Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

"God damnit!"

Ooh, Castle doesn't like the sound of this. First, the actual volume, which has to be 100 decibels: he didn't know that a human voice could even reach that level. Second, it's very, very angry. He's standing at the stove, which is a long way from the bathroom, and he's wincing. Yes, that ungodly screech came from the bathroom, and it was definitely delivered by Beckett.

"Shit!"

Wow, that's even louder. Did she have some kind of training as a Wagnerian soprano? There are things he still doesn't know about her; that might be one. Though this shriek wasn't at all musical. It was more like the sound of metal on metal, like a five-car pile-up in a demolition derby.

"Another one? There?"

Okay, he should probably do something now—something besides getting tested for hearing loss. Should he stay here and continue making Beckett's Sleepytime tea, or should he go see what's bothering her? He knows she's not hurt; she doesn't react this way it she's hurt. If she were mad at him, she'd already be in here, so she must be mad at someone else. He counts to ten. Silence. Is she through?

"NO!"

Nope, not through. He puts down the mug, turns off the burner, and braces himself. After taking a deep, calming breath, he walks towards the bathroom. When he's ten feet from the door he calls out, "Beckett? Is everything okay?" No answer. Is it possible for her to be radiating so much heat that the room temperature has gone up? He moves slowly to the door, gingerly crosses the threshold, and sees his naked wife standing in front of the full-length mirror, glaring. If glaring were an Olympic event, she'd win the gold. She'd win the gold if nudity were an Olympic event, too, but the issue here is the glaring.

"Um, you're upset?"

"YES!"

"Can I help?"

"NO!"

Uh-oh. He'll try again. "Are you sure? I really want to help."

"Turn around, Castle."

"Oh, okay. I'm turning around."

"Don't look at me."

"I'm not looking at you."

"I'm hideous."

He turns back to Beckett. "My eyes are still closed, but I promise you that you are not hideous. If you let me open my eyes, I'll say it again. You are the least hideous person I've ever seen."

"Not any more."

He hears some rustling. Is she putting on clothes? "Beckett?"

"What."

"Are you getting dressed?"

"Yes."

"May I open my eyes?"

"I suppose so. The hideous parts are covered up now."

"Mom, you just covered me up, right? I know I'm not a hideous part because you're always telling Dad I'm adorable!"

Beckett is wearing a very long, oversized T shirt that she appropriated from his drawer. Boxers, ditto. She has gone from furious to dejected. She looks like a little girl whose doll has just been stolen, though he's sure that if anyone had ever tried to steal her doll she'd have a) gotten it back and b) left the thief abandoning, on the spot, the notion of a life in crime. Castle covers the distance between them in an instant and wraps her in a hug.

"Look in the mirror," he says, turning her so that her back is resting against his chest. "See? Hello, gorgeous." She looks only slightly less miserable. "Want to tell me why you're upset?"

"Okay," she says, edging the hem of her shirt up a few inches. "Look."

He doesn't know what he's supposed to be looking at. "Um, uh. Everything looks great."

"That, Castle," she says, raising the shirt a little higher and exposing a small area of skin. She pokes it with her finger. "See that?"

Does he need glasses? Oh, God, has the grim slide into old age begun? Does he need glasses? Because he doesn't see anything unusual there. "Still not sure."

"Castle! It's a stretch mark! A hideous stretch mark on my belly. I found out it when I got out of the shower. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What's the matter with a stretch mark? I stretch all the time, Mom. And I need to because there's not as much room in here as there used to be, did you know that?"

He has a feeling that the tile floor just turned into quicksand and that he needs to tread very carefully. "Isn't it natural? I mean, a normal part of pregnancy? I don't even really notice it."

"Not every pregnant woman gets stretch marks, Castle. I've been drinking tons and tons of water and I haven't gained a lot of weight, so I shouldn't be getting them. Well, anyway, I thought I wouldn't if I did that. Hoped I wouldn't."

"Stay right here, I'm going to get something." He dashes to the bedroom, roots around in a drawer and comes back with a brown paper bag that he puts on the counter. He reaches for her T shirt and pulls it all the way up and over her head. "I'm going for the boxers now," he says, giving them a tug and sliding them down her legs.

"What are you doing?" She looks suspiciously at the bag. "What's in there?"

He opens it and empties the contents—a large assortment of jars and tubes—onto the counter. "They're stretch-mark creams."

Beckett is gaping at them. "You bought all those? You thought that I'd get stretch marks?"

"No, I just thought it was a possibility and I wanted to be ready if you did."

"All of them? You bought all of these? How did you know?"

"Well, I researched it. I don't just research creepy, disgusting things to do with murder, you know. This was much more fun. So I bought every one that had five or four and a half stars on Amazon."

She's smiling shyly. He finds it incredibly sexy that she can still be shy about anything in front of him. "You did that for me?"

"I did. And now I'm going to research your beautiful body to see if I can find those stretch marks that you claim are there."

She takes his hand. "Here's one," she says, putting two of his fingers on the side of her stomach. "See?"

He leans in and peers hard. "Okay, I see it. It's not bad at all."

"Yeah, wait till you see the one a couple of inches below it, and the two on my boobs."

"I'm going to enjoy this research. Let me get a closer look." He bends down and plants a loud kiss on one of the marks. "There."

"Kissing is not going to make it better, Castle."

"On the contrary, kissing makes everything better. Plus these creams help. We'll try all of them, but can I start with this?" He holds up a jar. "It's a four-and-a-half star one, but it has the best name, Mama Bee Belly Butter." He takes a dollop and rubs it gently across and around the stretch mark.

"Ooh, Dad. That feels great. You have to do this every day."

She's holding on to his shoulder now, and beginning to purr. When he takes some more butter and massages it into the lower stretch mark, she purrs some more, and wiggles.

"I think this one looks like my nose, Beckett. There's a little crooked part right there."

"Your nose has a crooked part? I wonder if mine has."

"Shut up. Just keep rubbing."

"I don't have to be told twice. But just a sec." He stands, puts the jar back on the counter and picks up a tube. "I'm trying a different one now, moving on to your boobs. See what magic I can do there." He looks closely and finds an infinitesimal stretch mark. "Ah, here we go."

Beckett's purr is beginning to turn into a moan. "Oh, my God, Castle. You're definitely magical. Don't stop. Don't stop."

He puts some cream on his other hand so that he can massage both her breasts at once. The purr is gone now; it's nothing but moan. He moves his head down to the base of her neck and begins to kiss his way to her ear. "Beckett," he whispers. "We forgot your tea. Shall I go get it? I just felt you shiver. The tea will help warm you up."

"Seriously? You think I need that to warm up? I'm already warmed up. Come here."

A/N Special thanks today to everyone who has reviewed this story: with the last chapter, you pushed the odometer past the 500 mark, which is very exciting for me. Also, here's a tip of the hat to Mobazan27 for suggesting that I write about stretch marks.