Prompt: put your playlist on shuffle and write something inspired by the first song that plays.

Was it ever really love

If the night that we broke up

Both went out to go hook up

With the one we told each other not to worry about.

- seven, Natalie Jane.

A/N: I tried to keep it in the same writing style but it was just something I was toying with and I'm not 100% sure if it works for this or not.

Enjoy the final part of this prompt! I didn't intend on doing so many parts (obviously) but you all seemed to want me to finish this so here we are!

Part IV...

I'm sorry...

That's how she should have started this conversation. But she didn't. Of course she didn't. She couldn't just admit to her mistakes. No.

He had been back from his book tour for well over a week now. He hadn't called. He didn't text. He wasn't back in the precinct. But obviously she hadn't expected any of that. No, she knew that she had messed up and that this would take a lot of work on her part to fix. She was lucky he even let her back in the loft... she knew that. But that didn't stop her from feeling overly defensive.

Maybe she could blame the hormones.

No. Not yet. That would mean telling him. And she couldn't do that yet.

She just wanted to cry. She couldn't help it. She stood, staring into his eyes, for the longest time. He didn't try to hide the hurt. Why should he? She begged him not to be mad... that she would explain everything.

Why shouldn't I be mad? You've been avoiding talking about this for weeks and - what? - now that you're ready, I just have to be okay with it?

Ideally, yes. That would make this a lot easier.

It was time. Whether she was ready or not, it was time to rip the Band-Aid. But this wasn't just one Band-Aid. This was Band-Aid after Band-Aid, layered across each other, trying to hide a festering wound.

Josh and I are over.

Obviously. Band-Aid one, ripped.

He didn't look surprised. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't cheat. That was something, she supposed.

I needed you, I guess.

Not a lie. But she wasn't sure exactly how she needed him. Only that she continued to need him. Band-Aid two, gone.

That confession softened him. She could see it in the way he held himself. His shoulders relaxed, his stone-cold face melted into a look she was much more comfortable with. It pained her to know what was coming next.

I'm pregnant.

Band-Aid three, torn away.

That one hurt. His face dropped and he shook his head from side to side. It's only been three weeks - nineteen days, to be exact - since their rendezvous, so she understands why denial is his first instinct. And that brings her to the fourth and final Band-Aid...

But this one can't be ripped. She had to delicately scratch at the sides, lifting it slowly and carefully. But he couldn't wait. She was taking too long and the silence was too much.

Is it mine?

The old Kate Beckett would have been offended by such accusations. She would have stormed out without dignifying such preposterousness with an answer. But the new Kate Beckett apparently isn't quite as careful. And so, she must take responsibility for her actions.

Dating scans are only so accurate...

His hand flew to his face, covering his mouth, frustrated. She wasn't sure if he was trying to stop himself from speaking... or maybe trying to mask his reactions. But even if she couldn't see the tension on his face, she could feel it in the air.

I can get DNA testing done... but not for a couple of months. I wasn't going to say anything until then. But I couldn't keep this from you.

He paced the room in silence. She watched as he processed, trying her best to ignore the waves of nausea as her stomach churned more with each passing second.

Part of her wanted him to get mad... to yell and scream... to tell her she had messed up big time. Because yelling would be better than this. It had to be. Yelling meant he was processing. Anger meant he cared.

But the silent pacing... she didn't know what that meant.

And that was terrifying.

She just knew he was internally debating the situation. Going through the facts... most likely creating some elaborate story in his mind. Possibly going over the pros and cons. She hated that she was on the outside, not privy to his thoughts.

Between trying to quiet the raging chaos of thoughts storming through her mind, and trying to calm the rampant turning of her stomach, she could feel her battery draining.

Her energy was low. Too low.

Her heart racing steadily.

Her mind spinning...

... That's not her mind - it's the room.

She was focussed. So focussed on not passing out, that she almost missed his words. She had to look up from the small scratch on his hardwood floor that she was using to hone her senses, and ask him to repeat himself.

What if I said I didn't care?

He didn't care? She wasn't sure what she had expected him to say - but that most definitely was not it. And with her focus shifted, she lost her composure.

Her energy plummeted.

Her steady heart felt erratic.

The room came to a sudden halt, causing her stomach to stir violently.

She felt around for the chair she knew was there. She was breathless... shaky... nauseous. Not her finest moment.

You don't care?

She needed clarification. Didn't care about what exactly? Didn't care about her? Didn't care about the baby? Didn't care if it was or wasn't his?

I don't care if it's not my baby. You and Josh... you're over, right?

Of course they were over. There was no way she was going back to... that. There was nothing wrong with Josh. Simply that he wasn't Castle. Their relationship was doomed from the very beginning and deep down they both knew that. But right now, one of her biggest fears was that this baby was Josh's... and she would be forced to have him a part of her life for the rest of her life.

You came to me that night for a reason. There's something here, Kate. Something worthwhile. Obviously you can see it too.

Her brain refused to comprehend what he was saying. Surely she was misinterpreting his words. Surely he wasn't suggesting that the paternity of this child just didn't matter.

We can't go back. Not now. Not after... all of this. We either give this... give us an actual chance, or we go our separate ways. And I'm not ready to go my separate way.

She agreed with him. They crossed a line... opened a door that can't just be closed again. Even without the added complication of a baby, that night was a turning point for them. It was make or break. Either the beginning of something new, or the end of everything. But there was one lingering doubt that she just couldn't ignore.

You won't feel the same way if we find out the baby isn't yours...

He didn't disagree, which was somehow reassuring. It made it easier to believe everything else he was saying.

Okay. Then we will wait. We will get the test results before we make any decisions. But just to make it clear - because I can see that mind of yours working overtime right now - I am... more than okay with the idea of us being a family.

And just like that, a weight was lifted.

A family...

Why? Why don't you hate me?

The world seemed to slow as he looked her in the eye. She could see the flurry of emotion behind his eyes.

The hurt and the pain.

The sadness and confusion.

The hope.

The kindness.

Because, I love you.

A/N: THE END! There is no more - my brain is mush! Obviously I wasn't intending on ever finishing this so I dug myself a whole that I cannot gracefully get out of.

I'll leave it to each reader to decide who the father is! But in my Caskett-loving heart, I think we can all agree.

I also just wanted to take a moment to clear a few things up, as I've received a few not-so-friendly messages.

1. I am a Caskett shipper and love writing them together. However, first and foremost, I am a writer and I enjoy challenging myself! That means I write sad, I write angry, I write them in whatever way I think is appropriate for my stories. If you don't like it, then move on. I will usually give warning - but sometimes I don't want to give away my story before you read it, you know!

2. I am Australian... I've only ever been to LA and that was for a total of 32 hours... not long at all. So my knowledge of NYC is 100% from TV and movies (and the occasional google session). If you want to correct any errors I make that is fine, but there's no need to be rude about it.

3. Constructive criticism is always welcome. In fact, it's encouraged. But as stated before, no need to be rude about it.

A big thank you to those who have been reading and reviewing! It means the world to me.