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

Holding a pad of paper and a pen, Beckett is stretched out on the sofa, her back resting on its cushioned arm and her feet resting on her husband's lap.

"Who do you think is the best shot in the precinct, Castle?"

He looks up from his book. "Just the Twelfth, or by extension all the people we work with?"

"Well, I guess all of them."

"Perlmutter."

"What!" She wiggles her toes into his thigh. "You must be kidding."

"I hate to say it, but the guy's a fantastic shot. Incredibly quick. Better than me, sometimes. Never forget when we walked into the morgue and he looked up from the body and said, 'Ah, Detective Beckett. And Defective Castle.' It pissed me off, mostly because it was so good."

"I meant who's the best shot with firearms, Castle, not with zingers."

"Okay, best with a gun? No question: Esposito, because of his military background. Followed closely by you. Why the sudden interest in marksmanship, anyway?"

"I was just thinking about the precinct summer picnic. It's always fun and we play all those dopey games that we both love, but I was wondering if we could add something this year."

"What, like a shooting contest?"

"Exactly."

"Could we have Perlmutter's face on the target?"

"You do know he'll be there, right?"

"I do. I always love seeing him in his shorts with his skinny little legs and knobby knees."

"Seriously, Castle, what do you think? There's that little storage building at the field that we could use for the range."

"What do I think?" He starts to tickle her feet. "I think I can't wait to see you, Annie Oakley. In your fringed buckskin vest and short skirt and cowgirl hat."

"Dad, that's not Mom's name. People call her Beckett or Kate or Katherine or Katie, and I call her Mom. So she has a lot of names, but not Annie Oakley."

"Hold on to that little fantasy, bud. I'm not wearing fringed anything."

"How about those—"

"Shut up."

"It's not nice to tell people to shut up, Mom."

"Really, I love the idea. And if we can get enough beers into Esposito, you'll definitely kick his butt."

"I'm gonna ask the Captain in the morning. She should like it. She's a pretty amazing shot herself."

When Beckett had broached the subject to Gates, she had gotten an immediate go-ahead. Now, five days later, she and Castle are on their way to the picnic.

"We lucked out on the weather. Remember last year? It was about a hundred degrees with matching humidity. Too hot to do anything, really."

"I know what you like best, Castle," Beckett says, running her hand across his knee. "That limitless supply of food."

"There's a limitless supply of food? Mom, can you drive faster?"

"Actually what I like best are the minute-to-win-it games. I am so taking down LT this year in card ninja. And you are winning the shootout. Can't believe you wouldn't at least wear a cowgirl hat."

"Got a little surprise for you. Look in the top of my bag."

He reaches behind him for her purse and drops it onto his lap. "Why, Beckett. What have we here?" he asks, waving a large red-black-and-white cotton square. "A bandana?"

"Yup. I'm going to wear it at the shooting range. As the competition heats up," her voice takes a sultry turn, "a bead of sweat will travel slowly down my temple, trickle across my cheek, make its way down my neck, and finally ooze into the bandana, which will soak it up."

"Feels like it's heating up in here already. Might need to turn on the AC."

"Nope, here's the exit. We'll be there in a minute."

They pull into the parking area, and pop the trunk. Inside are five enormous ice chests packed with their contribution: ten cases of beer. LT appears with two hand carts; he and Castle load them up and haul them to the tables that are set up ten yards from the grills. It's already noisy, even though the sound system isn't on yet: there is considerable if good-natured argument about the playlist.

Two hours later, the picnic is in high gear and it's down to two people in card ninja. Half a watermelon is propped up on a stand; each finalist is toeing the line and holding a deck of cards. "Last year's champion, Officer Tolliver, goes first," Gates announces. "You ready?" LT nods. "Go!" The verging-on-raucous crowd counts down loudly, beginning with 60, while LT flicks a succession of cards at the melon; none hits the mark. "Time's up!" Gates says. "You're next, Mister Castle."

A new countdown begins, and Castle starts throwing cards. Just as the group yells "three," the king of hearts hits the melon at a perfect angle, and sticks, one corner buried deep in the fruit. Castle executes a few fist pumps, shakes the glum-faced LT's hand, and asks, "Who's got a flag?" Someone's kid passes him a small one on a stick and he waves it madly as he runs around the melon crying, "Victory lap!" Beckett rolls her eyes. More than once.

