing and if she closed her eyes she could pretend he was close, wish the miles away.

"I miss you, too."

—

He was expecting her at baggage claim, but found her waiting for him at the gate. The perks of being married to a cop. He spotted her immediately amid the swarm of faces, saw her before she saw him. His grin was wide and uninhibited. There were so many things to feel in such a moment, but the one he could identify with certainty—warm and spreading across his chest—was love.

The effect she had on him never seemed to fade. He couldn't remember a time when she'd looked more beautiful than she did just then, standing on tip toe, scanning the mass of passengers for his face. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. He'd talked her out of getting her regular haircut last month so it was long and a little unkempt—just the way he liked it. She wore simple slacks and a button-up shirt and her face was bright, a little flushed even, with anticipation.

The moment she saw him, she started moving. He tracked her path as she picked her way through the exiting passengers, weaving around suitcases and dodging children to settle right in his arms. He dropped his bag just before she reached him and pulled her tight against his body, burying his face in the soft waves of her hair, feeling the slightly quickened beat of her heart against his chest.

She tucked her face against his neck and he was surprised to feel a slight dampness against his skin. "You okay?" he murmured, his lips close to her ear.

She let out a shaky breath, fingers curling around the lapel of his coat. "I'm just happy you're home," she murmured, unwilling to pull away just yet. He knew she hated to cry, especially in front of him, especially in public. It made her feel too vulnerable, too out-of-control.

"I'm happy I'm home, too," he said, running his hands in soothing strokes along her back.

There were so many things he wanted to ask her, about her appointment and how she was feeling and the joyful, practically too-good-to-be-true fact that she was pregnant with his child—their child. But there would be time for that later. Right now he just held her and reveled in the feeling of having her there, safe in his arms.

—

It wasn't until hours later when they were lying in bed together that he got to ask his questions. It probably wasn't the best moment, all things considered. She was lying on her stomach beside him, already drifting off. The sheet was pulled up to her waist, but the curve of her hip, the bend of her waist, the long, smooth plane of her back remained distractingly bare to his gaze. She looked sleepy and sated and beautiful. God, she was beautiful. He couldn't help but lay his palm on her lower back, delighting in the little shiver that ran through her body at his touch.

"Kate," he began, scooting closer to her.

"Mm?" she hummed. She reached out and pressed a hand to his chest, but didn't open her eyes.

"I wanna talk to you," he said, bending over her prone body and pressing his mouth to her temple, her cheek, the line of her jaw.

She let out a sleepy breath and turned her head just enough to catch his lips in a long, wet, lazy kiss that woke him up in more ways than one. But then she pulled away and nuzzled back into the sheets.

"I'm so tired, Castle," she mumbled. "Can we talk in the morning?"

"No," he insisted, knowing he sounded whiny but not caring. He ran his fingers across her cheek and up into her hair, tugging gently in an attempt to get her attention. "I wanna talk now. Please."

She sighed a long and slightly bereaved sigh, cracking open one eye to look at his eager face. "What do you want to talk about?" she asked.

He grinned now that he had her attention, but then she shifted onto her side and his eyes automatically fell to her chest and that wasn't good because she wasn't wearing a shirt and it had been over a week since he'd had her in his bed and—

"Castle? Castle. Castle."

He snapped his eyes up to hers, feeling a little embarrassed at his wandering attention, except not that embarrassed. She was his wife after all and a husband is allowed to be distracted by his wife's lack of clothing. "Uh, sorry. You just…I mean…"

She smiled knowingly at him and closed the space between them, pushing him back against the sheets and draping her body across his. He closed his eyes on a heartfelt groan at the press of her body into his, her chest against his, her stomach, her hips, her thigh resting between his legs.

"You were saying?" she prompted, shivering slightly when his hands began to wander, running down her sides and over the curve of her backside and the sensitive skin of her thigh.

"I really did want to talk," he told her, trying to make himself concentrate.

She nodded and leaned down to nibble at his jaw, blow hot air into his ear. "I'm all ears," she promised breathily.

"I, um…yeah, yeah." He groaned again when her lips migrated to his neck and the hollow of his throat. "Kate—"

"Yes?"

"You…you're pregnant."

She laughed softly. "Thanks for the news flash, Castle."

"That…that's the thing I wanted to talk about," he said, fumbling around the words because she was doing incredible things with her mouth and her lips and her—oh, God—her tongue.

"Do you need me to explain it to you, babe?" she offered cheekily. "You see, when a man loves a woman very much, they take all that love and make a baby together…"

"You're hysterical."

"I try."

He grinned up at her, but the expression quickly melted into something softer, filled with a wonder that she'd never been able to explain. "I love you," he told her.

She smiled, went still, melted into him a little. (But she would never admit that because Kate Beckett did not melt. Not even pregnant, horny Beckett.) "I love you, too," she said and his smile, that unnamable expression, brightened.

