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

Castle wants to drive there. Of course. Beckett refuses to take the car. Of course. It's the basis of their bedtime conversation.

"It's the authentic way to go," she says, resting against the headboard. "We can't drive. Part of the experience and the charm is being in the subway with thousands of other fans. Everybody's noisy going up, and coming back they're even noisier. Unless it's a loss, in which case it's pretty quiet. Only way to go. Besides, it's much faster than driving. And cheaper."

"I love going on the subway. It rocks and rolls and zooms and people are eating and drinking. It's like an amusement park ride. You should try it, Dad."

He drops his book in the space between them. "I'm good for the gas money and the parking. And I beg to differ on your assessment of the charm, particularly the olfactory delights, of the D train."

"I'd expect nothing less, Castle. Feel free to take your car, but I won't be in the seat next to you. I'm going on the subway."

"But you're pregnant. Not just pregnant, but seven months pregnant."

"So?" She fixes him with her best slightly-narrowed-eye stare.

"I'm thinking I shouldn't answer that."

"You're thinking right. And are you also thinking that one of the reasons I shouldn't go is that it will be so crowded that I'll have to stand?"

"Uh, yes."

"Seriously? You don't think I can make someone give his seat up with one of my death glares?"

"You have a death glare, Mom? Ooooh, I can't wait to see that. I bet you use it on bad guys when we're in the interrogation room. But don't use it on me."

"Now that you mention it, no."

"Good. I'm taking the D."

"God, you're stubborn. Is the baby going to be as stubborn as you?"

"I certainly hope so."

"Yeah, I hope so."

"What about your Dad? It's Father's Day, after all; he should arrive in style. As should I, by the way. In a car."

"Where do you think I learned to adhere to hallowed traditions like taking public transportation to Yankee Stadium, and not getting up in the other team's half of the seventh inning because it's bad luck? My father will be riding the rails with me, I guarantee."

"Me, too, even though I don't know what riding the rails is. I'm going with Granddad and Mom. I always hang out with Mom. Get it? I hang out with her. It's another joke! I'm getting pretty good at them, right?"

Castle sighs. A deep, deep dramatic sigh. And then he tosses his book onto the floor, rolls over and gives his wife a deep, deep dramatic kiss. "Night, Beckett."

She leans over, turns out her light, and slides down to lie on her side. And runs her hand around the back of his knee. "Night, Castle."

"Are you guys going to sleep now? Can I stay up for a while?"

When Beckett walks wearily into the kitchen the next morning, Castle is already there. "Your child kept me awake last night. Felt like playing instead of going to sleep. I need my newly sanctioned if strictly enforced one cup of real coffee, please."

"Coffee! I love coffee! Dad likes to call it your cup of joe. I don't know why, but it's funny. Maybe you should call me that. Joe. Or Jo. And my middle name could be DiMaggio."

"Big day today, Beckett," he says, putting their plates of scrambled eggs and toast on the counter.

"Oh, Castle, I'm sorry," she says, hugging him from behind before she sits down. "Happy Father's Day."

"Thanks, but what I really meant was that this is a big day, us going to the Yankees-Dodgers game with your dad."

"I know you're not all that crazy about baseball, Castle, so it's really sweet of you to indulge me on this."

"It means a lot to you two. And hey, what's not to like about baseball? Hot dogs, peanuts, curly fries, soft ice cream in one of those plastic cups shaped like a batting helmet."

"Is Mom going to eat that? Because it sounds really great and I would like some."

She ruffles his hair. "Knew I could count on you to appreciate the fine points of the game."

"I do!"

"Want to tell me what an unassisted triple play is?"

"Sure." He swallows a bite of toast. "Um. It's when someone balances three beers in one hand without spilling?"

She laughs. "Good save, Castle. I'll alert the umpires, tell them to make a note of that in the official rule book."

With her father due in minutes, they put their dishes in the sink and go to their bedroom to get ready. Beckett is wearing her new, oversized Mattingly Yankees T shirt that Castle gave her a few weeks ago because her old one doesn't fit at present. Don Mattingly, who was the first basemen and her favorite player when she was growing up, will be back at Yankee Stadium today as the manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers. She's tying her sneakers when she hears Castle greeting her father.

"Hi, Dad," she says, walking into the living room and giving him a kiss. "Happy Father's Day. You all ready?"

"Yup." He smiles when he sees her shirt. "Mattingly, huh? Donnie Baseball. Some things never change."

"So, Jim, may I offer you a lift to the stadium?" Castle asks hopefully.

