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

It's unbearable. It's suffocating. It's so beyond hot that ordinary hot is a wispy memory. Because it's rush hour in a heat wave, Castle couldn't find a cab and has been forced to deal with the subway. He's standing on the platform in a smelting furnace that is officially labeled Times Square, waiting for the train. It's so hot down here that the rats are sitting next to the tracks instead of scurrying alongside them. It's so hot that the toupée of the guy in front of him just slid two inches to the right. It's so hot that Hell is looking like a pleasant alternative. It's so hot that the tar in the street is running faster than the muggers. It's so hot that his brain can come up with only stupid metaphors.

Twenty minutes later, after he has oozed off the train, up the stairs, and dragged himself three blocks home, he is unlocking the front door. Inside it's deliciously cool but suspiciously quiet. "Beckett?" He calls again. "Beckett? Beckett?" He knows she's home; she must be home. He walks to the bedroom and, finding the door closed, turns the knob gently. There, lying there on the bed naked, except for fuzzy socks—her feet are always cold—is a sleeping Beckett. When the door clicks shut, her eyes open.

"Hey," she says, rolling on to her back and propping herself up on her elbows. "How are you?"

"Hot. It's too damn hot," he says, unbuttoning his shirt.

"That's a song. Well, darn instead of damn, but same idea."

"Yeah?" The shirt is off and the shoes and socks are about to follow. "By whom?"

"Cole Porter."

"Too bad. I could have written some really good lyrics right now, but not better than anything by Cole Porter."

"You know, Castle, this is your fault."

"What's my fault? The heat?" The pants are gone and he's down to his underwear.

"No, this," she points to her belly. "This is your fault."

"May I remind you," he says, dropping down next to her, "that it takes two to tango?"

"Yes it does. But may I remind you that you were the one who was so seductive when we were tangoing at that Thanksgiving weekend dance, whispering all sorts of filthy things in my ear as I was draped over your leg."

"You were doing the tango? I love that music. Where was I?"

"Yeah, well let's remember where your thigh was."

"Let's remember where your thigh was. Your thigh in your alluringly tight tango pants."

"You didn't mind my thigh and my alluringly tight pants right after that, in our hotel room. Although as I recall, and I recall vividly, you wanted my thighs out of the pants."

"That's true, but I wasn't the one who forgot to bring protection."

"And I wasn't the one who said, 'No problema, Señor Amor'." He rolls over and kisses her bare knee. "I think you're trying to make a point here?"

"Señor Amor? Who's that?"

"Yes, my point is that if this"—she points at her belly again—"had been planned, I would have planned for a spring delivery, not the end of August, and I wouldn't have had to haul myself through the whole hideous, blistering summer."

"But you know what? You're really—"

She glowers at him. "Don't tell me I'm really glowing, Castle."

"I was going to say you're really beautiful." He looks at her for a moment. "What can I do to help?"

"You can help me cool off."

"That's impossible, Beckett. You're the hottest woman on earth."

He watches as she exhales sharply to blow a lock of hair off her forehead, and he's suddenly back in the bedroom—of course, he really is back in the bedroom—on the morning after their first night together. When he made her stand in the closet because his mother was about to barge in, and after his mother left she threw a pillow at him and blew the hair out of her eyes. Just the way she had a second ago. He jumps up.

"Get dressed, Beckett. I have a great idea."

"Really? I have to get dressed?"

He dashes to the memorable closet. "Yes, here," he says, returning to the bed with a sundress. "Just put that on. Trust me."

"Uh, okay," she says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Shortly after, they're in the elevator and on the way to their car. "Where are we going, Castle?"

"You'll see."

"Hey, Dad, you know I can't see from in here. Where are we going?"

They've been in the car for only ten minutes when Beckett squeezes his knee. "Aha! I know where we're headed. It's a long drive. You do know I have to work tomorrow, right? So we'll just spend the night and get up incredibly early?"

"Fine with me. It'll be worth it."

"It's a long drive and you're still not saying where? I might have to kick."

"Ha! The baby just kicked me. Must know where we're going."

"NO I DON'T. I give up. Wake me when we get there, please."

With the a/c cranked up high, they chat aimlessly, listen to music. Eventually Beckett calls one of their favorite restaurants to order dinner, and they pick it up half an hour later, a few minutes before turning into their Hamptons driveway.

"Home Sweet Other Home," Beckett says, as she steps out of the car.

"Yay! We're at the beach! I don't know why it had to be a surprise."

"Want to eat first?"

"No. Let's just put dinner in the fridge and have it later."

They go to their bedroom to change, then walk outside to the pool in terrycloth robes. Castle dips a toe in the water to check the temperature, and when he turns around discovers Beckett has shucked her robe.

"Oh, you forgot your suit." She remembers. Of course she remembers. He loves it.

"I know." She giggles and looks over his shoulder. "Is it safe to go in?"

"Oh yeah. I checked. No dead body in there." He grabs her hand and they jump in to the water. "Isn't this fantastic, Beckett? We can stay in here for hours, it's so cool."

"You were right, great idea. And in this pool, just the two of us floating around? Heaven."

"Three, Mom. There are three of us in this pool."

TBC

A/N Thank you, all you readers, from all over the place!