He'd always said the words to her more than she said them back. And he was okay with that. He knew they cost her more. But hearing them come from her, tripping softly from her lips, always floored him.

He rolled them onto their sides, but kept her tight against his body. "How do you feel?" he asked, his voice oh so gentle and quiet.

"I feel good," she told him and she did. The morning sickness still hadn't hit her and besides being a little more tired than usual and a slight aversion to coffee, she felt like her same old self.

But she could tell Castle wasn't just asking about the physical stuff. He wanted to talk, wanted her words and her feelings. "I'm happy," she told him, dropping her eyes from his face to his chest, to where her fingers traced lazy patterns across his skin. "But I…" She paused and felt that familiar ache in her throat, the edge of grief that still hadn't gone away, even after all this time. "I…I miss my mother."

"Oh, Kate," he breathed, gathering her closer. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay," she told him and she really meant it. "It just took me by surprise a little. I didn't think…I didn't expect…"

"But she's your mother."

She swallowed and nodded. "She was my mother. And I wish I could share this with her."

He nodded in understanding, pressing his lips to her forehead. He remembered having a similar conversation with her on their wedding night. Long after the ceremony, long after the guests, long after they'd stumbled into their hotel room, pulling at buttons and zippers, giddy and a little tipsy, it had hit her. He'd woken up. It was still dark out. And she had been crying—heart wrenching, silent tears. When she'd seen that he was awake, she'd moved into his body, resting her head over his heart, and whispered three words: "I miss her."

So he knew. He knew that she still lived with it. Yes, she'd solved her murder, left behind the raw, open wound that was her unsolved case, but she was still a woman without a mother and that came with it's own kind of sadness.

"Are you…" She trailed off, lifted her eyes to his. "Are you happy?"

It took him a second to understand what exactly she was asking and when he did he was surprised she would even doubt it. "Yes, I'm happy. Of course, I'm happy." She nodded, but he could see there was hesitation behind it. He didn't know exactly why she was unsure, but he was desperate, suddenly, to make her understand the way it was for him.

"Kate," he breathed, lifting his hand to her cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb across her lips. "I've wanted to have a baby with you for so long. Almost as long as I've been in love with you. Do you remember—"

But then he stopped, the story on his lips, wondering, even after all these years, how much was too much, what would make her skittish and what would make her run. But then he said it anyway, because that's where they were now. No more secrets. No more silence.

"Do you remember Dean Donegal?" he asked.

To his surprise, she nodded immediately. But then again, why should he be surprised? Of course, she would remember. That was so like her. "Yeah, his son Tyler was kidnapped."

"Well, when we brought Tyler back to his father, I just remember thinking…" He trailed off, his gaze had been unfocused as he remembered but now it cleared and he smiled at her. "When we rode up the elevator with him, you held his hand and ruffled his hair and made him smile even after everything that had happened to him and I remember knowing in that moment that you would be a good mother."

He paused and in the silence he ran his hand along her side, watching goosebumps rise on her skin in the wake of his touch. "I was so in love with you," he whispered. "It changed what I dreamed about."

"What did you dream about?" she asked, softly, hesitantly. She never asked for things like this—outward displays of affection, proof of his love. She never asked. If only she knew how much he would give.

He grinned. "Mortgages, school districts, PTA meetings…"

"Castle," she said, hitting him lightly on his shoulder. "I'm being serious."

"I am, too," he said and his eyes were very bright and very blue. "I dreamed of a future, Kate. Our future. Together."

"Children?"

"Children. A life. Years and years and years of waking up with you in my arms."

She forgot, sometimes, that he was a writer. Forgot this magic he had with words. And then he would say things like that and it would stun her, how much he could make her feel, how vivid a picture he could paint. She wished she could give him something back, but she had never been any good with words. She kissed him instead. Pressed close to his body and kissed him deeply and a little desperately.

He groaned a very quiet groan at the slide of her tongue along the seem of his lips, at the taste of her—mint and salt and sweet. He parted his lips, felt the shape of her mouth against his, all the dips and bends of her body as she shifted against him, fit against him.

He let her push him back against the sheets. He held her hips as she straddled his stomach, her hands smoothing across his chest, her long, long hair falling in a curtain around her beautiful face. This was her poetry, her way of saying I dreamt of you, too.

He moved his hand to her stomach, flattening his palm over her belly button. She smiled down at him. Rested her hand over his and it all felt so wonderful and right.

His expression was awestruck as she bent over him again and brushed her lips over his. "You okay, Castle?" she asked, smiling into the kiss.

"I'm good," he told her. "I'm great. Living the dream."

—

There it is. Good and fluffy. Please let me know what you think! I'm planning on writing some more Castle fics in the future.