Author's Note: Now we get to see what Castle is thinking.

Then Came Love

Chapter 4

Castle was not given nearly enough time to think about Beckett's visit and this tectonic shift in his life before Alexis came home. Unsurprisingly, since he thought he would probably need a couple days to fully think through this. As it was, he had about a half hour before Alexis breezed through the door, dropping her backpack by the foot of the stairs before joining him in the kitchen.

"Hi, Dad," she greeted him cheerfully, dropping a light kiss on his cheek.

He felt something tighten around his heart, a rush of love. "Hi, Alexis. How was school?"

"Oh, it was good. I think I'm going to like all my teachers this year." She went on with her blithe prattle, telling him about her classes and her friends and—which he liked somewhat less—her boyfriend, Owen, as she made herself a snack.

When had she grown up so much, this daughter who he could swear had been toddling unsteadily around just a few years ago? He could still picture baby Alexis so clearly—but the image that formed in his mind this time was not of Alexis but of another baby, a baby with dark hair and changeable green eyes. A baby, a baby with Beckett. The image made him suck in his breath, feeling almost as winded as he had when she'd first told him her news.

"Dad?"

He blinked, pulled from his train of thought, by the sound of Alexis's voice. "Yes, what?"

Alexis gave him a half-laughing, half-curious look. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

"What, no, I'm listening. Of course I'm listening. You were just telling me about how Paige wants to sign up for the drama club." He remembered that much at least. He might be distracted but even so, he always tried to listen to Alexis, had trained himself to do so even with only half his mind, although usually that was when he was trying to work through a plot point in his head, a fictional complication rather than a real life one.

She gave him an odd look. "You okay, Dad? You seem distracted. Did something happen?"

Damn. Not for the first time, he wondered if his daughter might be telepathic. He summoned up a smile. "Nothing's wrong. I just have some thoughts to work through, that's all."

"About a new book?"

"It's too soon to tell," he prevaricated. It wasn't technically a lie; who knew if this new twist in his life would somehow lead to a new book? After all, Beckett was back in his life so maybe he could write another Nikki Heat book.

"Oh, well, good luck."

"Thanks. I want to hear more about Paige and the drama club," he requested, cudgeling his mind into order. He absolutely refused to be one of those parents who got too distracted with their own concerns to pay attention to their kids and anyway, he treasured the fact that Alexis still told him about her daily life like this. She didn't give him a play-by-play in quite the same way she'd used to when she was little but she still talked to him and he never wanted that to change. He tried—and mostly succeeded—in pushing all thoughts of Beckett out of his mind to focus on his daughter, still his only child (at least for the next seven months—holy shit, he was going to have another child!)

He forced himself to pay attention as Alexis finished her snack and told him about her day, trying to decide if she wanted to join Paige in the drama club. She was uncertain but Paige was one of her best friends and, as he pointed out, if she joined, she might not necessarily need to actually go on stage or act much. It could just be a new activity and way to make new friends. He did not mention what they both already knew that if she did join the drama club, his mother would be thrilled, in her usual way leaping from drama club to dreaming of herself founding some new acting dynasty like the Barrymores (his mother not being overly troubled by reality, when it came to her flights of enthusiasm).

It wasn't long before Alexis's tale wound to a close. "Thanks for listening, Dad. I'm going to get started on my homework. I'll be down in a little while to help you with dinner." She flitted over to the stairs, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.

Not for the first time, he wondered how he and Meredith had produced a teenager who was so responsible that she voluntarily started working on homework without being prodded to do so. It was a never-ending mystery to him, how Alexis was so unique, so different from him or from Meredith (thankfully).

What would his baby with Beckett be like?

"Alexis?" he found himself blurting out before he'd consciously decided to speak.

She paused and glanced back at him, one foot poised on the step above her other foot. "Hmm?"

"You know I love you, right?"

She shot him a rather odd look since he didn't normally make such declarations on random school-days but then she softened, shooting him a quick smile. "Of course, Dad. Love you too," she returned blithely before running lightly up the stairs.

He felt the little flare of warmth in his chest that he always felt on hearing those words from his daughter. How would she react to this news? He had no idea—but then again, he hadn't had nearly enough time to try to sort through his own jumbled thoughts and emotions to know how he felt about the news either.

He retreated into his office, closing the door, although he supposed it wasn't strictly necessary. Alexis was old enough by now that she generally didn't bother him when he was in his office, assuming he was writing, and if his mother returned home, well, she never let something like a closed door get in the way if she wanted his attention anyway.