His father-in-law looks horrified, as if Castle had just suggested they renounce their citizenship, maybe join a terrorist cell. He clears his throat. "Thanks very much, Rick, but I'm happy taking the subway."

Beckett is chuckling. "Told ya, Castle."

"You don't want to come with us, Rick?"

"Yeah, Rick, you don't want to come with us? You drive up there, you're flouting tradition. Someone might call you a traitor."

"A traitor? DAD!"

Castle raises his hands. "Okay. It's hard enough for me to stand up to one Beckett. But two? I give up. The car stays here."

Not long after, when they're on the subway—seated together, without any need for death glares—Beckett says, "You're a brave man, Castle. Thanks for coming with us."

"I could have held out, you know. I'm the one who has the tickets."

"You have the tickets? I thought Dad had the tickets." She turns to Jim. "You let Castle get the tickets, Dad?" She looks slightly panicked.

"He told me that they were a Father's Day present from you two."

"Uh, no." She whips her head around to Castle. "Should I be worried about this?"

"Why would you be worried? They're great seats."

"That's what I'm worried about. The greatness."

He's taking the cautious-and-practical route. "Can't have you sitting in the bleachers, Beckett. No back support."

"Dad and I usually sit in the grandstand, Castle. Regular seats. Plenty of back support."

Still sticking to practicality and caution. "Yes, but you have to go up all those stairs."

"There are elevators."

"You have an answer for everything?"

"Yeah, Mom always has an answer, Dad, you know that."

"Seriously, Castle, where are we sitting?"

"Guess I'll have to look." She snorts as he reaches into his pocket and produces the tickets. "Ah, here they are, the coveted pasteboards. They appear to be in the first row behind the Yankee dugout."

Jim, who is sitting on the other side of his daughter, leans forward. "That's fantastic. How did you manage to get those?"

Before Castle can open his mouth, Beckett's hand is over it. "He knows a guy, Dad. He always knows a guy."

"Glad to hear it, Rick. I'm looking forward to those seats."

This time Beckett's head pivots sharply to her father. "Dad! I can't believe you're siding with him."

"It's not traitorous to sit there, Katie."

"Yeah, well, watch out for foul balls and broken bats that will come sailing in our direction," she says crankily. She feels Castle chuckling soundlessly against her. "You're loving this, aren't you Castle?"

The train pulls into the station. "Yup," he says, as he stands and offers her his hand. "Most entertaining subway ride I've ever been on. You were right, Beckett."

They're in their luxurious seats just a quarter of an hour later, studying the menus for food that will be delivered to them. "Okay, Castle," Beckett says. "Much as it pains me to admit this, you were right, too. We don't have to stand in line for food and these are absolutely amazing seats. And you know what else? I just realized that I can watch Don Mattingly up close and personal since he's in the visitors' dugout right over there. Be still, my heart."

"I love it when you fangirl, Beckett."

"What? You've never seen me fangirl in my life." She's indignant. "Please."

"Have you forgotten that I was with you when we investigated the murder at the Supernovacon?" He raises both his eyebrows.

"Okay, maybe a tiny bit when I met Captain Max of Nebula Nine there. But that was it."

"And another time."

"Another time?" She sits back, looking incredulous. "Absolutely not."

"When I introduced you to Joe Torre during the Cano Vega case."

She puts her face in her hands. "Are you through now?"

"Yes."

"Are you looking smug?"

"Of course."

She uncovers her face. "I need a lemonade."

"Maybe we could get Don Mattingly to bring you some. I wonder if you'd faint."

"Mom, don't faint! I don't want you to faint! If you faint I bet we'd have to leave."

"Castle!"

"Wow, Mom sounds mad. Is she using her death glare, Dad?"

Castle raises his eyebrows again.

"Please tell me you didn't."

"I didn't, Beckett. There are only so many guys I know."

Jim has been quiet during this exchange, calling on all his considerable self-control not to laugh. "You enjoying the game so far, Rick?"

"Oh, yes. Just like the subway. Never knew it could be this much fun."

"And we're not even at the first pitch," Beckett mutters. "You two. Geez."

"Indulge us, Katie. It's Father's Day." He beams at Castle.

"I'm changing the subject, Dad. So, Castle, you know why my father hates the Dodgers so much?"

"I didn't know you hated the Dodgers, Jim."

"Can't stand them," he says, cheerfully. "My father was a maniacal Brooklyn Dodgers fan. And then after the fifty-seven season they decamped to Los Angeles and he never forgave them. Switched his allegiance overnight from the Dodgers to the Yankees, so I did too. Never mentioned the Dodgers again. Burned our caps in the fireplace over the winter."

