Misconception

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Kate holds her breath.

His mouth opens and then slams shut, a grim determination in his eyes. So she opens her mouth to salvage what she's blundered into (marriage?), but he holds up a finger.

"Wait a second. Wait right here."

And then she's gaping after him as he extricates himself from the couch and runs off, back towards his office (his bedroom?) and away from her.

Well, that was really stupid.

She just - basically told him he's terrible at marriage and then demanded he marry her anyway. She is so bad at this, so fundamentally bad at this. Her therapist could have warned her, could have said, Kate, think about perhaps not opening your mouth; write it down first. Not that writing it down would have given any better idea what to say.

I'm pregnant, it's yours, I want it, do you? That was really the extent of her thinking. That was all she had to go on, because he's been so hurtful lately, because he's been acting like she's nothing to him-

And oh, that's because of her.

Because he's been trying not to love her, he said. Because she lied about what she remembers and she ran away that night before the dawn even hit her face, and because putting those two things together seems pretty bad, pretty dire, actually, so no wonder that's what he thought.

So they're a wash. Is that it? They tried it and they don't work, and unfortunately, this kid will have to bear the consequences. Or - well, she will. Because he's a good father and she would never keep him from his kid, and she'll have to see him every day of this kid's life, see him and know she messed it up, that it could have been really great because they did love each other, they do, but it's not enough.

It's not enough.

She should leave.

She half stands, but her legs are wavering as she remembers the whole point of this.

She can't leave. There's a baby. And that has to be - settled somehow. A schedule or a calendar, a tentative agreement or some kind of truce. She's already set the next appointment and she should at least tell him when it is, even if the idea of listening to the heartbeat with him there is about as soul-crushing a thing as she can imagine.

Rick Castle with her but not in any way she can have.

"Kate."

She glances up, swiping at her eyes, and she knows that she must look a huddled, pathetic mess on his couch. She feels pathetic. She feels like the character in one of those melodramatic Gothic novels who can't seem to fight for herself or love or anything.

And that is not her. She's not that person. So no more. No more.

Kate jerks to her feet, and her old instinct to run is so finely ingrained in her muscles that she actually makes a faltering step in the direction of the door before she can manage to stop herself. No running. Running is actually impossible now; she's anchored to him in a way that neither of them can refuse.

She twists back and paces towards him, and she grabs his hand in both of hers (momentarily startled by the width of his palm and the thickness of his fingers, sense memory of a night in a hotel, time stolen out of time-)

"Kate? I was just going to-"

"Stop," she rushes out. "I've done a really terrible job of this. And I think I-" She shakes her head, squeezes her eyes shut, promises herself she's going to stop prevaricating, stop padding her sentences with all these conditions and concessions and hesitations. She's just going for it. "I know that I hurt you. I've hurt you. You hurt me too; that's life. But - but it's a life I want. It's better with you, even when it hurts me, and that was never something I thought I would ever say and mean. So - well, yay for therapy, right?"

His fingers flex in hers, a little relieved laugh in his throat. "Yay for therapy."

She breathes slowly, panicky now, seriously panicky, but his smile starts up again. His smile. And with it, her heart.

With it, her heart.

All the ways he's touched her. Before she ever met him, he touched her - those novels, the words he wrote, the way good shined and evil was dragged into the light and mystery was made right. And then as her partner these last few years, doggedly sticking by her side through the worst, the ends of the earth. And so whatever else they've done, there's this. There's-

"Oh, my God, Castle, I'm pregnant."

He laughs then, eyes brighter, and he's so happy. She's made him so happy. She did that, in the middle of everything else. She made him happy.

"Yeah, so I hear." He dives back into his pocket and pulls out the ultrasound photo and that smile of his just gets absolutely ridiculous.

He could break her whole heart with it.

"I love you," she blurts out.

He drops to his knees. Literally.

Kate lets out a noise, grabbing for him. She misses and winds up hanging tightly to his one hand in hers, as if to soften his landing, and then she realizes he meant to do that.