He opened up his laptop and created a new blank document. Whenever he really needed to try to work through something, he wrote it out. Writing provided a way for him to get his thoughts in order, clarified his thinking. It wasn't anywhere near as formal as an actual journal; he didn't always bother with full sentences and often used his own personal shorthand that no one but himself could understand but it helped him. And he turned to it now because if ever he'd needed to get a tangled mess of thoughts into some semblance of coherence it was now because Beckett's news—seeing Beckett in the first place—had just about knocked him flat, left him gobsmacked.

Pregnant—she was pregnant. Pregnant with his baby. A baby with Kate Beckett. Holy shit! He mentally reeled all over again as he thought it. A baby. With Beckett. It might not have been the most shocking news he could imagine—not exactly the continent of Europe crashing into North America or aliens invading the earth, say—but as far as his own life was concerned, it was right up there. He would never have expected it or predicted it.

A baby. Shit. Which was shocking enough in itself but a baby with Beckett—no, he still had no real words.

With Meredith, he'd been too young and too stupid to realize the importance of protection and he hadn't fully realized that Meredith's generally cavalier attitude to just about everything extended to things like birth control too.

Alexis coming along had made him grow up at warp speed, in more ways than one.

Since then, after learning his lesson as it were, he'd always used a condom. Even when he and Gina had been married, although that had been by mutual agreement since Gina wasn't interested in having kids anyway. And with any of the other women he'd been with, he hadn't been about to take the risk of pregnancy or anything else.

Until now, until Beckett—and it belatedly occurred to him that all this, what had happened, had laid bare a truth he hadn't fully realized, just how much he trusted Beckett. Because when Beckett had said she was protected, he'd believed her. Admittedly, he'd also been so crazed with lust, he'd thought trying to pause or stop at that moment might have killed him, but the fact remained that he took her assurance as gospel.

He still did. He hadn't for an instant questioned either that the baby—the baby!—was his or that it had been entirely unexpected and unplanned on her part. His faith in Beckett was, apparently, unquestioning, even now. Although it wasn't only faith in Beckett but also common sense, really. As he'd said to her, there was simply no chance that Kate Beckett would have voluntarily come to see him and told him she was pregnant if the baby wasn't his and it was equally certain that the sensible, cautious Detective Beckett would not have planned to have a baby in these circumstances.

With Meredith, well, he had long ago acquitted her in his own mind of anything approaching a scheme to get pregnant, but that was only because he'd realized that Meredith was too scatter-brained to carry through with such a scheme and not give it away at some point.

Not that this situation with Beckett was anything remotely like what had happened with Meredith. Beckett was different; she was… Beckett.

He would never have imagined that she would be—could be—careless about something like birth control (or really, about anything) but then, her admission returned to him. It was because of how upset she'd been at the time. His heart plummeted. Upset, because of him, what he'd done in looking into her mom's case. So again, this all came back to him, was his fault if it was anyone's.

Talk about unintended consequences. It seemed like the ripple effects of his looking into her mom's case would never end. And her news today had been the biggest surprise he'd had since… since she'd first grabbed him and kissed him.

God, that kiss, the whole experience… Being with Beckett—just the words, the thought, brought a host of erotic memories flooding back, memories he'd been fighting against for the last seven weeks, the taste of her, the feel of her, the passion of her… He tried but couldn't help but get lost in the memories for a moment, the same memories that had been haunting him both waking and sleeping for weeks now.

Even after all this time, he couldn't decide if he felt guilty about what had happened, couldn't decide if what he'd done, responding to her kiss and letting it go so much further, had been more selfish or not. Selfish certainly because he'd wanted to have sex with Beckett since the moment he laid eyes on her but at the same time, almost selfless in a strange way because he hadn't wanted to deny her anything, not after what he'd done in looking into her mom's case.

He'd thought, believed, that they would be good together physically and he had fantasized about Beckett, imagined having sex with her more times than he would ever admit but even so, the reality of it had left even his hottest fantasies in the dust.

He really was doomed. He'd only made love—no, had sex—with Beckett once and even so, even after almost two months, he was still haunted by her. Had the nagging, sinking feeling that he was (already) addicted to having sex with her, that he never wanted to sleep with anyone else ever again. Damn.

Just seeing her again after so long had made him reel, had made him feel as if a giant had plowed its fist into his sternum. His stupid, unruly heart had leaped and he'd suddenly realized with renewed force just how damned much he'd missed her.