"Ryan," Esposito whispers conspiratorially to his partner, holding a burger in one hand and licking ketchup off the other as they watch Castle take a bow. "Come here." They walk over to a couple of chairs in the shade and sit down. "Listen, Lanie told me that Beckett and Castle are going to natural childbirth classes."

"So? Jenny and I did, too."

"Big difference. Think about it. Castle? In a delivery room? He'll never make it. The man screams when he sees a spider."

"You saying what I think you're saying? That we should put some money on it?"

"Yeah, just what I'm saying. You in?"

"Sure. So, what do we got? How long he lasts, if he pukes into a wastebasket, passes out?"

"Yeah, everything. Everyone's here, so spread the word."

Ryan puts his hand up, grinning like a madman. "Javi, wait. I got an idea for a third pool. Ready? Where Beckett will be when her water breaks, and when."

"Genius, bro," Espo says, giving him a fist bump. "We're on. Get that cash rolling in."

They trot off in opposite directions and begin quietly canvassing their colleagues. By the time they've done the circuit, each one has hundreds of dollars stuffed in his pocket, along with a wad of IOUs. They meet by Ryan's car, and Espo hands over his loot. "Take this and lock it up. I gotta get to the range."

"Yeah, good luck, man. Be there in a minute."

"Luck's got nothin' to do with it."

Luck may or may not have anything to do with it, but forty minutes later, he and Beckett are the last cops standing, ready to face off. Everyone else has been outshot. Before the final round begins, Castle sidles up to Ryan. "I'm in."

"In what, Castle?"

"The pool."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please. I may not have a badge, but I saw you and Espo working the crowd, saw those twenties going from hand to hand. Plus I have ears like a bat. You've got a pool going on about Beckett's water breaking."

Ryan coughs as he tries to stifle both a sigh of relief and a boyish giggle. "Yeah, well, you're right, Castle. You got me. So, ready to place your bet?"

"Five hundred," he says, slipping five bills into Ryan's unsteady hand. "Four twenty-seven in the morning. In the bathroom. She finds out I did this, I'll kill you. Better yet, she'll kill you." He smiles, slaps Ryan on the shoulder and walks away. "Gotta go cheer for Beckett now."

The paper targets are up. Beckett will be firing at a large, graphic photo of a New York City rat; Esposito will be aiming at an equally vile photo of a New York City cockroach. Gates steps up and declares the start of the championship round. "One detective to my right, one to my left. At my signal, begin firing."

They come to a noisy finish simultaneously. Patrick McCann, who runs the precinct range and is serving as the official scorer, examines the pellet-scarred targets carefully. "The scores are identical," he says, "so we'll have to go to the tie-breaker rule." He looks at the targets again, even more closely. "Both shooters took out the vermins' beady little eyes." Wild cheers. "But Detective Beckett got a shot straight through the rat's tooth. We have a winner!"

"Yay, Mom, you won! It feels like everybody's hugging you. Do you get a crown? Are you the queen?"

Castle pops open a can of ginger ale and hands it to Beckett. "Closest thing to Champagne I can give you. Congratulations. And you are the undisputed champ not just because you knocked out a rodent tooth, but because Esposito is sober. He's been guzzling nothing but soda."

"Thank you. He was very gracious in defeat, I must say. Offered to buy me a drink after the baby is born."

"What about me? Don't I get anything after I'm born? Besides clothes. I'm still waiting for clothes."

The picnic is winding down. All that remains is the final game, the three-legged race. For the first time, Beckett and Castle have teamed up. He had been pleading for at-home practice sessions for the last two weeks; she had declined. "We'll just take our chances," she had said repeatedly. Now that she's at the starting line, she wishes that she had agreed.

"You were right, Castle," she says, as he ties her right leg to his left. "We should have done some trial runs. I hadn't thought about my balance. My center of gravity is different."

"We've already got bragging rights on shooting and card ninja. If we don't win this, it's okay."

Beckett is taken aback. "Really? You don't mind? Hard to believe."

"Nope. We're tied to each other, in public. I have my arm around you, in public. When we cross the finish line I get to kiss you, in public. Can't ask for more than that."

They shuffle across the field, laughing, and end up in sixth place. Castle does indeed kiss Beckett, and she kisses him right back.

"Best three-legged race ever, Beckett."

"Dad, what? That was a five-legged race. Don't forget about me."

A/N This story has crossed the 40,000-word mark, so it's four-fifths of the way to the Ficathon finish line. Thank you all!