And he's holding - what? - some kind of ring, something shiny-brass and flat-band - up with the ultrasound photo in his hand. "Katherine Houghton-"

"How do you know my middle name?"

He laughs and leans forward, his forehead pressed into the back of her hand, his laughter spilling across her fingers. "Of course, you would. You would ruin my moment. Our moment. Detective Kate Beckett, you have been the most frustrating, intelligent, maddening, beautiful woman I've ever known, and I already feel honored to have made a baby with you - don't laugh; I do - and you have already made me the happiest man, twice over, once when you told me we should get a room and now twice-"

"This is sounding sordid," she mutters, narrowing her eyes.

"Hush, Beckett, I'm doing something here."

"Badly."

"Pot meet kettle."

"Ouch," she says, but she doesn't feel it. Doesn't at all feel the sting. It's comical and sweet and poignant; it's them, and he's proposing to her. "Don't let that stop you. Get to the point."

"Finally, woman. The point is - we are great together, I think we both know we've wanted this, and as crazy as it might be to jump ahead, I'm asking you - please, will do me the honor of saying yes just one more time?"

"Yes."

He lets out an explosive breath - he must have been expecting her to fight him - but he pushes the band down over her finger and it doesn't really fit, but it's pretty sweet. Actually, she thinks it's the band from the middle of a pen flashlight.

"Where'd this come from?" She spins it with her thumb as he gets off his knees, but he doesn't give her a chance to speculate.

Castle wraps her up in his arms, sweeping her off her feet so that she grunts and winds an arm around his waist to hang on. "I love you, Kate. I do - oh, look at that, practicing already. I do."

She bites her lip, tilting her head back to peer at him. She just - they just - they've had one night (after which she ran off in the pre-dawn gray) and now they're going to get married. And have a baby. Probably not in that order.

"This is going to be great. And you know, I don't care when - fast or wait until after - but I want you to have your dream wedding, Kate. Or whatever you want. But you'll - move in with me, right? And we'll work on our communication, because I never want a repeat of the last few weeks-"

She ceases his overflow of words - with her mouth. She takes them right off his lips and they taste clean, like water bubbling in a fountain, like joy, and she swallows the groan he releases as well.

He moves to cradle the back of her head, and she finds herself sliding slowly down his body, fists clutched in his shirt at his waist. His fingers tighten at her skull and his nose nudges into her, catching her, his lips moving to skim her own. She gasps for breath, awareness tickling across her skin, everywhere, and he presses her back, his mouth on hers again as if diving deep. As if he can't wait for more.

She clutches at his back and feels his hand at her shirt, thumbing buttons open, one after another (she forgot how good he was at this, adept), and her heart is thundering under his fingers.

He touches the hollow at her neck, bare now, and then trails down her sternum.

They both startle when he gets to the bullet scar, and his palm flattens between her breasts, covering the place. His mouth parts from hers, his forehead against hers, their breath fast and mingling in the twin thud of heartbeats.

Slowly, he uncovers the wound, the puckered skin she's stopped trying to hide.

His thumb traces a half-circle around it, and she remembers, vividly, the look in his eyes that morning as he hovered over her, when his hand first touched the spot and came away with blood and he knew.

She remembers that knowledge on his face, pale and drawn, the urgency of his voice.

She remembers his love then, and the night she took from him after the wedding, and it's too much.

"I'm sorry," she breathes between them. His hand is heavy at her breast, the eroticism of his touch making her tremble. "This it the worst timing. I don't know what this looks like, I don't know that I can even - keep this baby safe. The sniper is still out there, and there's no reason at all for them to let me live-" She breaks off before she can sob.

"Kate," he croaks. "Kate, I should have said - I should have told you before now. Oh, God, there's something you should know."

She freezes, her fists tightening in his shirt, and he runs his hand up to her neck, cups her jaw. He doesn't let go of her.

"Kate, I've done something. I made a deal for your life."

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