Because he had missed her. He'd missed spending time with her, missed working with her, missed her company. In a way that had nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with just her, her personality, her character. He'd missed her sometimes spiky wit, missed her razor-sharp intelligence, missed the way she challenged him and teased him. And yes, he'd also missed the physical attraction of her, the near-constant thrill and tug of attraction to everything about her. He'd missed all her smiles, her not-nearly-frequent-enough laughs that never failed to send a tingle racing down his spine, missed the fascination of her beautiful, changeable eyes. Missed watching the easy confidence and strength of her movements, the unthinking grace of them.

He had missed her and the thought that he might never see her again had just about wrecked him, made all the worse because he'd known he had no one to blame but himself.

It was a new, probably salutary, experience for him, blaming himself for losing a woman, losing anything, he'd really wanted. Not because he hadn't made mistakes before in recent years—he knew he had, albeit nothing of the magnitude of looking into Beckett's mom's case—but because the whole thing made him realize just how spoiled he had become, how much he'd been shielded from the consequences of his actions because of his wealth and fame and, yes, he had to admit, his charm. People didn't call out rich celebrities like him for bad behavior and it had made him arrogant, careless. It had made him stupid.

And part of it, he could admit, also had to do with the fact that most people—certainly most women—he'd spent any amount of time with in recent years weren't interested in much beyond his money or fame or looks and by the same token, they didn't expect anything of him beyond the outward trappings of his public persona, as it were.

Beckett was probably the first woman he'd met in years who wasn't impressed by any of that, the first woman who appeared to expect more of him than the public persona.

He'd respected that about her, liked that about her—and it was only after losing her that he'd realized just how true that was, how much her opinion of him had come to matter to him. She made him want to be better, more, than the shallow celebrity that he'd started to become, the public persona he'd adopted for everyone outside of his own family.

His fingers froze as he stopped typing, momentarily coming out of his stream-of-consciousness haze to register what he'd been writing. Register that after the single word, 'baby,' everything he'd typed had to do with Beckett. Not only how much he wanted her physically or how much he'd missed her but also his regret at looking into her mom's case, hurting her the way he had. It didn't take a psychologist to interpret the significance of that. Shit.

He could love her. He could really and truly fall in love with her. He could already see how easy it would be to fall for her for real, could see the phantom of all the feelings he could develop for her like premonitions. He could also imagine all too clearly the ghostly—or was that ghastly—specter of the devastation he would feel if she didn't, couldn't, feel the same way.

He'd been close to falling for her months ago and he had a terrifying sense that it was already too late for him. He might have been able to get over her, forget about her, if he really had never seen her again after that one fateful evening in her apartment as he'd expected. Given enough time and space, perhaps he could have gotten over her (although at the moment, he couldn't imagine how much time would have been necessary, years at the very least), but not anymore, not now. Not after having seen her again, knowing he would be seeing more of her in the future. Now, he had a sense that falling in love with Beckett was as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun.

He really was doomed.

He was dangerously close to falling in love with her and she… she didn't hate him. He grimaced. As sentiments went, it was hardly heart-warming.

And yet… she was pregnant. She was going to have his baby. And although she hadn't said it in so many words, she was going to be keeping the baby. There was no reason to have told him otherwise, not when he was sure that up until she'd found out she was pregnant, she'd honestly not planned to see him ever again.

He was going to have a baby with Kate Beckett! The words still sounded unreal, incredible, to him. A baby—and as he, of all people, knew, a baby was a link that would last for the rest of their lives. He was linked to Meredith through Alexis and Meredith was an absentee parent, at best.

God, he was going to have another child.

It was nothing like what he'd hoped, wanted, in the few times he'd even imagined having more children. After his experience with Meredith, seeing the way Meredith's careless affection hurt Alexis, he had long ago promised himself that he would never put another child through such a thing, never put a child of his in a position to be hurt like that again. Had promised himself that if he ever had more children, it would be with a woman who would love the child as much as he did, a woman who would never leave her child.

He had hoped, wanted, that if he ever had more children, it would be in the context of a lasting, happy marriage, someone who would share the parenting, not only the hardships of it but also the joys. Of course, he knew that having someone else around for the sleepless nights and the dirty diapers and the toddler tantrums (even Alexis had a few tantrums) would have made things easier for him but it wasn't only about that. He remembered all those pivotal moments with Alexis, when she'd taken her first step, when she'd said her first word, when she'd started kindergarten—and how much he'd wished for, wanted, someone else to share the incredible moments with him. To have someone else who really understood, cared as much as he did.

