For Amy, my princess Merida. More Sarah-Grace-ness, as promised, only slightly (very) late. For which I do apologise.

Weekend in Chicago. Hotdog, check. Pizza, check.

Need to turn mini fridge into maxi fridge.

WriteRCastle

"Shouldn't you be signing books?" It's hard, she'll admit, holding the phone to her ear with a shoulder, one arm is trying to juggle a mound of paperwork, and the other is trying to keep a very wiggly baby. from falling off. Sarah-Grace, in the five months since she was born, has grown alarmingly quickly, and Kate's having a hard time keeping her still.

"Paula was gracious enough to allow me a break. Thought I would ring and see if you have any gruesome murder cases you want to cheer me up with."

"No, not cases. Just paperwork and a baby."

She hears him choke on something, coffee, hotdog, whatever he chooses to eat when he's in the Windy City, and she holds back a laugh. Tamps down on that – she can't explain it – a fizz in her blood – a knowing feeling that one day this is going to be them, with their own tiny human, completely dependent on them. Fat hands, and gummy smiles, and early mornings, and she's not going to lie and say she's not looking forward to it. The anticipation makes her bite her lip. One day.

"Kate?"

"Sarah-Grace is visiting. We're having some girly bonding time."

"Oh." She can sense the disappointment in his voice, even as he tries to hide it. "Jenny's there?"

"Yeah, her and Ryan have gone off… I don't know where, and I don't want too, but it's just me and little Ryan until they get back. She wants to go and explore everywhere. So wriggly. We might go and get a coffee."

"I want a coffee."

"Ask Paula. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to oblige. I mean, it's not like you're going to spill it everywhere, are you?"

"That was one time!" he objects, his voice rising in pitch, loud enough for Sarah-Grace to notice and twist her head around in the direction of the noise. "And, it was not my fault."

Kate hums down the phone, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, her mind thinking back to that particular book signing. It was one time, almost two years ago and it was that first summer where they weren't apart in some way. Rather, it was hard to stay away from him, something inexplicable that made him smile to himself when he'd spotted her in the crowd. She'd gone to the nearest coffee shop and ordered his favourite drink, breezed past the steely glare of Paula and slid it onto the table. Unfortunately he had failed to notice it, and in reaching for a book, had sent it over the considerable pile of books to his left. Kate had run out of there and hadn't been able to look at Paula in the eye ever since.

She puts the pen down on the desk, and Sarah-Grace immediately lunges for it, but her hands are too clumsy to get a decent grip on it and Kate nudges it out of the way, instead picking up one of the plastic elephants on her desk. Castle keeps finding them for her in odd shops around the city, and the new additions have stopped surprising her any more. Though, a lot of them are now back at the loft – back at home – lined up on various shelves and window sills. The plastic one will be fine for Sarah-Grace to play with though, and she turns it over and over in her hands.

"What time does your plane land?" she asks him, using her now free hand to smooth Sarah-Grace's blond curls over the small curve of her skull. They're getting long already, no match for her mother, but everyone's already placing bets on her looking the spitting image of Jenny already. Kate's not surprised at all.

"Eight your time. In about ten hours."

Ten hours. Ten hours too long. He's been gone a week already, an odd collection of cities that have had him up and down and in and out of various different time zones, sometimes all in the space of one day. It's been hard to keep up. She's long accepted the loft as her home, the only thing left at her old apartment is her old furniture. There's no real need of it, not really, but she's loathe to be rid of it. Castle has said, on more than one occasion, that they can use it as an escape from the redheads, but that's just a cover. He wants her to be loud and she knows it. But, home or not, it's strange and empty not having him there.

"Meet you at the airport?"

"Are you going to wear a chauffeur hat?"

She snorts, distracting Sarah-Grace if only for a moment. "I might wear something nice, if you're lucky."

She can practically hear his grin down the phone, and then she hears the unmistakable noise of Paula calling for him. "I'm very lucky, and I am signing my fingers to the bone. To the bone." It's a harsh whisper, one he's barely said the last word before he's gone again. Kate smiles, wraps her arms around Sarah-Grace and stands up. Coffee. Definitely.