"Really? He burned your caps? I think I just got a deeper understanding of your daughter."

"That may be, Castle. But just so you know, nothing will destroy my love for Don Mattingly, not even when he's managing the Dodgers."

By the top of the third inning, Beckett has noticed that her spouse is getting a little antsy. She sees him sneaking his phone out of his pocket. "You bored, Castle? Got someone you have to call?"

"Nope." He's pointing his phone towards centerfield. "Just going to take a few pictures."

"Of what, the Jumbotron?"

"Exactly. Wait for it. Jim? Look at the Jumbotron."

Just then the enormous screen is filled with an eight-word message. "THE NEW YORK YANKEES WELCOME BABY BECKETT- CASTLE."

Castle is ecstatic. "Did you see that? I got at least six shots. The New York Yankees Welcome Baby Beckett-Castle. Can't wait to tell the kid."

"I hear you, Dad. The Yankees welcomed me? Me? That is so cool! Are they going to come see me sometime? After I get out of here?"

"I'm not even going to ask," Beckett says, shaking her head.

"It was only a hundred bucks and it goes to charity," he says, tucking his phone back in his jeans. "Worth every penny."

"You got any more surprises, Rick?" Jim asks.

"Nope, just gonna watch the game. Learn from the masters, Beckett and Beckett." And he really does pay attention, even gets into the game. "I'm beginning to understand the appeal, Beckett," he says during the sixth inning.

"You are, huh?"

"Yes, really. I think I'm starting to love it. In fact, I'm going to show you how much I love it." He turns, takes her face in both his hands and kisses her. Hard. And then he pulls back, smiles, and kisses her again. The crowd around them begins to cheer; Jim is clapping. Castle lets go and points to the Jumbotron again. "Kiss Cam, Beckett!"

"Dad," she hisses. "Did you know about any of this?"

"No," he says, and claps again. "I swear I didn't. Do you think he bribed the Kiss Cam guy?"

"Of course he did," she says, through clenched teeth.

"You know I'm sitting right here, Beckett. You could just ask me." He looks at her. "It could have been much worse, you know."

"How? Fifty thousand people just watched us kissing!"

"Fifty thousand plus one, Mom. That's another joke. Get it? Plus One? That's me!"

He whispers into her ear. "Would have been a lot worse if I'd used tongue."

"Come on, Katie, that was fun. Admit it."

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, Beckett? Is that it?"

She swats him gently on the arm. "Okay, good line. I remember." She blushes a little at the memory.

"I really am getting into the game, I promise. But I am going to walk around the stadium a little. You and your Dad can spend the next inning minutely discussing every play."

When he's not back by the middle of the eighth, Beckett is a little worried. "Think I should call him, Dad?"

"He's a big boy, Katie."

"Yeah, emphasis on boy. Oh, wait, I see him. What the hell has he been doing? He has about ten shopping bags."

She knows that it's never a good idea to let Castle, the king of impulse purchases, shop alone. He must have homed in on the large gift shop like a heat-seeking missile. "What did you get?" she asks, not without trepidation.

He is bouncing with excitement. "Wait 'til you see!" He begins opening bags and passing things to her: a slew of onesies, T shirts, socks, booties, "pre walk" sneakers, a cap, and a hoody. Bottles, pacifiers and a bib. A rubber duck and a teddy bear. A plate and bowl. A fuzzy blanket. Crib sheets, a bumper and a mobile. "Who knew they had all this stuff?"

"My God. Wait, you have two more bags. What else could there possibly be?"

"Um, just other stuff. Specialized." He looks nervous. Sounds nervous. "Can wait until we get home. Let me put the stuff back in the bags. Hey what's the score? Did I miss anything? Oh, seven to two Yankees and we're going to the top of the ninth. Excellent. Looks like everyone will be happy and noisy going back on the subway."

Beckett is not easily distracted. "Specialized, Castle? Specialized? What is that?"

"Um, well, the things I showed you are all unisex, you know? But they have a lot of things designed specially for little girls or little boys. So one bag has girl stuff and one bag has boy stuff."

"But, Castle. We're having a boy or a girl. What are we supposed to do with the other stuff?"

"We can save that bag for the next baby."

"The next baby? Who's THAT?"

TBC

A/N Happy Father's Day to all who go by the name Daddy, Dad, Pop, Pops, Pa, Pappy, Old Man, Granddaddy, Gramps, Granddad, Grandpa, or any other variation.