At the very least, he had promised himself that he would never let another child of his be hurt in the way that Meredith had hurt Alexis. It was why he had always been so careful to use condoms before.

This was not what he'd wanted, dreamed of.

But he didn't regret it either. (He could almost wonder if maybe, in some tiny, unacknowledged corner of his subconscious, he had, if not precisely hoped for something like this to happen, but at least decided he was okay with taking the risk where Beckett was concerned. Except that was probably giving too much credit to his own subconscious.)

To be linked, connected, in such a way to Kate Beckett—he could think of far worse things.

No, more than that, he realized belatedly that he was actually smiling, his lips curved upwards. He was—he really was—happy about this, he realized.

It was crazy, absolutely and utterly irrational, he knew that. And yet, he couldn't seem to help it.

If he had to pick one woman of all the woman he'd ever met to be so permanently connected to, Kate Beckett would almost certainly be that woman. Not necessarily in a romantic sense (okay, yes, in a romantic sense too) but to be a mother to his child, yes, he would pick Kate Beckett.

Not under these circumstances, he wasn't quite so lost to reality as to think this was an ideal situation, but now that it had happened… yes, he was happy about it.

Alexis was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He had, in his innermost heart, always wanted more children. It might never have seemed like a real possibility, had been a hope and a dream he'd always kept well buried, but it was true.

And he trusted Beckett. Trusted her heart, trusted her character. She was smart and sensible, loyal and dedicated, responsible and kind.

Castle thought about the Angela Candela case. He remembered seeing her with little Angela when they had found her. Remembered thinking that it was another new, fascinating (and endearing) side of her character, that she would be a very good mother one day. He knew enough about parenting to recognize the qualities of a good parent and Kate Beckett had them.

He was going to have a baby with Kate Beckett (god, would those words ever stop amazing him?), which meant he was going to be seeing her again, regularly, in fact. And even though he knew he might be letting his optimism get the better of him, he couldn't help but feel a spark of hope.

Beckett had forgiven him, had smiled at him. She had agreed to the photo shoot and interview with Cosmo, even though he had offered to try to get out of it (and meant it); it was something, an olive branch of sorts. Because he knew Beckett too well not to know she would hate the idea of being involved with that kind of publicity but she had still agreed to it. No, it might not only have been for his sake. He wasn't quite so vain as to think that; he suspected her loyalty and sense of duty to the NYPD probably played at least as large a role in convincing her, but still, she had agreed to something she could not like but which was for his benefit.

It was a start. Maybe they could be friends again, the way they'd started to become before he'd screwed everything up. Being friends with Beckett was no small thing, would be enough.

Oh, who was he kidding, being friends with Beckett would never be enough for him. He wanted more than that, wanted… everything with her. (Oh lord.)

He didn't doubt that if she chose, Beckett was perfectly capable of caring for a baby on her own without his involvement; Beckett was probably the most formidably competent person he'd ever met. This baby didn't mean that she needed him in her life. He wanted—needed—to be involved in the baby's life but it wasn't only about the baby. He wanted Beckett herself, wanted to stay in her life, wanted to be with her in every way.

It was why he was happy about the idea of having a baby with Beckett, happy and hopeful that somehow, this twist of fate could lead to a fresh start between him and Beckett.

But it occurred to him that he might also be doomed to a lifetime of unrequited love for Kate Beckett. He flinched at the thought.

He was suddenly, terrifyingly conscious of how much higher the stakes were because he would never be able to walk away from Beckett, not with a child to think about, and if she couldn't love him… If she couldn't love him, if he had to spend the rest of his life on the sidelines of her life, seeing her only because of their baby but never being more than amicable co-parents with her… Oh god, if…

Fate had given him a second chance with Beckett, a chance to spend more time with her, become friends again and hopefully more than that with her. Because he did want more, he was sure of that.

He wanted to help Beckett, had always wanted to help her. Looking into her mom's case had been a mistake, he knew that now; he didn't have the right to decide how she should be helped. But he did want to help her, wanted to make her smile. He had the sinking sense that he could happily devote his entire life to trying to make Kate Beckett smile, make her happy.

And now, he had a second chance. As long as he didn't screw things up again.

He set his jaw, tried to cling to his usual optimism and his hope.

Well, he'd always been a risk-taker and this might end up being the biggest gamble of his life. (Oh god.)

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Thank you as always to all readers and reviewers.