His phone beeps at him as he's stepping off the plane. It's probably Kate, telling him where she is, but then his phone actually rings. He changed it from the death march a long time ago, can't remember what this tune is, but it's her ring tone. No, she wouldn't text him and then ring him. He answers the phone whilst wrestling with his carry on, and she laughs at him, states her location and then hangs up again. Mean. Doesn't know why he's marrying her. In a week. Crap. Oh, god. He's getting married in a week. To Kate Beckett. In a week. The thought makes him check his phone, just to make sure the dates are right because it can't be so soon, it just can't.

And that's when he sees the text message from before. It's from Ryan, or at least, from his phone. He thinks Jenny took it, because that's definitely Ryan's sweater in the background and he can see the back of Esposito's head. Definitely Jenny, then. That's not even the important detail here. It's a perfect shot of Kate, sat at her desk, eyes concentrating on her work and one arm banded securely around Sarah-Grace. And it completely steals his breath. It's not the first time he's seen her with a baby. It's not the first time he's seen her holding Ryan's daughter. But it is the first time it's completely stolen his breath, set up a terrible longing in the pit of his stomach. Somebody pushes into his back, impatient to get off and to where ever next and he mumbles a hurried apology, gives his bag one last jerk out of the over head and is on his way.

He's tired waiting for his luggage. Exhausted. His hands ache, and his neck is complaining, and he's pretty sure that tomorrow his knee is going to not want to do anything. He just wants to get home and fall into bed and wrap himself around his wife to be and not move for ages. The never ending carousel that never ever gives him his suitcase straight away is moving ever so slowly, jerky and snail like, and he just wants to go home. He feels like he's almost drifting off, if that was possible, as he's standing up, but then he spots the purple, pink, blue, yellow… so many tags from so many trips. Five minutes and he can find Kate.

He finds her by a concession stand. She spotted him first, whistles at him through the crowd, and he turns towards it, finds her smiling at him. Warm, and familiar, and it feels like coming home. He thinks the hug he gives her takes Kate by surprise. She stumbles back but soon composes herself wraps her arms around him in return. And then she's whispering six of his favourite words in his ear. "There's some food in the car."

He groans, wraps his arms tighter around her. "You are the perfect woman. I don't know why I didn't marry you sooner."

"Kate?"

He knows she's half asleep, sacked out half on his chest with one arm flung across his rib cage, with the tips of her fingers tickling the inside of his elbow. But she does hum. And tries to lift her head, but he curls his palm around her skull and lets her know that it's not needed. But he knows that she's listening.

"I don't want to wait that long."

"Long?"

"When we're married."

"We're not waiting long. It's next week." She murmurs, tilting her head up to look at him. "Are you horribly jet-lagged?"

"No – that's … sorry, it's not a conversation for when you're half awake. Go back to sleep." He smoothes his hand over the crown her head, and she almost drifts off again, happy and relaxed, glad to have her practically husband home again. But this is important to him, so it's important to her. She forces her eyes open again.

"No, no I'm listening."

"Ryan – well, no I think it was Jenny – she sent me a picture from Ryan's phone of you and Sarah-Grace, and when you said it was just you and paperwork and a baby – I thought –"

"You want your own Sarah-Grace." It's not a surprise to her. He told her he wanted the option of having kids, they've discussed having their own, and instead of creating a vicious maw of doubt and uncertainty in her gut like it used to, now it's the hum of anticipation, the joy of knowing that they created something wonderful, and amazing, together.

"I don't want us to long."

She's silent for a moment, her fingers stroking up and down the soft skin of his bicep. He squirms a bit. Ticklish in so many strange places. "Is there a rule that says we have to wait until after the wedding?"

"Well, no – wait – what?"

She laughs, arches up into him until she can claim his mouth, sucking his lower lip between her own. "Don't have to be married to get me pregnant, you know."

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